Kelly Jamieson - Irish Sex Fairy

“Why not? Keara, if it’s bothering you, it’ll help.”

“You’ll hate me.”

“I won’t hate you. Look at me.” Her touched her chin. “Keara, look at me.”

Her eyes opened, luminous with tears.

“I hate myself,” she whispered.

He shook his head, but waited. Finally she spoke, her voice low and choked.

“Gary worked for the bank.”

“Yes.” He’d read that the perp had been a former employee of the bank.

“I fired him.”

“Oh.”

“A couple of months before that. I’d been working my tail off since I started managing that branch, trying to come up with ways to cut costs. They wanted me to turn things around at that branch. It was in trouble when I got there, but it’s an important branch to the bank and they wanted someone who could improve performance. I was so happy to have that challenge, and they said if I did well, I’d be moved into executive management.”

Shane’s body tensed.

“They wanted to cut a lot of positions. Twenty. Maybe more. I really didn’t want to let that many people go, so I worked hard to find other ways of saving money. But even so, at the end of the day I had to cut positions. There was no other way. I managed to get it down to eight. And Gary was one of them.”

“That must have been hard for you to do.”

“That’s the awful part,” she replied, a sob catching her voice. “It wasn’t that hard. I didn’t know Gary. He was the head of security and he made the most money, so he had to go. I barely talked to him other than good morning every day. Same with the others I fired. I made my decisions based on sound business rationale. I didn’t think about the people behind the positions.”

Shane was silent. He understood what she was saying. He empathized. Hell, he had to make tough business decisions, too. Resources were scarce in a small-town police force. He knew what it was like.

“What happened?” he asked. “With Gary. Why’d he do that? He was that pissed off about being fired?”

“No.” Anguish roughened her voice. “Well yeah, he was angry, for sure. Angry at me. Because his wife had Alzheimer’s.”

Jesus Christ.

“She was in a home. A very expensive home. He had no job, his severance was gone, and he couldn’t find another job. At his age, it’s not that easy, and the economy is crappy right now. He was desperate. He…” More tears pooled and dripped down her face and she could hardly talk. Now Shane was sorry he’d made her talk about this.

“It’s okay.” He stroked her hair back from her forehead. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me any more if you don’t want.”

“Oh sure, now you let me off the hook.” A glimmer of a smile touched her mouth. “I’m sorry, I’m getting all emotional.”

“It’s okay.”

“He loved his wife,” she choked out. “He talked to her on the phone. In front of me. I heard him talk to her and I thought I was going to die. He’d looked after her their whole life together and he loved her so much, and I was the one who had taken away his ability to look after her.” Tears poured now and her voice wavered. “You have no idea how I felt, hearing that, knowing it was all my fault. Whatever happened at that damn bank that day—even if he’d lived, he would’ve gone to jail—his life was ruined and it was all my fault.”

“Oh Jesus.” Shane groaned and scooped her up into his arms. He turned and settled back against the headboard of the bed, with Keara on his lap, sobbing and drenching his chest with tears.

“I will never forget that,” she cried. “And Gary told me how the others at the bank saw me. An axe-woman who didn’t care about her staff, only cared about making the numbers, climbing the corporate ladder.”

Shane rolled his lips in because in fact, that did sound like her description of herself. “Keara.”

“It’s true!” She lifted a tear-streaked face. “That is what I was like! One of the guys I fired had just had a baby. She was born premature and had lots of problems, expensive problems. I didn’t even know that. I mean, I knew he’d had a baby, but I didn’t think of that, I just canned him.”

“Business decisions don’t always have room for things like that,” Shane said carefully. “It’d be nice to not ever have to fire anyone or cut staff, but that’s the way the world is. I’m sure you made the best decisions you could.”

“I did. But I hate myself for it. And…” She swallowed convulsively. “I don’t know if I can ever do that again.”

“Do…what?” He was almost afraid to ask.

“Make tough decisions like that. I’m afraid I’ll always be second-guessing myself, taking things into consideration that I shouldn’t be. How can I be an effective manager if I’m too wishy-washy to make decisions? I was almost ready to go back to work, and when I went to visit the bank I had a meltdown.”

He watched her, unsure of what to say.

“They told me I had a panic attack. First time in my life. I didn’t believe them, but every time I think about going back to work, I get this funny, tight feeling in my stomach. It’s fear, Shane. I’m terrified. And it’s not just because of being held at gunpoint and thinking I was going to die. It’s the guilt.”

God. His chest ached for her and he wished he could do something—anything—to make things better for her. Tenderness and warmth filled him and he drew her back down to his chest and wrapped his arms around her. “Go ahead, cry,” he murmured against her hair. “Get it all out.”

And she did. She sobbed and choked and sniffled until she seemed exhausted. His chest was wet and he reached for a box of tissues beside the bed and handed her some. She quivered against him. “God, I am so sorry,” she said, voice thick. “I do not know where that all came from.”

“I think I kinda pushed you to tell me that stuff,” he said. “I guess I should apologize. Except I think it might’ve been good for you.”

“Oh sure, embarrassing myself is good for me.”

He chuckled. “Don’t be embarrassed. I told you, I get it. I know what it’s like to have all those powerful emotions inside you that you don’t understand and don’t know what to do with.”

“Yeah,” she said slowly. “That’s it.”

He tipped her chin up and kissed her mouth. Her lips tasted of salt. Words rose up inside him, words of…Christ. He wasn’t in love with her. He was just having sex with her to help her get over this depression. But her sadness tugged at something inside him, opened up a hole in his heart, made him want to save her, protect her from everything.

He deepened the kiss, expressing his feelings with actions instead of words, sliding his hand into her hair to hold her head, the other on her bare hip. She was tiny on his lap, silky-soft and delicious-smelling. He wanted to inhale her, eat her up, claim her.

The intensity of his feelings threatened his self-control and he had to fight to restrain himself, to remind himself what this was.

She kissed him back, soft mouth opening against his, silky tongue stroking, sweet and warm. She was naked in his arms, delicate breasts pressed to his chest, her butt cheeks on his thigh and he knew he was hardening against her.

They sat there snuggled together on the bed for a long time, just kissing in long, sweet, slow kisses, hands petting and caressing in gentle touches, tongues sliding, bodies pressing. Tenderness expanded inside him, filling his chest, his desire for her more than just lust for her body but an intense need to look after her, to make things better for her. He knew he couldn’t, really, but he could do this to make her feel better. And he made love to her with his hands and his mouth and his body, slow and gentle and worshipful.

When his cock hardened to the point of excruciating need, he slid down the bed, Keara still on top of him and helped her part her thighs around his hips. She lifted herself over him and lowered on to him, impaling herself, and the hot velvet clasp of her body around him seared his senses, sent sensation pouring through him in ecstatic waves. He arched and lifted into her, reached for her hands, and held them beside his shoulders as she rode him, her pretty breasts with tight little nipples in front of his face.

He lifted his gaze to her face, and though her mouth was swollen and eyes still glossy, the pleasure he saw there made him swell even more inside her. She gasped, eyes wide, quickened the pace and he matched her, hips thrusting, fingers tight on hers. He was so close already, but he wanted her to come too, so he released her hand and slid his down between them to where their bodies joined, probed for the bud of her clit and stroked over it. She cried out, rode him harder, and then he let himself go just as she sat up and arched her back, hair hanging down her back, eyes closed. He held her hips as he fucked up into her, balls tightening and jerking as he poured himself into her. Ah, Christ. Christ. She was incredible. So good. So damn good.

“Maeve.”

“Hmm?” Maeve was in her office, head bent over some papers.

“We need to talk.”

“What is it, muirnín?” She lifted her head, concern shadowing her eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I wanted to talk to you about you forgetting it was Tuesday. Forgetting your bridge game.”

Maeve’s lips thinned. “It’s no big shillelagh. Everyone forgets things sometimes.”

“Yes. But you’ve been forgetting lots of things.” Keara sat down on a chair beside the desk. “You forgot I was coming. You forgot you’d received that shipment.”

Maeve waved a hand, but her lips trembled. “It’s nothing, Keara.”

Keara leaned forward. “I’m worried about you.”