Page 32 of Naughty Irish Liar

Catherine hadn’t been a diversion. Far from it.

That’s why I needed to leave before she was awake otherwise I would have wrecked her again. Over the couch. On the bathroom floor. Screaming my name…she would have been sore, unable to walk, with my come all over her.

Striding out of the elevator, I ignored an old guy’s greeting in order to reach into my jacket for my phone.

There was only one sure way of not feeling this…guilt.

I knew who to call.

How to get that taste out of my mouth for good.

My mates would say to get over one woman was to get under another.

The voice on the other end picked up after two rings.

A voice I hadn’t spoken to in a while…

“Hey, it’s Ronan. Can we meet? I can be at your place in an hour…”

* * *

“For someone who is up three grand, you look like you just got your dick caught in a wood chipper.”

I glanced up from the cards in my hand I’d been staring at for a long minute to catch all four gazes around the table on me.

It was Cal Prince who’d spoken. I might have known it would be the wannabe rock star who spoke. That asshole out assholed me any day. I couldn’t say we were friends, but we ran in the same circles of friends, so on occasion I had to tolerate the wiseass with his not-so-funny remarks and stupid teacher ties he wore because he thought it made him look important.

I threw down my cards indicating I was out of this round. I might be up, as Cal pointed out—I was good at poker, learned at my da’s knee when I was too young to be around blokes who drank and smoked fat cigars—but I wasn’t feeling the usual zest for ripping money out of my friends pockets as I usually would.

Once a month or every six weeks, depending on schedules and who was in the country, we got together for poker night. Nothing heavy, just time to catch up with the fellas and have a good time with a bottle of whiskey and cigars. The wins and losses went either way, but I liked the craic.

I was the youngest at the table. And not the wealthiest either. That accolade would go to Gray, Noah and Ash.

The shoe seller, the nightclub owner and the best-selling suspense author.

That made me the pub proprietor and Cal a high school teacher. We were an eclectic bunch but Gray had accumulated the game over the last year and so far it worked well. Noah wanted to add a kid to the monthly games —Mack something— all of twenty but some internet app rich kid. He’d once worked with Noah’s wife. I didn’t care about details as long as he brought his money and his A-game to the table.

“What can I say, I looked at you and you killed my mood,” I fired off toward Cal helping himself to a glass of whiskey.

More like I couldn’t stop thinking about Catherine.

As though she sensed when she was on my mind, my cell-phone lit up with a call. My whole body hardened. Memories of how she cried and clasped tight around my cock resurfacing to torment me.

I barked an answer more gruffly than intended, bringing every eye around the table on to me.

“Hey, it’s me…”

Her voice curled around me as wetly as if she were sucking my tongue again.

“What do you want?”

Silence, I heard her breath hitch. “You said you wanted to see prices today. The caterers need to be booked otherwise you’ll lose them.”

Just hearing her voice made my blood spike.

She tested every ounce of control I foolishly thought I possessed.

My pulse kicked to life, drawing my raw and rabid thoughts to places I shouldn’t be having surrounded by a table of dudes.

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