“Enjoy the show, boys?”
She smolders, her eyes lazily dragging over the two of them. I would kill for that kind of sexy confidence. Suddenly, my red lingerie doesn’t seem very sexy when coupled with the rest of me.
Her eyes finally dance over me, taking in my business-style attire.
Two perfectly plucked eyebrows raise, and she smiles. “Whose date are you?’
Tahlie leans casually against the table, her nipples hard and exposed as she is still only wearing a thong. Paddy clears his throat while Connor grins.
“This is Tiggy Fitzpatrick,” Paddy drawls. “Seamus’s wife.”
Tahlie’s eyes roam over me again, flashing with disbelief before she banishes the look.
“Surely not,” she giggles, running her hand down Paddy’s arm. “Everyone knows wives don’t come to the club. Pull the other one.”
Paddy silently watches her, nonplussed, until she blinks, slightly uncertain.
“She’s Seamus’s wife. She can do whatever the fuck she likes.”
Tahlie straightens, collecting her tips, and strolls away, clearly put off by the sharp warning in Paddy’s tone. I squirm in my chair.
“I don’t need to be here. I don’t want to cause any trouble.”
My mind dances back to the conversation Paddy and I had in the car before we came inside. In translation, I don’t want to overstep, and I don’t want to break any rules the Irish might have about how they expect their wives to behave. I know the consequences of that kind of thing.
“You’re here because Seamus wants you here.” Paddy glares at me as though daring me to argue. Draining his drink, he stands, gesturing for me to do the same. I hear what I’m sure I wasn’t meant to, muttered under his breath. “Though God knows why he wants you here at all.”
Paddy leads me through another door and down a well-lit corridor, loosely cupping my elbow. We are in the part of the club that patrons don’t see. The back end, office part.
There is a door with a sign proclaimingDressing Roomand some restrooms, but we walk past them, coming to a halt before a nondescript brown door simply readingManager. Still cupping my elbow, Paddy raises his hand, knocking once before shoving the door open and striding in.
Seamus is seated at an ornately carved wooden desk as I follow Paddy inside. He’s leaning back in his chair, a tumbler of whiskey in one hand, the fingers of the other trailing over the spreadsheet he is skimming.
He glances up when he sees us, nodding to Paddy, barely acknowledging me as his eyes skim over me. Seamus blinks, his eyes returning to me, looking me up and down very carefully as he takes in my attire.
“That’ll be all, Paddy.” His voice is gravelly as he nods again to his friend, who shoots me one last glare, stalking out, closing the door tightly behind him.
His eyes still glued to my face, Seamus takes a sip of his whiskey, carefully placing the tumbler back on the table, leaning back in his chair again. He beckons to me, my mouth feeling dry. My husband is looking at me like he wants to devour me, and I am trapped in his gaze.
My legs move of their own accord, as my body so often does when caught in Seamus’s dark, seductive spell. Seamus spins his chair as I approach him, and I step right up between his thighs as he lounges back.
His eyes darken as he slides his hands up my side, stopping when they reach my waist. As though I am weightless, he lifts me, seating me on the desk in front of him.
I fight the urge to shiver with anticipation under his heated glare. Always a contradiction in his eyes, like he resents me and wants to fuck me all at the same time.
My breath catches as he surges out of his seat, standing in front of me, crowding me, his face close to mine. I can smell his scent. It’s spicy and woody and sex and sin, and I have to steel myself not to close my eyes as I inhale. If I’m not careful, I could become intoxicated by my husband.
Chapter Eight
SEAMUS
Paddy delivered Tiggy, as I requested. She’s a welcome distraction from the spreadsheets of numbers I was previously poring over.
She’s dressed like a secretary, or maybe a naughty librarian, in a silk shirt with long sleeves and a tight pencil skirt hugging her curves. She’s even wearing closed-toed pumps.
I don’t think anybody has ever come into this club dressed like her. They’re either dressed like a stripper or dressed like they’re at a strip club.
I like that she dressed like she’s meeting her husband at work. I like that she’s not trying to compete with the strippers for the attention of men. She shouldn’t be. She should only want my attention, and right now, she fucking has it.