Defensive Heart: The Donnolleys, Book 2 (2 page)

He set the empty shot glass upside down on the bar. “I’m thirty.”

Holy shit.

Chapter Two

Jimmy watched her expression change when he told her his age. She’d asked how old he was and guessed wrong, yet hadn’t told him hers. The look on her face was proof enough she had to be older. “Problem, Sonja?”

“You’re older than I thought, but still young.” She brushed some invisible lint off the sleeve of her jacket.

He leaned forward. “Is this where you tell me you’re too old for me?”

She laughed. “I
am
too old for you.”

“Let’s do another shot and discuss it.” He took a swig of his Guinness.

“No. Oh God, no.” She placed the palm of her left hand on his chest.

He glanced at it. Smooth alabaster skin, long French-manicured nails, and like he noticed already, no wedding ring. No mark from one either. He placed his hand over hers and met her gaze. “Okay, no shot. Let’s discuss it anyway.”

“How many tattoos do you have?”

He smirked and traced her fingers. “One.”

Sonja pulled her hand away and let out a nervous laugh as she turned and stared toward the dance floor.

“You don’t have any, huh?”

“You have more than one.” She looked back at him and traced the dragon’s tail swooping up the side of his neck.

Her cool fingers on his skin lit his blood on fire. He stood stock still, but his pulse pounded like a drum in time with the music and he tightened his grip on his beer glass. “I’ll let you count them if you want.”

She licked her lips. “No, I don’t have any.”

The shots of liquor had worked their magic and loosened her right up. He wasn’t trying to get her naked—not that he’d turn her down if she offered—he just wanted to help her relax. Honestly, she intrigued him. She was such an anomaly in this club, with her white dressy business suit, her perfect blonde hair and her bottomless blue eyes. He wanted to know more about her. “Do you live here?”

“No. I live in Manhattan.” She ran her fingertips down the buttons of his shirt. “I’m here partly for business, partly for a visit with a friend.” She pulled her hand away. “Do you?”

“That explains the suit.” He moved his hand to her hip. Point for him on the Manhattan info. “I don’t live here either.”

She glanced at his hand but didn’t pull it away. Yup, bless the Jäger gods.
Sweet.
They were doing their job nicely.

She scraped her teeth over her bottom lip. “I should go find my friends.”

“If you insist.” He tilted his head to the side. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Sonja Martin.” Taking her hand in his, he kissed her palm.

Sonja blinked her big blue eyes and swallowed—her throat bounced with the action, then she licked her lips. He was getting to her. And as blood flow found its way south, to his less logical head, she was getting to him too.

“Thanks for the drink—drinks.” She giggled, then abruptly pulled her hand away and covered her mouth with it, eyes wide with a full blush coloring her cheeks—as if shocked the sound came from her.

“I like the giggle. Not something you do often, is it?”

She shook her head. “I better go.”

“Yeah, you said that.” He leaned on the bar, enjoying her flustered reactions.

She picked up her drink. “Okay, I’m going. Really, it was nice meeting you too.”

He nodded and she stepped away, making her way through the crowd in the direction of the tables. He wanted to follow her, but didn’t.

Turning, he glanced up at the balcony. Jimmy scanned the mahogany railing bordering the circular area, searching for his brother Ryan. With no sign of him, he let his gaze wander around the surrounding walls there and then downstairs. Jimmy smiled. He loved this club. The place looked like the love child of a gothic-style building and an old Victorian house. Complete with a full head of industrial-style art decorating the walls. His art, to be specific. And Jimmy never got tired of seeing his art decorating walls.
Starving artist, my ass.
The display was a sweet reminder of how far he’d come.

Pulling his cell from his back pocket, Jimmy texted his brother.

Sonja’s head buzzed from the two shots of Jägermeister in addition to the drinks she’d had before she met James. She found her friends and took a seat at the table they’d all been congregating around.

“Where’d you disappear to?” her friend Ginny asked.

Sonja ran her hand up the back of her hair, smoothing it. “Nowhere. Just up at the bar.”

“All this time? Someone try and pick you up?” Ginny sipped her beer.

“Someone tried to pick you up?” Sandra butted in. “Was he hot?”

Ginny elbowed Sandra. “I just asked her that. She hasn’t answered yet.”

“Well?” they both asked in unison.

Sonja shrugged. “I…I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Woo hoo! What’d he look like?” Ginny sat next to her.

Sandra looked around. “Where is he?”

“My goodness, you two sound like a couple of cackling hens.” She laughed and took a gulp of her drink. Maybe he
was
trying to pick her up. She thought back to his smile, those damn dimples, and the hot brand of his hand on her lower back, and later, on her hip. He’d touched her more than a few times.

When he kissed her palm, heat pooled low in her belly, and she’d clenched her thighs together. God, she was
never
attracted to men who looked like him. She knew plenty who acted like him, but piercings and tattoos were always a turn-off for her—and yet, all she wanted to do was trace the lines of the ink on his neck leading to his chest. How far down did it go? What was it? Could she lick it? Sonja fanned her face and shook her head. A few drinks and she was acting like she was in heat.

Ginny’s hand waved in front of her face, interrupting her tattooed James fantasy. “Earth to Sonja.”

She cleared her throat. “I guess some might find him attractive, but he wasn’t my type.” She took another swallow of her drink. “He had tattoos.” She sneered. “And piercings.”

Both her friends laughed. Ginny tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Definitely not your type, Sonja.”

Sonja shrugged and downed the rest of her vodka tonic. How many places on his body were pierced? She hadn’t thought to ask him. Now she wished she had. Sonja looked across the crowd and caught sight of him climbing the staircase. She zeroed in on his long, lean body and her breath seized in her throat. His white dress shirt fell just below his hips, blocking the view of his denim-clad butt.
Damn.
She watched as his nice, long legs carried him up the stairs and out of her range of sight.

The guy had to be over six feet tall. She was far from short, and her spike-heeled pumps brought her almost eye-to-eye with him. Yes, a generous amount over six feet tall for sure. Sonja stared up at the balcony. He’d probably gone on to his next victim she supposed—if she considered herself a victim. Maybe the next lucky contestant?

“Ohh!” Sandra squealed and clapped her hands. “I loooove this song! Let’s go dance.” She grabbed Sonja by the arm and pulled her from her seat.

“Oy vey.” Sonja trailed after her. Some modern dance song she didn’t know blasted through the dance club’s speakers. Ginny came up behind her and Sandra, spinning and bopping her hips from side to side.

Odd how easy she’d forgotten what fun they’d all had in college dancing on the weekends. Had it really been twenty years since she was in law school? Where had the time gone? Sonja tamped down the wave of nostalgia and spun around her friends. She shimmied her hips, letting the music and the crowds take her away.

“Shake it, Sonja,” Sandra shouted, a huge grin adorning her lips.

Ginny giggled and came up behind Sonja, pinning Sonja between herself and their other friend. Laughing, Sonja rocked her hips with her hands swaying above her head. She needed to get out and do this more often.

Regardless of the fun, her mind wandered back to James. He was thirty. Eleven years her junior, which would make her one of those cougars she heard people talk about. Sonja cringed and embarrassment pulsed through her at her foolishness. What the hell would a thirty-year-old playboy want with her old flat butt? Not much, she was willing to bet. She looked young for her age, but not
that
young.

When the song changed, Ginny grabbed Sonja and led her toward the bar, hollering over her shoulder about another birthday shot. Why not, right? They were in Vegas. She’d finished her business today and this
was
a birthday party after all. Another shot of Jäger went down smooth—Ginny and Sandra scoffed when she’d requested it instead of their normal lemon drops, but they drank them anyway and migrated back to their table.

Then…he was there. Appearing out of nowhere.
Damn, he’s pretty.

James clasped her hand, tugged her close and bent his head to her ear. “I need to leave now.”

She pulled back to focus on his face and then his lips. “Is your tongue pierced?”

He smiled, chuckling. “You thinking about taking a walk on the wild side?”

Yes.
“I’m a little drunk.” A walk sounded like an amazing idea.

He wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her flush against his body. “So, is that a yes or a no?”

Sonja’s stomach tightened when her pelvis met his. My God, he felt good and smelled like heaven on a stick. It was almost enough to sober her right up. Almost. “I don’t take walks on the wild side.” It wasn’t a lie. Sonja didn’t do the wild side. Ever. She ran her hands up his arms, feeling the muscles beneath his shirtsleeves, resisting the urge to squeeze them.

James opened his mouth and revealed the piercing, rolling the barbell in his tongue around for her to see. She hadn’t noticed it earlier, but she sure as hell noticed it now. What would it feel like against her nipples? Her clit? A gasp escaped, and said body parts throbbed in time with her pulse. Her physical reactions to him shocked her, but she dismissed them. The alcohol was the cause. At least that’s what she told herself.

“Maybe you should think about it. Might be worth your while.”

She smiled, a witty retort poised on the end of her tongue, but took a step back when she noticed Ginny approaching.

“Who’s your friend?” Ginny asked, and then whispered in Sonja’s ear, “Thought you might need a rescue.”

Sonja cleared her throat. “Ginny Freeman, this is James Donnelly.”

Ginny grabbed his hand and shook it. “No shit?
The
James Donnelly?”

His lips spread into a genuine smile and he laughed. “Depends on which James Donnelly you mean. I’m betting there’s more than one. Pleasure to meet you.”

Sonja looked back and forth between the two of them. What the hell was Ginny talking about?

“The artist, of course. Your art’s all over this bar, am I right?” Ginny beamed.

“That’d be me. Live and in person.” His smiled widened and his eyes crinkled at the corners.

Sonja touched his arm. “You’re an artist?”

“How do you
not
know who he is, Sonja? He lives in the Village, for fuck’s sake.” Ginny laughed. “I swear you reside in that courtroom.”

Sonja didn’t know what to say. Heat swamped her face and embarrassment flooded her chest. She’d never heard of him. He lived in Greenwich Village?
Holy hell.
She’d mentioned she was from Manhattan, but he hadn’t said anything about being from there too. Finding her voice, she narrowed her gaze on Ginny. “Thanks for pointing that out. You may be excused from class now.” She smiled and nodded in the direction of their table.

“Well, all right then. It’s awesome to meet you, Mr. Donnelly. I
looove
your work.” Ginny shook James’s hand again before finally walking off.

Sonja motioned around them. “This is really your art on the walls here?”

“Yeah. No big deal.” He put his hands in his front pockets and looked around. “It’s what I do.”

Someone tapped his shoulder and James turned around and spoke with him. For God’s sake, was everyone in the bar on a mission to interrupt them? She caught sight of the man. Definitely handsome with sandy-brown hair and light eyes. He and James appeared to be about the same age, but the man was more in line with her preferred style of dress and clean-cut looks.

He said something to James about paying the bill, then glanced over at her. James cleared his throat and stepped aside. “Ryan, this is Sonja Martin. She’s in town for business.”

“Nice to meet you.” She smiled and shook his hand.

Ryan paused, still holding her hand, before finally speaking. “Nice to meet you too.” He excused himself and walked away.

“Where were we?” James circled her upper arm in his hand.

A zing of arousal bounced through her at the contact and she tamped it down. “Your friend seems nice.”

“He’s my brother.”

“Really? You don’t look anything alike.”

“Yeah, we get that a lot. So, where are you in the City?”

“Upper East Side.”

“Ah, the high-rent district. Nice.”

She waved her hand at him. “Whatever.”

“About that walk we talked about.” The corner of his lips quirked in a devilish smile. “Give me your card.”

She paused and bit her bottom lip.

“Come on, Sonja.” He slid his palm down to her forearm to her hand and laced his fingers with hers. “I want to be able to talk again, have coffee or something.”

A shiver ran through her. At a loss for how to respond, she untangled her fingers from his and took a seat at the table. Jimmy folded his long body into the seat beside hers. Sonja picked up her drink and swirled the small straw in it. “Why don’t you stay and hang out longer?”

“Wish I could.” He leaned forward and ran a finger along the back of her hand. “My brother is ready to go, and I guess he ran into someone he knows from work here.”

Her skin tingled from his touch, and for the love of heaven and all things holy, she wanted him to touch her again. “We live in two different worlds.”

He shrugged, sat back and crossed his arms “And?”

“I’m too old. Why would you want to call me or have coffee with me?”

“Bah with the too-old excuse. What are you? Eighty?”

She laughed and shook her head. When she first ran into him—literally—he’d pissed her off, and now he kept making her laugh. It intrigued her. Made her
want
him to call her. But that wasn’t a good idea. In fact, it was a really foolish one. “I’m forty-one, divorced and I have a fifteen-year-old daughter.” There. She’d said it. “Still want my number?” Sonja sipped her drink, pleased with herself, and quite sure he’d run as fast as lightning in the other direction. But she also thought it might suck if he did run.
What. The. Hell.
Had to be the booze scrambling her mind, making it bounce back and forth like a damn ping-pong ball, and sending her hormones into overdrive.