The Pleasures of Autumn (4 page)

‘So why do you think they’ve arrested you?’ Niall asked.

‘They said they found my fingerprints in the jewel room.’

She snorted. ‘Of course they did. I work there.’

‘There has to be more evidence than that.’

‘Do we have to have the interrogation with dinner? I’d rather eat on my own.’ Sinead put her glass down and slid from the booth.

‘Oh, come back. You have to eat. I promise not to ask you any more questions.’

Sinead settled back into her seat. ‘Sorry, it’s been a horrible day and I’m stressed.’

Niall changed the subject. ‘You’re not much like Summer.’

Funny how much it still hurt to be constantly compared to her famous cousin. ‘We can’t all be socialites,’ she snapped.

‘I just meant that you’re quieter than she is.’

Despite herself, Sinead smiled. ‘Did no one ever tell you that it’s the quiet ones that you have to watch out for?’ Quiet wasn’t a word she would use to describe her cousin. ‘Summer was a handful. Uncle Tim relied on me to get her through school without being expelled.’

‘Was that a tough job?’

Sinead took another sip of wine. ‘You have no idea. She was a magnet for trouble.’

‘You were probably as bad.’ He popped an olive into his mouth.

She laughed at the idea of that. She had always been the good girl, the one who didn’t break the rules. ‘Yeah, right.’

‘That hair doesn’t lie.’

Offended, she straightened her spine. ‘What’s wrong with my hair?’

He grinned, pleased with her reaction. ‘Nothing. I love it, but it’s not the hair of a demure girl who never gets into trouble.’ He munched another olive. ‘There’s something about redheads that does it for me, all that fiery passion waiting to be unleashed.’

‘My passions are not for unleashing, thank you,’ she said primly. ‘They’re fine just where they are.’

Now he looked interested and leaned forwards. ‘Come
on, tell me, what does it take for you to let go? What arouses you?’ He had stopped eating while he waited for her answer.

She was flabbergasted. ‘What? Do you always talk to complete strangers like this?’

‘We’re not strangers.’

‘Yes, we are.’

The waiter arrived with their food before he could reply. She was grateful for the chance to change the direction of the conversation. Niall Moore was an investigator, but she didn’t want him digging too deeply into her life.

Her chicken was as she had specified, grilled and skinless, with no sauce. Her salad was fresh and crisp. The waiter set bottles of olive oil, vinegar and lemon juice on the table, so that she could mix her own dressing.

Niall sliced into his fish. ‘So, what did you study at college?’

‘History of art and after college I went straight into Sotheby’s.’

He leaned forwards. ‘Really? That seems like a fast move.’

‘I have a talent for spotting fakes, Mr Moore.’

Niall laughed. He had a nice smile and she began to feel more cheerful; at least he had stopped asking questions about the theft. ‘Is that a jibe? I’m solid all the way through.’

‘Merely an observation. Just what did my uncle tell you?’

‘Not a lot. Only that you were on bail and that he wanted someone to take care of you.’

She let that one pass. She doubted if Niall was lying, but he wasn’t being entirely truthful either. ‘I see. Well, I’m used to taking care of myself.’

Niall frowned. ‘You didn’t do such a good job this time. You’re under arrest and charged with a serious crime.’

‘And do you usually move in with your clients?’

‘No, only the pretty ones.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Save it for someone who believes you.’

Niall laughed. ‘Worth a try. Besides, you really are pretty, in a buttoned-down sort of way.’

She did feel that she had lost something of herself since she moved to Geneva. She had lost the Lottie sparkle.

‘Really? It’s amazing how many times a day I hear that.’

Niall ignored her sarky tone. ‘But you don’t make the most of yourself. That sweater swamps you.’

She knew that she shouldn’t have worn it but she wasn’t prepared to listen to him telling her that. ‘You wouldn’t say that to me if I was a man. I may have to put up with you staying at my place, but don’t push it.’

He raised his glass to her. ‘Prickly, aren’t you? You’re probably hungry. Here, have some fries.’

‘Fries? No thanks.’ She pushed the basket of fries away, and watched him dig in. She shuddered when he dipped them in mayonnaise. How could he do that?

They ate in silence for a few minutes, until Sinead had eaten as much as she would allow herself. She put down her knife and fork and waited for Niall to finish.

She saw him glance at the food remaining on her plate. He stretched his arm across the table and put his hand over hers. ‘Stop worrying. Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on. I can help.’

Sinead stared down at their hands. His was warm and
broad; hers was pale and small in comparison. ‘I swear to you that I didn’t steal the jewel. I love my job, I would never do anything to jeopardize it.’

‘Then who did?’

She only wished she knew. ‘I have no idea.’

Niall paid the bill and they strolled to the car park. There was a chill in the air that even a Granny O’Sullivan sweater couldn’t keep out. She shivered and Niall was immediately all concern. He shrugged out of his coat and wrapped it around her. The woollen coat almost reached her ankles and she caught the faint scent of his aftershave as he pulled the collar up around her, a heady blend of citrus, leather and sandalwood – sexy and intensely masculine. She resisted the urge to bury her face in the collar and sniff.

Something flickered behind his brooding gaze. The events of the day had definitely addled her brain. She was tempted to stand on tiptoe and kiss him. As if he had plucked the thought from her head, Niall brushed his lips against hers in a barely-there kiss.

Her pulse hammered at the touch of his lips and she pulled away. Had he just done that? Kissed her? She had been right about that mouth and the encounter left her wanting more.

‘Sinead, I can help, but only if you trust me.’

She hesitated. It would be nice to trust someone, to be able to lean on him and share everything. She could never seem to break through the barriers she had built around herself. Something always held her back.

All of her friends were still in London. Her cousin Summer was in South America. She barely knew a soul
here in Geneva and it was months since she had really talked to anyone. What would happen if the police started snooping around and found her connection with Lottie? She dreaded to think what the museum would do if they found out that their curator was a former burlesque dancer. They would believe that she was lying about stealing the Fire of Autumn. She needed to talk to someone.

‘Niall, I –’

The sound of a car alarm shattered the moment and they broke apart.

On the drive back to her apartment, Sinead watched the city shut down for the night. It was barely 10 p.m. She had never known a city that went to bed so early. She tapped her fingers against her thigh. There was no way that she could sleep yet.

Up ahead she spotted an off-licence. The lights were still on. There was a nice bottle of Bushmills whiskey back at the apartment. ‘Pull over here. I need to get some ice.’

Niall watched her as she hefted a bag of ice into the back of the Jeep.

‘What’s that for?’ he asked. ‘Because if you are thinking of getting kinky, I should warn you I don’t put out on the first date.’

She glared at him, her eyes dark under the streetlights. ‘Idiot. I don’t do kinky. I don’t do anything.’ She sounded almost triumphant.

Niall’s finely honed instincts, which had saved his life on too many occasions to count, went on the alert. There
was something off about Sinead O’Sullivan. He had the feeling that she was hiding something. There was definitely something going on beneath her placid surface.

Had she stolen the Fire of Autumn? She was lying about something.

What had she said? ‘I don’t do kinky, I don’t do anything.’ Somewhere in that statement was a lie, and a lie she was proud of. So Ms O’Sullivan had hidden depths? This assignment was starting to look a whole lot more interesting.

‘So what’s with the ice?’ he asked, forcing his attention back to the road.

She shrugged, the movement almost lost in her big sweater. ‘I fancy a nightcap, that’s all.’

He drove on, the ice rattling every time they passed over a speed bump.

Her apartment was warm and quiet, and very small. It was going to be interesting spending so much time at close quarters with her. As she fiddled with the door key, he caught her distinctive scent. The smell of the shampoo had faded, leaving pure woman. He filled his lungs with it. He had no idea why women insisted on paying a fortune for all sorts of fake perfumes, when they already possessed the most enticing smell in the world.

He grinned. Well, second most enticing smell.

She turned and caught his expression. ‘What are you laughing at?’

‘Just thinking about smells I love.’

He held the door open for her. She headed straight for the kitchen and rooted in one of the cupboards. With a shrug, she took out two water tumblers and the bottle of
Bushmills. ‘Hmmm, I love the smell of the sea. And cut grass.’

‘Everyone loves those. What about ones that are personal to you?’ He sprawled out on the sofa and watched her splash whiskey over ice-cubes before she handed him a glass.

Sinead took a sip of her drink and considered. ‘The smell of boxty cooking. Granny O’Sullivan used to make it.’

‘What about bread baking? Did your mother bake?’

Her expression clouded and she shook her head. ‘I don’t remember.’

Interesting. Reference to her mother closed her down. ‘Let’s see. I love steak of course. And the smell of onions frying. And bacon!’ He smacked his lips.

‘Saturated fat!’ But she was interested again. ‘Have you any idea of the dangers of processed meat?’

Niall patted his stomach, still flat, thanks to a punishing workout routine. One thing about the Rangers, they didn’t take on weaklings or let them get lazy. He had been at 5 per cent body fat when he left the wing. Even now, he was around 7 per cent and planning to stay there. ‘I think I can handle the odd slice. So what smells do you love?’

‘Eyelash glue.’

Niall sat up straight. She couldn’t possibly need eyelash glue with those lashes. They were already longer than most fakes. But she went on before he could demand details.

‘Saddle soap. And newborn babies.’

He wasn’t going to touch that one. He had a fleeting vision of Sinead holding a red-haired baby and found
himself becoming strangely intrigued. Not somewhere he wanted to go. She’d probably put the baby on a timetable. ‘You have a thing for horses?’ he asked instead.

‘There was a really cute stable boy who used to clean the tack for the O’Sullivans,’ she said with a sly, unexpected grin. Then she sobered. ‘Not that he had eyes for anyone except Summer.’ She was matter-of-fact about it, as if being ignored in favour of her cousin was something that happened a lot.

She topped up their drinks. Funny, he had no memory of emptying his glass. ‘So what is your favourite smell?’

He leaned back on the sofa, stretching out so that his foot touched hers. ‘Fresh pussy juice, of course.’

She choked on the sip of Bush and coughed so hard Niall got up to thump her on the back. Eventually she caught her breath and pulled away, glaring at him.

‘And this is why I’m still single,’ she told him.

She clambered to her feet, slightly unsteady after the whiskey and headed for the bathroom. ‘I’m going to bed. You can stay up if you like but this apartment building has a late noise rule, so don’t put on loud music or make a racket. In fact, it would be better if you didn’t shower until morning.’

She closed the door in his face, and, a few minutes later, he heard her brushing her teeth.

With a sigh, he went into the tiny spare room. The bed was going to be grossly uncomfortable for a man of his height.

He’d had a couple of hours’ sleep when he was woken by noises from Sinead’s room. Not bothering to put anything on over his boxer shorts, he hurried into her room,
but came to an abrupt halt when he saw that she was still asleep.

She twisted in the bed, her limbs caught up in rumpled bedclothes. She slept in panties and a short camisole that looked damp. ‘No,’ she murmured. ‘Please, don’t go.’ Her eyes remained closed.

Niall put his hand on her shoulder to wake her. ‘Sinead, it’s okay.’

She flinched. ‘No, no, no, no. I won’t.’ Her voice had gone up an octave, more like a child than the assured woman she seemed to be.

He shook her again and she batted his hand away. She was deep in the grip of whatever nightmare she was enduring. ‘RoRo!’ Tears leaked from under the closed eyelids.

Ah, damn it. Niall could never bear to see a woman crying. Not like this. He climbed into her bed and pulled her firmly against him. ‘Shush, shush, it’s all right now,’ he said, much the way he had to his sister Alison when she was a kid.

Sinead struggled feebly against him for a few minutes, then settled with a sigh, and relaxed into deep sleep.