The Player and the Pixie
Page 9

He grinned.
“Sir, we have 200 milliliter and 500 milliliter bottles, which would you prefer?” the sales assistant interrupted, calling Sean’s attention away. While they were both distracted, I took the opportunity to slide a compact of eyeshadow into my handbag.
Zing, zing, zing went the familiar rush in my belly. Ah, sweet relief. I missed you, old friend.
“I’ll take the 500 milliliter, please,” said Sean with disinterest as he handed her a card.
“Well, I’d better get going,” I hurried to say. “See you around.”
With extra speediness I walked off, and I was just exiting the store when someone clamped their hand around my elbow. I stilled in fear, thinking it was a security guard. But then I looked up into Sean’s light blue eyes and my pulse slowed.
“Not so fast, Mini-Fitzpatrick,” he said, bending so his mouth brushed my ear. “Don’t you know it’s rude to just run off on people like that? I wanted to speak with you.”
We were out the door and on the street when I pulled my arm from his hold.
“My name’s Lucy,” I told him.
“Fine then. Are you hungry, Lucy?” he asked, emphasizing my name as his eyes flickered between mine.
I wasn’t a suspicious person, but Sean’s question got me wondering. “What’s your game?”
“My game is buying you dinner, and maybe discussing the small matter of the item you just stole. Is Ronan such a tightwad he allows his family to shoplift to get by these days?” he asked with what sounded like amusement.
My heart hammered, wondering how he’d seen. For a moment I was frozen with anxiety, unsure how to respond, but then I grew defensive.
“That’s none of your business,” I stated, trying to stay calm.
I moved to stride past him but he placed himself in my path, and let’s face it, he was more than broad enough to block my passage.
“Now, now, there’s no need to be like that,” he chided, clicking his tongue and looking down at me. “We’ll dine at Marco Pierre’s, my treat.”
“No, thank you,” I stood firm.
“Eat with me or I’ll walk right back inside and inform the head of security about your sticky fingers.”
This riled me, and I couldn’t believe I’d been spotted thieving for the second time in less than two days. My skills were seriously slipping. “Are you so hard up for company that you have to resort to blackmail?”
Sean studied me, his features softening. “I don’t want to argue with you, Lucy. What’s the harm of one dinner?”
There was something in the way he spoke that drained the fight out of me. “Just let me leave, please,” I whispered, staring at the ground now. He was silent for a long moment, long enough that I had to look up. His face was even softer than before and I inhaled sharply.
Reaching out, he slid a hand down my arm, his touch soothing. “Come now, one meal won’t kill you,” he murmured.
I searched his eyes. “Why?”
He shrugged, then glanced away as he answered, “I’m cold.”
I left him waiting a while before I finally replied, with no small amount of wariness, “Okay, but I’m ordering the most expensive thing on the menu.”
Now he smiled, like the idea of spending money on me pleased him. “Be my guest.”
With that he surprised me by offering his arm, like a gentleman, and we began the short walk to the restaurant. I was struck by the unexpectedness of the situation, but hey, sometimes the best things came from the unexpected.
There was a minute or two of quiet before Sean spoke, “So, is it an adrenaline thing? Or do you really not have enough money for whatever it is you took?” He glanced at me, seeming genuinely interested.
“Can we not talk about this?” Already the buzz of stealing had faded as guilt and shame rose to the fore. Would that shop assistant be punished for what I took? Perhaps I could return tomorrow and buy a bunch of makeup. Those sorts of jobs worked on commission, right? I bit my lip, worrying over it.
Sean shot me a sideways grin, not letting the subject drop. “But the psychology of the whole thing fascinates me. I mean, here you have the sister of a very wealthy rugby star stealing trinkets and baubles for her own entertainment. It’d make one hell of a headline for the red tops.”
I stopped walking immediately, threw myself in front of him and placed my hands on his stocky chest. Unable to help the desperation in my voice, I pleaded, “Sean.” I paused, making an effort to summon some calm, and failing. “P-please don’t sell this story to a newspaper. I know you hate my brother, and he’s hardly your biggest fan, but this would humiliate my entire family and I’m already such a disappointment to my mother as it is.”
He swallowed, something like understanding in his eyes as he took me in. “I have no plans to do so,” he said, appearing uncomfortable for a brief second while he cleared his throat. “Just as long as anything we talk about today stays between us. Agreed?” he continued stiffly. His earnestness took me by surprise.
I nodded, wondering what he might want to talk about. “Okay. I agree.”
By the time we reached the restaurant I was well and truly immersed in the bizarreness of the situation. I could just imagine the scene if Ronan and Annie happened to stop by for an impromptu dinner date and discovered me with Sean, slurping oysters like old pals.
Sean spoke with the maître d’ and before I knew it we were being ushered to a cozy table for two. I wasn’t a large woman, in fact, I’d always been slight. Waifish, was what Mam liked to call it. However, I found myself a little pushed for space sitting across from Sean. The toes of his shoes bumped awkwardly into mine and I pulled my feet under my chair to avoid a second encounter.