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“So eager to please.” Alex pushed him onto the bed and climbed on the duvet, unfastening his jeans. Scooting out of them completely, Mark yanked off his socks and grabbed Alex by the waist, flipping her onto her back.
She smirked. “I thought you needed direction.”
“Plot twist…” His tongue fiercely returned to her mouth, dominating, demanding, as his crotch pressed hard against her.
Alex gasped. “Hello stranger!” She cocked an eyebrow and hooked her fingers into his boxer briefs, pulling them down.
• • •
“Is it obvious?” Alex clasped Mark’s hand and blushed as she dodged between smokers cluttering the sidewalk.
“Obvious that we had mind-blowing sex or that you’re not wearing any knickers?”
“Both?”
“Yep, your cheeky smile gives it all away.” Mark chuckled as he held open the door to the Stag’s Head, a Victorian pub in the centre of Dublin.
She stopped in the doorway.
“I’m kidding. Only I know your secrets, and I’m not telling.” Mark waved her through the entrance. “Take off your parka, Lex. You look gorgeous.”
Alex unzipped her coat and tugged down the creeping hem of her short red dress, her other Christmas gift from Mark. The outfit was a showstopper and unlike anything she had ever worn. The sleeveless dress’s scooped neck, low back, and body-hugging seams guaranteed plenty of male attention, whether Alex wanted it or not. Her eyes flitted through the rowdy crowd of anonymous faces, taking in the pub’s picturesque stained glass windows, carved wood, and wrought-iron chandeliers. Rosy-cheeked males, toting pints and lecherous smirks, stared. She dipped her chin as she pulled the coat closed. “Mark?”
He held her hand through the dense forest of drinkers. “Don’t be nervous. You’ll be fine.”
A huge wall of a guy in a button-down shirt, his thick tree trunk neck straining to break free of the tie-less collar, shoved in front of the couple, halting their progress. “Mark, you eejit, you’re late—I had to start without you!” His loud bark of an American accent—California, possibly—grabbed the attention of nearby revellers. He punched the air with two large pint glasses, the creamy foam of Guinness breaching their rims.
“Christ, they let you in, then?!” Mark fiddled with the collar of his pink dress shirt. “Alex, meet my agent, Coen Winkler. Coen, meet Alex Sinclair, my girlfriend.”
“Take one of these, buddy.” He stuffed a sloppy pint into Mark’s palm. “Don’t listen to him. Please, call me Wink.” His gaze went to the Vespa charm hanging from Alex’s neck. A hand the size of an extra-large baseball glove then shot towards her to shake.
“Nice to meet you…Wink.”
His vice-like grip crushed her hand. She caught her breath, grimacing through the discomfort until his sticky paw released her from its bone-rattling shake. Her elbow actually ached. She glanced at Mark, but his attention jerked elsewhere, hijacked by a chatty young couple and their phone’s camera.
“I’ve been working with Mark since what…April? It’s about time we met, Sincy.”
Sincy?Alex hated abbreviating her surname.
A camera flash and a good-bye nod released Mark back to her side. “Sorry, babe.” He handed back the pint glass. “Wink, how many times have I told you, Guinness isn’t my thing.”
“Poor excuse for an Irishman, you are.”
A chuckle left Mark’s lips as he tugged Alex’s parka from her shoulders.
“Hey, did he tell you why he signed with me? What we have in common?” Wink didn’t wait for Alex to answer. “I’m Irish, too!”
“You and half of America, mate.” Mark rolled his eyes, folding Alex’s coat over his arm.
Alex fidgeted with one of the slim straps of her dress while giving Wink a double take. “Your name doesn’t sound Irish.”
“No, it’s German, but my great-great-great-grandmother on my mother’s side was from Dingle, so I’m part Irish…I’ll leave you to figure out which part!” His booming laugh assaulted Alex’s eardrums. Once he finished laughing at his own joke, he leapt into a jerky knee-raising stomp, slopping waves of murky Guinness onto the mosaic-tiled floor and his designer jeans. Was that supposed to be the Riverdance? Oh, God. It didn’t help that Mark encouraged him by laughing. Did he feel that he had to? Easily six foot four, Wink seemed like the kind of larger-than-life, type-A personality who could make people do whatever they wanted.
Wink’s Riverdance dried up quickly then Mark slid an arm around Alex’s waist and directed her towards the bar. “Come on, love. Let’s get a bevvy, stash your coat. Then you can meet everyone. I promise, they’re not all mad like this one!”
“Crazy like a fox, brother.” Wink pivoted to Alex. “Seriously, though, Sincy, I always have his best interests at heart.” He glugged half of the Guinness in his left hand and followed, swaying behind them. Alex wondered how many he’d had already.
“Vodka and orange, and a Pale Ale, please.” Mark nodded at the bartender and adjusted his black tie. He leaned on the wooden bar and smiled at Alex, but her attention drifted, settling on the majestic stag’s head overlooking the pub. Its glassy eyes gave her the creeps. Two guys on the other side of Mark recognized him and started up a conversation.
