On Dublin Street (On Dublin Street #1)(5)
Author: Samantha Young

“So, you’re Jocelyn Butler.”

“Joss,” I corrected automatically.

He nodded and relaxed into his seat, his arm sliding along the back of the chair. He had gorgeous hands. Elegant, but masculine. Large. Strong. An image of that hand sliding up my inner thigh crossed my mind before I could stop it.

Fuck.

I unglued my eyes from them to him. He appeared comfortable and yet totally authoritative. It suddenly occurred to me that this was the Braden with all the money and responsibilities, a vainglorious girlfriend, and a little sister he was undoubtedly overprotective of.

“Ellie likes you.”

Ellie doesn’t know me. “I like Ellie. I’m not so sure about her brother. He seems kind of rude.”

Braden flashed me those white, slightly crooked teeth. “He’s not sure of you either.”

That’s not what your eyes are saying. “Oh?”

“I’m not sure how I feel about my wee sister living with an exhibitionist.”

I made a face at him, only just resisting sticking my tongue out at him. He really brought out my mature side. “Exhibitionists get nak*d in public. As far as I was aware, there was no one else in the apartment and I’d forgotten a towel.”

“Thank God for small mercies.”

He was doing it again. Looking at me that way. Did he know he was so blatant about it?

“Seriously,” he continued, his eyes falling to my chest before snapping back up to my face. “You should walk around nak*d all the time.”

The compliment got to me. I couldn’t help it. The touch of a smile curled the corner of my lips and I shook my head at him like he was a naughty school boy.

Pleased, Braden laughed softly. A weird, unexpected fullness formed in my chest and I knew I had to break whatever weird instant attraction thing was going on between us. This had never happened to me before, so I was going to have to wing it.

I rolled my eyes. “You’re an ass.”

Braden sat up with a snort. “Usually a woman calls me that after I’ve f**ked her and called her a taxi.”

I blinked rapidly at his blunt language. Really? We were using that word already in our short acquaintance?

He noticed. “Don’t tell me you hate that word?”

No. I imagine that word can be a total turn on in the right moment. “No. I just don’t think we should be talking about f**king when we’ve just met.”

Okay. That came out all wrong.

Braden’s eyes brightened with silent laughter. “I didn’t know that’s what we were doing.”

Abruptly, I changed the subject. “If you’re here for Ellie, she’s tutoring.”

“I came to meet you, actually. Only, I didn’t know I was meeting you. Quite the coincidence. I’ve thought about you quite a bit since last week in the taxi.”

“Was that while you were out having dinner with your girlfriend?” I asked snidely, feeling like I was swimming against the tide with this guy. I wanted us out of this flirty, sexual place we’d landed in and into a normal, ‘he’s just my roommate’s brother’ kind of place.

“Holly is down south visiting her parents this week. She’s from Southampton.”

Like I give a crap. “I see. Well…” I stood up, hoping the gesture would usher him out. “I would say it was nice to meet you, but I was nak*d so… it wasn’t. I have a lot to do. I’ll tell Ellie you dropped by.”

Laughing, Braden shook his head and stood up to pull on his suit jacket. “You’re a hard nut to crack.”

Okay, clearly I had to lay it out clear and simple for this guy. “Hey, there will be no cracking of this nut. Now or ever.”

He was choking on laughter now as he stepped towards me, making me back into the couch. “Really, Jocelyn… Why do you have to make everything sound so dirty?”

My mouth fell open in outrage as he turned and left… with the last word.

I hated him.

I really did.

Pity my body did not.

~3~

Club 39 was less of a club and more of a bar with a small square dance floor beyond the alcove at the back. On the basement level on George street, the ceilings were low, the circular sofas and square cubes that acted as seats were low, and the bar area was actually built a few levels lower, meaning drunken people had to walk down three steps to get to us. Whoever added that little design to the architects draft had clearly been smoking something.

Thursday nights usually found the low-lit bar crowded with students but with the semester over and the Scottish summer upon us, the night was quiet and the music was turned down since there was no one on the ‘dance floor’.

I handed the guy standing across the bar his drinks and he gave me a ten pound note. “Keep the change.” He winked at me.

I ignored the wink but stuck the tip in the tips jar. We divided it at the end of the night even though Jo argued that she and I pulled the most tips in because of the low-cut white tank top we wore as a ‘uniform’ with black skinny jeans. The tank had Club 39 scrawled across the right breast in black French script. Simple, but effective. Especially when you were as blessed in the boob department as I was.

Craig was on break so Jo and I were dealing with the small crowd of customers at the bar, a crowd dwindling by the minute. Bored, I glanced down to the other end of the bar to see if Jo needed my help.

She did.

Just not in a bartending kind of way.

Reaching out to hand the customer she was serving his change, the guy grabbed Jo’s wrist and tugged her over the bar so she was inches from his face. Frowning, and biding my time to see how Jo would react, her pale skin grew flush and she wrenched on her arm to break his hold. His friends stood behind him laughing. Nice.

“Let me go, please,” Jo said between gritted teeth, pulling harder.

With no Craig around and Jo’s wrist so skinny it might break, it was left up to me. I headed down the bar towards them, pressing the button under the bar for the security guys at the door.

“Oh come on, sweetheart, it’s my birthday, just one kiss.”

My hand clamped down around the guy’s and I bit my nails into his skin. “Let go of her, a**hole, before I tear the flesh from your hand and nail it to your balls.”

He hissed in pain and jerked back from me, consequently letting go of Jo. “American bitch.” He groaned, cradling the hand that was now covered in deep crescent-shaped marks. “I’m complaining to management.”

Why did my nationality always come into play in a negative situation? And what? Were we in some 80’s brat pack movie? I snorted at him, unimpressed.

Brian, our huge security guy appeared behind him. He did not look amused. “Problem, Joss?”

“Yeah. Can you please remove this guy and his friends from the bar?”

He didn’t even ask why. There had only been a few occasions where we’d had people tossed out, so Brian trusted my assessment of the situation. “Come on fellas, move it,” he growled and like the cowards they were, pale-faced and drunk off their asses, the three of them lumbered out of the bar with Brian behind them.

Feeling Jo tremble beside me, I placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You okay?”

“Aye.” She gave me a weak smile. “Bad night all around. Steven dumped me earlier.”

I winced knowing how much that had to hurt Jo and her little brother. They lived together in a small apartment on Leith Walk where they took turns taking care of their mom who had ME– Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. To make the rent, Jo – who was gorgeous – used her looks to get herself ‘sugar daddies’ to help take care of them financially. No matter how much people told her she was smart enough to do something more with her life, she was just full of insecurities. The only confidence she did have was in her good looks and their ability to snag a guy to take care of her and her family. But looking after her mom always trumped them and sooner or later they all eventually dumped her. “I’m sorry, Jo. You know if you need help with rent or anything, all you’ve got to do is ask.”

I’d offered more times that I could count. She always said no.

“Nah.” She shook her head and pressed a soft kiss to my cheek. “I’ll find someone new. I always do.”

She wandered away with a slump to her shoulders and I found myself worrying about her when I really didn’t want to. Jo was one of the misunderstood. She could grate on your nerves with her materialism, but humble you with her loyalty to her family. She might love pretty shoes but they took a backburner when it came to making sure her kid brother and mom were okay. Unfortunately, that loyalty also meant she’d trample over anyone who got in her way, and be trampled over by anyone willing to use her situation against her. “I’m going on my break. I’ll send Craig out.”

I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me, wondering who her next victim would be. Or was that whose victim she would next become?

“It’s quiet tonight.” Craig ambled towards me two minutes later with a can of soda in hand. Tall, dark-haired and good-looking, Craig probably pulled in just as many tips as Jo and I did. He was a perennial flirt. And he was good at it.

“It’s summer,” I mused, casting an eye around the quiet club before turning my back to lean on the bar. “It’ll pick up weekdays again when August comes around.” I didn’t have to explain I meant it would pick up because of the Edinburgh Festival. In August, the entire city was taken over by the famous festival. Tourists descended on the city, stealing all the best tables in all the best restaurants and there was always so many of them they made walking five steps into a five minute journey.

Tips were great though.

Craig groaned and leaned closer to me. “I’m bored.” He flicked his eyes over my body with lazy perusal. “Want to shag me in the men’s toilets?”

He asked me this every shift.

I always said no, and then told him to ‘shag’ Jo instead. His reply: ‘Been there, done that’. I was a friendly challenge and I think he honestly had deluded himself into thinking he’d one day conquer me.

“Well? Do you?” A familiar soft voice asked from behind me.

I whirled around, blinking in surprise to find Ellie on the other side of the bar. Behind her was a guy I didn’t recognize and… Braden.

Blanching instantly, still mortified from yesterday, I barely noted the carefully blank expression in his eyes as he watched Craig.

Wrenching my own gaze from him, I smiled weakly at Ellie. “Um… what are you doing here?”

Ellie and I had, had dinner together the night before. I’d told her Braden had stopped by, but I hadn’t told her about the whole nak*d thing. She’d told me about her class, and I could understand why she’d make such a great tutor. Her passion for art history was infectious and I found myself listening to her with genuine interest.

All and all, it had been a pleasant first dinner. Ellie had asked me a couple of personal questions that I had managed to deflect back onto her. I now knew that she was a big sister to half-siblings, Hannah (fourteen) and Declan (ten). Her mom, Elodie Nichols, lived in the Stockbridge area of Edinburgh with her husband Clark. Elodie was a part-time manager at the Sheraton Grand Hotel, and Clark, a professor of classical history at the university. It was clear from the way she talked that Ellie adored them all and I got the impression that Braden spent more time with this family than his own mother.