Chapter 14

In a cozy booth amid the crowded tables of a tiny upscale eatery, Irene could not stop trembling. Beside her on the crimson velvet bench, Oscar was shaking just as much. Across from them and lit by a candle on a tablecloth also of rich crimson, her handsome tiger was a massive rock, unmoving as those gorgeous blue eyes swept them both.

While her husband wore a simple long-sleeved blue shirt and trousers, a dark sports coat over a silken shirt of deep purple and black slacks adorned Conor’s impressive physique. In truth, the clothing only enhanced an already imposing presence.

Once more, he’d been insistent, and what little there was of the red dress was glued to her. With even less material than the black one, at least gauzy lace stretched between thinner halters. No more than stripes over the centers of a braless chest, they were held by a golden clasp behind her neck. At each hip, slits left most of both silk-clad thighs visible. Sexy, with thick lines up their backs, worn maybe twice, the stockings had been pulled from a drawer by the man shuddering beside her.

The tension was growing ever higher as the three shared silent glances over glasses holding an exquisite red wine. A peek at Oscar brought a lump to her throat. His eyes remained white-rimmed.

They’d become saucepans as soon as Conor had walked into view. Outside the restaurant entrance, among the glittering puddles left in the storm’s wake, the young hunk had loomed above the others waiting to enter. A veritable tower of dark muscles. His twinkling eyes, beacons, ever so bright, tugging on an addicted, enamored core. Oscar had noted her soft gasp but offered no comment.

Yet, Conor had worn a scowl, and her racing heart had thumped to a halt. She’d shaken in the shoes purchased after breaking her rule and conducting a quick whirling survey of nearby stores. Far too expensive, but they possessed the cutest lace adornments, matching the dress. She’d smiled so wide while modeling them for Oscar as he’d watched her get ready.

When the tiger at last had turned, revealing a phone as it sank into his jacket, and that magical smile replaced the scowling darkness, her heartbeat had roared back into gear. It shot higher with every ground-thundering footfall as the tall, massive form weaved closer through the crowd of hopeful patrons.

While shaking Oscar’s hand hard enough to make him grimace, the two men had exchanged words. None of them had pierced the thunder in her skull, but she’d nodded when her husband sent her a shaky grin, accompanied by the youthful giant’s wondrous smile.

A throaty moan had escaped her when powerful arms pulled her shaking curves into a warm embrace. All of Conor’s luxurious scents, that delightful cologne, masculine soap, plus perhaps the tiniest hint of sweat flooded her flaring nostrils. Oscar’s slack-jawed expression appeared for a millisecond before softness pressed against her mouth. A second millisecond and her lips widened, permitting the large tongue back inside to play.

The magical kiss had left her trembling as she’d snuggled under a thick arm and let herself be led into the restaurant. The tables were packed, and the voices of their occupants mixed with soft jazz, only to become nothing more than hushed sounds when Conor had nodded at a waiting hostess.

Just as in the clothing shop, the winsome blonde was younger. Also attractive, she’d stared at him, then shot Irene a curious look. More puzzlement had crossed a narrow face as the girl glanced at Oscar, trailing behind them while they’d crossed the small dining area.

Once at the booth, the tall youth had stood aside. After releasing her, he’d gestured for Oscar to sit, then aimed her for the same bench as her husband slid further. With gregarious Oscar reduced to silence, and Conor, too, so very quiet, everything seemed both so calm and yet so tense.

With Irene sitting on the supple velvet, watching the tiger across the small table and risking another shaky sip, a hundred questions tried to force their way past the goop in her mind. He’d not said a word to the hostess. The eatery was packed, and reservations were required, but there’d been no wait. His scowl outside? The phone call? Guillaume?

Lit by only the candle, the young man’s face remained inscrutable. Her pulse ranged between high-speed racing and a steady, slow thumping. Yes, once more, her tiger was in that gauging, assessing, and waiting mode.

Yet, with tension so high, he’d not wait long. What should she...

“Um, I missed you.” At her quiet voice, declaring the obvious, he only nodded. “Oscar, say something.”

“Oh, ah, you’re quite ... I mean, seeing you—”

“Dressed?” Conor’s laugh added an exclamation point.

“Uh, yes. My wife ... um, Ire’s been ... She’s changed since meeting you.”

“Indeed, she has.”

Although she was braced for more words, the tiger took a slow sip. But those blue pools sparkled at her, and the languid movement of his corded throat quickened her heartbeat.

Before anyone could speak, their dishes arrived. Wondrous smells worked their way into her nose, but the cologne lingered, refusing to be tugged free. Words came from the server; he answered them.