Chapter 23

Sinead was slightly in panic mode, though not enough that she was hitting ‘fight or flight’ or anything like that. Marc had led her down the bar and had ordered them both drinks before offering her a hand so that she could sit up on an available stool in a ladylike manner. That wasn’t the problem - she was actually pretty happy with how he’d been offering her his arm or hand to help her in and out of the car or chairs because she was still highly cognizant of the fact that she wasn’t wearing any fucking panties or even a thong.

No, her panic was coming from inside. She’d already been approached twice by men, good-looking ones who seemed to have their shit together and the confidence to come up to her at a bar without using a lame pickup line, and each time Marc had deftly rebuffed them. And each time he did it, she felt a twinge in her traitorous pussy. She hadn’t known what to do, or think, in the car when he put his hand on her thigh. It had felt fucking good, but it had also been so weirdly possessive in her mind and she wasn’t his. She didn’t belong to him. They weren’t in a relationship. This was a business deal.

But when he turned away the other men who were interested in her, and when he stood next to her and rested his hand on her arm, or softly touched the inside curve of her knee as they continued their rambling conversation from the dinner table, she felt ... fucking butterflies. In her pussy.

God, I’m messed up, she thought to herself.

Marc was talking about shoes - he knew more about men’s and women’s shoes than she would ever care to - when she spotted Victor entering the bar. Seeing the look on her face, Marc leaned in. “Just keep the conversation going,” he said quietly to her, his hand sliding fully onto her bare knees for a moment. “Everything will be fine.”

Sinead nodded and asked him whether fashion was actually different in France, or if it was just a myth about Paris, and he grinned and started to ramble again. Sinead could tell, keeping her eyes trained on Marc and using her peripherals to try and track Victor, that Marc was only answering the question in such a long-winded way because they were trying to stay low-key.

Victor came down the length of the bar, stopping just on the other side of Marc, and called an order to the bartender who approached. There was no way the bartender actually heard what he said, but Victor was a regular so they knew what he wanted anyway. As he was waiting for his drink, Victor looked around and glanced to the side, frowning for a moment and then raising an eyebrow as he made eye contact with Sinead.

“Excuse me,” he said, tapping Marc on the shoulder. “Wasn’t I just sitting next to you at George?”

Marc turned and did a very passable double-take as he looked at Victor, then broke into a grin. “Oui, yes, I believe you were,” he chuckled. “What are the chances that we would come to the same bar for a nightcap?”

“Wild,” Victor chuckled himself.

“My apologies,” Marc said, and offered Victor his hand. “My name is Marc Fornier, and this is my companion Sinead.”

“Victor Berisha,” Victor introduced himself, shaking Marc’s hand strongly and then Sinead’s as well. “I assume you enjoyed old George’s as much as I did?”