Contents
1 – A Snowy Night In Dublin
2 – Phred And Finbar
3 – A Tabloid Journalist
4 – The Cocktail Menu
5 – Chocolate Liqueur Kisses
6 – Dinner With Finbar
7 – Tea And Trouble
8 – Up To Mischief
9 – Keep Your Guard Up
10 – The Media Circus At Christmas
Chapter One
A Snowy Night In Dublin
Finbar was a great kisser. Even after dating him for two years, the sparks ignited as powerfully as the first time we kissed on a snowy November night in Dublin. I was wearing a woolly hat with colourful pom poms, more practical and warm than fashionable.
I’ll always remember the first time I saw him…
Snow covered the cobbled street. Frost sparkled on the trees in the city centre, and a marvellous hush had descended over Dublin. It was one of those rare moments when everything was perfect. I stood under one of the trees, breathing in the cold night air, wondering whether to walk the rest of the way home along the quays by the River Liffey or jump in a taxi.
While I pondered this, I saw a man approach me. He walked like no one else — like he was ethereal of foot, movements like quicksilver, and yet with a calm, confidence. He wore an expensive looking dark suit, dark shirt and grey silk tie. His shoes had a shine to them, and he gave me the impression he’d just stepped out of one of the pubs or nightclubs, band box perfect and showing no signs of having been standing in the cold like me.
His silky black hair was swept back from his face and a few rogue strands fell across his brow. I imagined his hair had been well–cut in August and had grown into a longer, naturally sexy style that touched the collar of his shirt. Perhaps he’d been too busy to get it cut again. He appeared to be a man without vanity; a manly man, in his early thirties, maybe younger. It was hard to tell because of the sense of lean fitness about him. Not the type of fitness necessarily achieved from a gym, but something else.
A pang of nervous anticipation jolted through me as he drew nearer. His eyes had a deep sparkle, as if he knew what he wanted; a man who enjoyed life at the edge, a fighter and a lover.
At first I thought he couldn’t possibly be approaching me. The streets had plenty of lovely young women scurrying from one nightclub, restaurant or bar to the next, arms folded across their ample bosoms in a futile bid for warmth. Women who were dressed to party, not for the weather. Sometimes I envied them. Sometimes I thought — to hell with practicality. I’m leaving my furry boots with their sensible flat heels and fleece lining in the cupboard and I’m heading out into the city wearing a pair of six inch tottering heels. Who cares if I skite on the icy pavement, or slip in the snow? What’s a few chilblains versus fashion? But then of course I never did. Well, that’s not strictly true. I did once. That’s how I know about slipping on the ice, landing with a thud and flashing my knickers to everyone within laughing distance.
So there I was, a woolly hatted, furry booted babe. Perhaps not a babe. At least, not that any man could see from my red wool coat that was buttoned up to the neck with the collar up, and wrapped in a pink scarf and thermal lined mittens. I was under there somewhere, all cosy and toasty, and enjoying the snowy atmosphere in the city, lit up by the streetlamps, watching the flakes flutter down.
That’s why I was surprised when his quicksilver movements brought him closer to me. I looked around to see if there was a woman wearing a low–cut, sleeveless, chiffon blouse and short skirt that he was targeting. But no, it was me.
I remember thinking how handsome he was. Not in a tall, dark, chocolate box style. No, his handsomeness wore more slowly on the senses, but I liked him. I liked him the first time I ever set eyes on Finbar.
Later, he said he felt the same about me. Attraction is a strange beast. I even saw a scantily clad young woman glare at him because Finbar was interested in me and had walked right past her without a glance. The insult daggered from her narrowed eyes. He didn’t even notice the virtual venom being thrown at him.
I’d been working on an assignment for one of the tabloids in Dublin. I’m a newspaper journalist. Having finished the interview near St Stephen’s Green, I’d headed down Grafton Street towards the hub of the city and paused to admire the snowscape. After a day working at the newspaper office, I was enjoying the cold fresh air. The last thing I expected was a man like Finbar to walk into my world.
I’ll always remember his first words to me…
‘Is that a fuckin’ tea cosy you’re wearing on your head?’
He had nice voice. Warm, heart melting, though he could’ve chosen a better way to introduce himself than to diss my hat.
But, that’s what happened.
And here’s what happened next…
This is the story of Finbar and me. I’m Phred, Phred O’Leary. Welcome to my mischievous life in Dublin…
Chapter Two
Phred And Finbar
‘Take your pick,’ I said to Mr Charming.
He frowned, dark brows framing those sexy green eyes of his. ‘My pick of what?’
‘I’ll give you a head start to run like blazes up Dame Street, but I’ll still catch you.’ I looked at his expensive black shoes. Ideal for clubbing, but not for outrunning a crazy chick.
‘What happens if you catch me?’
‘I’ll kick the bejeezus out of your arse for insulting me and my hat.’
He took the threat well. I was quietly impressed.
‘What’s option two dare I ask?’ he said.
‘I can save us both a sprint up the street and kick your arse right here.’
‘Tough choice,’ he said, trying not to smile, forcing the dimples in his cheeks to deepen with the effort.
We were quiet for a moment. Not a stand off. Just toying with each other.
He straightened himself up to full height, which was easily six feet, though he seemed to have a natural stoop, from whatever he did in life, or whatever it had done to him.
‘I’m the adventurous sort,’ he said. ‘So I’m going to go for the first option. I’m pretty fit and run in all weathers, and if you think these slippy shoes will slow me down, well…that’ll about make us even, because I doubt you could catch anyone in those clumpy, furry boots. I thought for a moment you had your feet up two beavers’ arses. Then I saw that they were actually winter booties. So, yes. You’re on. Chase me.’
I think he thought he’d called my bluff, but I never bluff. That was his first mistake. His second mistake was just about to happen.
‘Start running,’ I said.
He hesitated. For a second. His eyes bored into mine, questioning how far I’d go to beat him. Would I really chase a grown man up Dame Street? A man I’d just met? Hell, yes!
‘Run!’ I told him.
On my second request he started sprinting, not too fast. I think the whole scenario was kicking in. But it was his own fault. If he wanted an easy time and was after a bit of skirt to spend the night with him, he shouldn’t have walked past the floozy with her chesticles on display. If they’d been out in the freezing cold any longer they’d have developed frostbite. But I’m sure she would’ve let him take her home to thaw out.
‘My name’s Finbar,’ he yelled over his shoulder as I let him get the head start I’d promised. I was many things, but a cheat wasn’t one of them. Unfortunately. I say unfortunately, because if I’d been willing to sleep with more dubious but rich men, and lie and connive my way through life, I’d probably have been driving past this sinfully sexy man in a big posh car. But I was the decent sort. In my own way. It didn’t always pay the rent, or buy me happiness. Not that I’m perfect. I tell the odd fib or use a bit of blarney to get by, but in the grand scheme of things, I can be trusted not to be a dirty, underhanded cheat. So his luck was in tonight.
As I was chasing him, that’s what I wondered. Was he looking for a feel under my woollies? Very likely. Would I even contemplate such a thought? To be honest, it’s not really my style, but he made me feel a bit giddy. Now that I was all pumped with adrenalin, and gaining on him as we ran up the street, I knew I couldn’t entirely trust myself not to flirt with Finbar.
From standing under a tree admiring snowflakes, looking like I was dressed for an arctic expedition, to chasing a handsome hunk through the centre of Dublin on a snowy night, things had moved fast. Finbar and I were almost instant friends. And that’s how it all began.
I caught up with him near the all–night bakers whose freshly baked bread at midnight always smelled delicious. He skidded to a halt at the corner, but I’d kept my speed up and didn’t apply the brakes until I saw the whites of his eyes. Disbelief and hilarity sparkled in their depth. Then I flattened him. He didn’t resist, possibly because he was laughing. We both toppled over into the hard packed snow and slid a few metres before stopping near the traffic lights.
I was on top of him.
All he did was laugh, and I started laughing too. I tired to extricate myself from his strong, lean muscled body, which I could feel through the two layers of my thermal vests. My coat had become unbuttoned with the effort of putting on a spurt of speed to catch him, and my chest heaved right in front of him.
He couldn’t take his eyes off my bust, which has always been one my best features even though I keep it under wraps most of the time. I thought he’d do that thing that men do — ogle your assets then pretend they’re not fixated with your tits. But no —Finbar wasn’t like other men I’d met. He came right out and commented on my assets.
‘That’s a grand pair of titties you’ve got on you. I thought you had a pretty face and a scandalous hidden streak about you that lured me to you. If I’d known you had a pair of noodles like those under your insulation, I’d have gone for option two and had you lying on top of me ten minutes ago.’
I pushed myself up and began buttoning my coat.
‘You lost. I caught you. I won,’ I told him.
‘Subtle little thing, aren’t you?’
‘I have my moments.’
‘Have a few moments with me. Can I buy you a drink?’ He glanced at the bakery. ‘Or a crusty baguette?’
‘I’ll have the bread if there’s a tea going with it.’ The bakery had a few tables where you could sit and enjoy their products with a cup of tea or coffee.
