Redeem Me (Beckett Brothers #2)

3. Caelon

Chapter Three

CAELON

Fuck. My. Life. This cannot be happening. I just finger-fucked my best friend’s little sister in a fucking bar. Worse still, I still have the proof of her pleasure on my hand and in my mouth. I swallow hard. If I wasn’t already going to hell, I just bought myself a one-way ticket, first class.

‘Your sister?’ I repeat, running my fingers over my jaw. ‘She didn’t mention that part.’ I turn to Ivy and shoot her a glare.

I’ve never met Dermot’s kid sister. She’d just moved to the States when I met him. He talks about her all the fucking time, though. If he had his way, she’d be wrapped up in cotton wool at home with their parents.

‘You didn’t exactly give me much of an opportunity,’ Ivy snaps. Her cheeks are flushed, her chest rises and falls in rapid waves as she fights to get her breath.

‘You should have told me.’ It’s a battle to keep the anger from my voice. Everyone knows the bro code – never touch your best friend’s sister. It’s an unwritten rule of every friendship. If Dermot had any idea what I did, what just happened between us, he’d skin me alive. Hell, I’d do the same if the roles were reversed. My sister Zara is only twenty. The thought of her and Dermot… it doesn’t even bear thinking about.

‘Like I said, it wasn’t the first thing that came up.’ Ivy’s eyes dart to my crotch.

Thankfully, realising you’ve made a major fuck-up is a fast fucking way to kill a boner.

‘It should have been.’ I grab my glass from the counter.

‘You seriously expect me to walk into a bar and tell every man I meet I’m Dermot Winter’s little sister?’ she scoffs.

‘I’m not every man.’ I grimace.

‘We’ve already established what type of man you are, remember?’ She juts her chin defiantly. Her glare could level a skyscraper. I don’t know why; it should be me who’s pissed. It’ll be me Dermot murders if he so much as gets a hint of what happened.

Thankfully, he’s too busy calling the waitress over to notice our exchange.

‘I thought you were in the States.’ I remember Dermot going over to visit a couple of times.

‘Well, I didn’t think about you at all.’ She shrugs, snatching up her whiskey.

‘You will now, though,’ I mutter. The image of Ivy’s face lanced with animalistic pleasure will be forever etched into my brain. It took me eighteen months to work up to having sex with a woman that wasn’t Isabella, but since then, there have been many.

But none of them memorable.

None of them as sassy, or as sexy as Ivy.

Fuck.

Dermot turns to us. ‘Ivy got back from San Francisco three weeks ago. Her last boss turned out to be a total creep. Kept trying to put his filthy fingers all over her. I’ve a good mind to fly over there and snap them from his hand. ’

I flinch as my eyelids squeeze shut. ‘I have to go.’

Dermot’s mouth pops open. ‘What do you mean, you have to go? I only just got here.’

‘I need to get back. Orla’s not feeling great.’ It’s not entirely a lie. Orla hasn’t been feeling great since Isabella died. Then again, none of us have.

‘Who’s Orla?’ Ivy asks, her voice thick with suspicion.

‘My daughter.’ I slap Dermot’s back. ‘Sorry, man. I’ll call you next week.’

‘Make sure you do. We’re long overdue a catch-up.’ He rakes his fingers through his hair. It’s the same shade of sunshine yellow as Ivy’s. Now they’re side by side, I can see the similarities, well except Dermot looks like a younger, sterner Jean-Claude Van Damme, where Ivy looks like Blake Lively, but even sexier.

‘It was, er… nice to meet you.’ I chance a glance at Ivy, who seems to have recovered from almost being caught with her panties down, or to the side, I should say.

‘The pleasure was entirely mine.’ She shrugs as her big blue eyes glare at my hand once again. I follow her gaze, trying to work out where her animosity has come from.

Ah. My wedding ring.

I haven’t been able to take it off. It seemed too final. Too real.

Ivy flashes me another killer smile, turns her back and studies the cocktail menu like it's Dan Brown’s latest thriller and she’s just got to the twist.

What a brazen little madam! I’ve a good mind to bend her over the bar and slap her perfect peachy ass.

But she was wrong when she said the pleasure was entirely hers. She might have been the one to have come harder than a freight train, but watching her do exactly that was entirely my pleasure.

‘See you.’ Though truthfully, I won’t see her. Next time Dermot suggests a drink, I’ll make certain it’s just the two of us. No way am I putting myself within five miles of Ivy Winters ever again.

She’s trouble.

And not because she’s Dermot’s little sister, but because she’s the most interesting and attractive woman I’ve met since Isabella. A sliver of guilt snakes into my stomach even thinking that way.

Isabella.

What would she make of tonight’s events?

You’ll never find out , that inner voice reminds me. Isabella is gone. And so is the man she married.

All that’s left is this hateful beast.

I stride across the bar, searching for my driver, Damon, as I weave through a throng of bodies. My head twists, something in my chest compelling me to glance over my shoulder as I reach the exit.

Blue eyes blaze back at me from across the room. Something sharp stokes my sternum.

I tear my eyes away and march out into the night.