The Ring on Her Finger (15 page)

Just, she was sure, as Nathaniel Finn would do.

By the time their server brought coffee for Nathaniel and tea for Rosemary at the end of their meal, he had decided this wager of Justin’s might not be such a bad thing. He hadn’t been so confident at first. In fact, he’d berated himself for days after agreeing to the ridiculous wager. Pride—and too much good Irish whiskey—definitely wenteth before a fall.

Now, though, Nathaniel was kind of looking forward to completing the wager. Hey, there was four million dollars at stake. And he was the Bad Boy of the Thoroughbred Racing Set. The wager might be heinous, but four million bucks was four million bucks. And bad boys would be bad boys. Plus, Nathaniel wasn’t a man to welch on a deal. Besides, up close and in good light, Rosemary Shaugnessy was actually... Well, the word
lovely
came to mind, even though that was a word he didn’t think he’d ever used to describe a woman he dated. She wasn’t knock-down-drag-out, over-the-top gorgeous like his usual women, but she wasn’t off-putting, either.

No, not off-putting at all.

In fact, she could probably be gorgeous if she put a little work into it. She wore no makeup, had done little with her hair, wore clothing worthy a minister’s wife and no jewelry other than the chaste little cross around her neck. Somehow, though, her plain attire only directed more attention to her lovely face. And he’d spun more than one fantasy over the course of the evening about loosing her hair to let it spill over his hands, his arms, his chest, his...

Well, suffice to say there was something to be said for a simple hairstyle. There was also something to be said for the unadorned perfection of creamy, flawless skin. And a man could find worse eyes to gaze into than the clear, green depths of Rosemary’s, which, on further consideration, he decided really needed no cosmetic enhancement, so large and beautiful and expressive were they. In fact, he’d found himself drowning in those eyes a time or two during the course of their meal, when he hadn’t been spinning fantasies about her hair. And, truth be told, he hadn’t been all that eager to come up for air.

It was the cross around her neck, however, that captivated him the most. He’d never spent time with a woman who wore a cross. He couldn’t help thinking about all the things the icon represented—devotion to faith, purity of soul, conviction in morality. He held none of those things sacred himself. Hell, he could be the poster boy for the opposite lifestyle. He had faith in nothing save himself—but there were times when even that faith wavered. He was pure in absolutely no way. He held no moral convictions whatsoever. All of which qualities were evidenced by his willingness to go along with Justin’s reprehensible bet.

Nathaniel wondered briefly if Rosemary Shaugnessy was a virgin. He was vaguely troubled to discover that, deep down, he kind of hoped she was.

“Sure you don’t want any dessert?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Thank you, no. I’m much too full.”

He was, too. In spite of that, he wanted to stretch the meal out for as long as he could.

She glanced at her watch, and her eyes went wide. “Good heavens, it’s nearly ten o’clock. We’ve been sitting here for more than two hours. I’m surprised they haven’t booted us out.”

Nathaniel knew nobody was going to boot them out. He’d slipped the owner a small fortune to make a place for him on the reservation roster when he didn’t have a reservation, and to ensure he and Rosemary went unbothered for the rest of the night. He’d made sure of a lot of things this evening. He only had three weeks left to get her into bed. Though he was looking forward to that now a lot more than he’d been a few hours ago. And not just because there was four million dollars at stake, either.

“They’re very accommodating here at the Rose,” he said. “Besides, we’re both regulars.”

“You don’t know that about me,” she said.

“Oh, yes, I do.”

But only because Justin had told him so—just before also telling Nathaniel where he could find Rosemary this evening. That was how confident Justin was that he would win the bet. He thought it a great joke that he was helping Nathaniel conquer the nanny, so certain was he of Rosemary’s chastity. The big jerk.

“You’ve never seen me here before tonight,” she said as she lifted her cup to her lips. Her full, beautiful, luscious lips. The lips Nathaniel couldn’t wait to taste and feel brushing over parts of his body.

Then the gist of her remark struck him. How could she know he’d never seen her here before tonight?
Was
she a regular? Frankly, he’d never noticed her here. Maybe Justin lied to him. Maybe she wasn’t a regular. Maybe his friend only told him that in an effort to scuttle Nathaniel’s attempt to seduce her.

“How do you know I’ve never seen you here before tonight?” he asked, hoping his tone sounded teasing, and not wary.

Her gaze connected unflinchingly with his. “Because I’ve seen you here before tonight. And you never noticed me.”

A bubble of relief mushroomed inside him. “How do you know I never noticed you?”

“Oh, I know.”

Because she’d noticed him, Nathaniel realized. She’d watched him when they were both here, without his knowing it. How interesting. How revealing. How encouraging. How easy it was going to be to tumble Rosemary Shaugnessy into his bed. That four million bucks was as good as his.

“Maybe I just never let you catch me noticing you,” he said smoothly.

She said nothing in response to that, only sipped her tea and eyed him with uneasy curiosity. He wasn’t home yet. She still didn’t trust him. But that was okay. Few people did. It had never stopped him before.

Their server brought their—separate—checks, and after a halfhearted attempt to wrest Rosemary’s from her, Nathaniel surrendered. There. That would show her he was trustworthy. He’d done exactly as he promised and was letting her pay her own way. This time. Yeah, he was a real prince of a guy. After they both paid their bills, he extended his hand toward the exit, silently indicating she should precede him.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” he said.

He could tell she wanted to object, but she seemed to think better of it when she looked outside to see that darkness had fallen. She wasn’t stupid. It wasn’t a bad neighborhood, but one never really knew whom one could trust, did one?

“Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate it.”

Outside, the September night was damp and warm with lingering remnants of summer and absolutely no hint of fall. The Friday night traffic on Bardstown Road was slow and heavy, meaning Rosemary had been forced to park a few blocks away from the restaurant. Nathaniel already knew that, of course—he really had made sure of a lot of things tonight—so they had a long walk ahead of them.

“Nice night,” he said as they strode leisurely away from the restaurant. Surprisingly, he realized he was speaking the truth. It was a nice night. Though the weather had nothing to do with it.

“Mm,” Rosemary agreed. “I love this time of year. I love how summer hangs on for so long here.”

What Nathaniel loved was the soft, mellow lilt of Rosemary’s voice, and the way it sent a ripple of pleasure through his core. Odd, that. It had never been a woman’s voice that brought him pleasure before.

“Where in Ireland are you from?” he asked, suddenly curious to know more about her. They’d only made meaningless chitchat over dinner, about recently read books, or recently seen movies, or how Abby Cove was faring at school, as if they’d both been afraid of learning too much about each other. Somehow, though, Nathaniel was ready to learn more.

“I grew up in Derry,” she said. “In Northern Ireland.”

Not the best place to be from, Nathaniel thought. He wasn’t an expert on the troubles in Northern Ireland—his grandfather’s stories had been filled with the good times, great beauty and overriding joy he’d found in the south—but he knew enough to realize that Rosemary had come from an unhappy place. Derry had seen one of the most violent episodes of British oppression in recent history. But Bloody Sunday must have happened before Rosemary was born. Still, he supposed something like that cast a long shadow over a community.

“What brought you to the States?” he asked. He hoped he wasn’t opening the door on memories she’d rather not recall, then wondered why he cared. It had never bothered him before to bring up unwelcome subject matter. Not that he went out of his way to make people feel bad, but, normally, it wasn’t a concern if he did.

Rosemary smiled, and Nathaniel felt warmth stir inside himself. Warmth and something else, too, something he couldn’t quite identify—wasn’t sure he even wanted to identify—where he’d sworn there was nothing left to feel.

“Nanny school,” she said.

For a moment, he couldn’t remember what he’d asked to warrant the reply. Then he shook off the odd sensation that had descended over him and asked, “They actually have schools for nannies?”

“Oh, yes. When my aunt Brigid passed away, she left me a bit of money, enough to pay my way through a very good nanny school in Dublin. They placed me with the Coves when I was twenty-three.”

“And you’ve been with them how long?”

“Since just before Abby’s first birthday.”

Making her about thirty or thirty-one now, Nathaniel deduced. She was actually older than he’d thought. For some reason, that made him feel better.

“I’m sorry about your aunt,” he said in an uncharacteristic show of sympathy. What was even more uncharacteristic was that he was being honest when he said it. “Do you still have family in Northern Ireland?”

She sobered at that. “No.”

“Your parents? Brothers or sisters?”

“Both of my parents are gone. I never had brothers or sisters.”

“So you never go back for visits?”

She shook her head. “I’ll never go back.”

There was a finality in the statement that indicated she was finished talking about Ireland now, thankyouverymuch, and could they please move on to another topic. So Nathaniel made quiet conversation about nothing in particular—and found it strange that he actually enjoyed quiet conversation about nothing in particular—until they arrived alongside Rosemary’s aged VW Beetle.

She pulled her keys from her purse and jingled them meaningfully. “Thank you for the escort,” she said as she took a giant step backward. “And thank you for the dinner company, as well.”

She sounded a little reluctant when she uttered that last. Nathaniel smiled. “I should be the one thanking you. You saved me from a boring evening.”

“Well, I don’t know about that. But I had a fine time, myself.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Neither of them made a move after that, as if they were each waiting for the other to do something. Finally, Rosemary stepped off the curb and rounded the front of her car, unlocking the driver’s side. “Thanks again,” she said as she tugged the door open with a very obvious
creeeaaak
. She winced when she heard it, making Nathaniel chuckle. “I’ll have to ask Max if he can do something about that,” she said. “Good night, Mr. Finn.”

In other words, he translated,
Beat it
. “Good night, Rosemary.”

He lifted a hand in farewell, but didn’t turn around. Instead, he began to walk backward as he waited for her to start her car. Deliberately, he kept his steps slow, and, deliberately, he made sure he stayed within view. There was just enough light pouring from a nearby streetlight for him to watch her through the windshield as she inserted the key into the ignition and turned it...only to have nothing happen. His steps slowed even more, until he came to a halt. She turned the key again and was met by another silence. Another turn. Another silence.

Nathaniel schooled his features into a mask of concern as he made his way back to the little yellow car. He moved around the front, into the street, pausing by the driver’s side window, waiting for Rosemary to roll it down. For a moment, she sat staring straight ahead, as if she were hoping that by ignoring him, he would just go away. Fat chance. Finally, when he made no move to leave, she turned her head and gazed at him through the glass. She smiled halfheartedly, but still didn’t roll down the window.

“Problems?” he asked, raising his voice so she could hear him.

She closed her eyes, blew out an exasperated breath, then cranked down the window. “It would seem that my car doesn’t want to start.”

“I can take you home,” he offered magnanimously.

Not much to his surprise, she shook her head. “That’s all right. I’ll call a tow truck. There’s a gas station a block or two up the road—maybe someone there can help me.”

“I think they’re closed.” He hoped she wouldn’t think too much about that—after all, what gas station owner in his right mind would close on one of the busiest roads in town on a Friday night?

Luck was with him. All Rosemary said was, “Oh.” She quickly sabotaged his plans again, though. “Then I can just call Max.”

“What, and bring him all the way out here on a Friday night?” Nathaniel hoped he wasn’t pouring it on too thick too soon. “He probably won’t even be home.”

“Oh, he’ll be home. He never goes out.”

This Nathaniel found hard to believe. If there was ever a guy who screamed self-centered, no-good, womanizing hound dog, it was Justin’s car guy. Not that Nathaniel knew anything about Max beyond what Justin had said about him being a whiz with cars. But a man could always identify members of his own tribe. Always. And Max Hogan was, without question, their shaman.

“I don’t suppose you know anything about cars, do you?” she asked hopefully.

“Not a thing,” Nathaniel lied effortlessly. Except for, among other things, how to disconnect a battery wire to keep a car from starting. “Look, Rosemary, I have to drive practically right past your place on my way home. It’s no trouble to drop you off.”

“But I’ll still have to have my car towed.”

“It’s safe until tomorrow. You can bring Max back with you then. It’s late,” he added. “You don’t want to drag anybody out if you don’t have to.”

He could tell she wanted to decline again, and he wasn’t sure he could press her any more without seeming desperate—or suspicious. Still, it was late. She looked tired. He could tell she wanted to go home. And, hey. He was just the guy to take her there.