Chapter Four
Maybe if Arthur kept calling Saoirse “kiddo” he’d be able to put the thoughts he was having about her out of his mind. She’d always been a pretty girl but he hadn’t harbored any feelings for her aside from fondness while he’d been married to Renata, and for years after that.
But there was something about the raven-haired beauty who’d stepped off the escalator at the airport that had made his gut clench. Blue-black hair in a messy bun all the young women seemed to wear these days, startlingly blue eyes that stared at him from under a thick fringe of black lashes, a spray of freckles across the pale skin of her nose and cheeks, and curves for days… Yeah, his stepdaughter was a knockout.
That’s right, you pervy old man—stepdaughter.
Saoirse also looked like she could use some good old fashioned TLC though, with those bags under her eyes and the haunted, distracted way she couldn’t focus for shit. He’d asked her three times what kind of ice cream she wanted before she’d answered. Not that he’d forgotten black raspberry was her favorite, but just in case her tastes had changed in the intervening years. They hadn’t.
And now he was sitting in his library at home, reviewing depositions for the case he was working on. They were boring as shit, but this was an airtight case and he was being paid handsomely to prove it.
He loved his job but poring over countless interviews to document what he already knew wasn’t his favorite part. His associates did most of this but he insisted on doing some himself to stay sharp and not lose touch with what he was demanding of the people who worked for him.
Thank goodness he had some really good scotch to keep him company. Really good scotch and Jimi Hendrix—ideal working conditions right there.
Saoirse had gone upstairs a couple of hours ago and he didn’t expect to see her again until morning—was thankful for it, in fact, so he could get a grip. She was hisstepdaughter.She needed someone who would listen but also give her space, and he would be that guy.
There was something bothering her that she hadn’t told him. Yeah, she was stressed, but he’d seen her stressed before. She’d been living here while she took her SATs, applied to colleges, took half a dozen AP classes and a handful more honors classes while she captained the varsity field hockey and tennis teams.
Yeah, she’d occasionally been overwhelmed, but mostly she thrived on being busy and challenged. This wasn’t that.
He’d work on her, slow and steady like he would with a reticent witness in a delicate case, and she’d spill the beans. She always did. Or had, anyway. To him. Not usually to Renata who had no patience and was more likely to badger Saoirse into pretending nothing was wrong. No wonder she’d ended up on his metaphorical doorstep instead of with Renata and David.
Arthur took another sip of his scotch and was about to dig back into the reams of paper when the door to the library cracked open and Saoirse slipped in. She was wearing a grey sweatshirt with the neck cut off that was slipping off her shoulder, and the baggy thing almost covered a pair of tiny striped shorts.
Fuck.
He shouldn’t be paying any attention to the slope of her shoulder into her neck and how sweet it would be to bite her there. Nor should he be eyeing her rounded calves and her plump thighs. As she turned, he caught a glimpse of the curve of her bottom peeking out from her shorts and thank God he was sitting behind his desk because he was definitely getting a hard-on.
Jesus, it had been a while since he’d been with a woman. He’d been to the club a couple of times in the past few months but no one had caught his eye. He’d played a little but not in the intense way he preferred. There hadn’t been anyone he wanted to dedicate that much time and attention to.
He liked women he could devote himself to, dote on, adore. Who wanted more from him than his money—he liked women who wanted to soak in his affection, would submit to his discipline, and have enough trust in him that they would allow him to care for them completely.
It was a lot to ask, he knew, and it had been a whole lot of years since he’d found a woman who might be a good fit. Now, though…
No. Hell no. He couldn’t think of Saoirse like that. She had come here to get away from the pressure cooker of law school. Not to have some guy who was more than old enough to be her father perv on her while she was in distress.
Get it together, Tyndall.
When Saoirse turned around, it was apparent from how her eyes went wide and her lips parted that she hadn’t been expecting him.
“Oh, hey.”
“Hey yourself. What are you doing up? I thought you’d gone to bed hours ago.”
She shrugged and then tugged the sweatshirt over her bare shoulder. “Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d grab a nightcap and try again.”
“If you like scotch, this is a good one. Grab a glass.”
He gestured with his chin to the wet bar in the corner and Saoirse headed over, standing with a heel propped against her calf while she poured. And poured. And poured.
Well. He’d call those three fingers more than a nightcap, but maybe she wasn’t used to drinking scotch—wasn’t expecting the punch of it on her tongue, the burn of it sliding down her throat, and how just a drop could send warmth through a person’s veins. Or worse, shewasused to it and had poured herself that much anyway.
Not worth picking a fight over now, but he’d keep an eye on how much she was drinking. Self-medicating for the stress maybe? Or maybe she’d started drinking and fallen behind? Hard to say which might’ve come first. Not that it mattered overmuch when the result was the same.
Saoirse settled herself on the brown leather couch in front of the fireplace and stared into the flames. It was nice that she hadn’t taken her scotch and retreated upstairs, that she was comfortable enough that him being here hadn’t made her want to leave. And fuck it. There was no way he was going to be able to concentrate with her sitting there, raven wisps of hair curling around the nape of her neck.
Double-checking that his dick was under control, Arthur stood and snagged his own glass, brought it over to the couch and sat on the opposite side from Saoirse.
She blinked her gaze to him, looking desperately sad, but a split-second later it was gone. “You don’t have to stop working, I just…”
“Didn’t want to be alone?”
“Yeah,” she said, and looked back at the fire.
“Looking at those depos was giving me a headache anyway, I’m done for the night. I can finish them tomorrow.”
Saoirse had downed half the scotch already and that was surprising. This scotch didn’t go down easy like a margarita with chips and salsa or a glass of wine after work. It definitely had a bite to it; made a person’s sinuses burn, and she hadn’t reacted at all or said anything about it so she hadn’t been surprised. Damn it all to hell. He’d hate for Renata to be right about anything, but maybe she hadn’t been off the mark when she’d insisted Saoirse had a drinking problem.
Whatever was wrong, he itched to take the lovely girl into his lap and hold her until she caved, gave up those secrets she was working so hard to keep.