Irish Sex Fairy: Ellora's Cave by Kelly Jamieson (the lemonade war series TXT) 📕

“Why are we here?” she asked, shifting in her chair.

“To talk about your aunt.”

She nodded. “I’m concerned about her.”

“So am I.”

She did not want to hear that. “This isn’t the first thing she’s forgotten.” She told him about the other incidents. The waitress appeared and set their cups of coffee in front of them. They both drank it black.

“I’ve noticed it, too,” he said quietly. “It seems to be happening more and more often.”

“Everyone has lapses.”

“True. Hell, just yesterday I went all the way from my office to the supply room, and couldn’t remember why. For a few minutes. The other day I couldn’t find my insurance renewal form. I’d set it aside to pay at the end of the week, but couldn’t for the life of me remember where. It happens to everyone.” Then he scowled. “You know, you’re the only family she has.”

“She has family in Ireland.”

He snorted. “That’s not much help to her. But then…neither are you.”

“What do you mean?” She stared at him across the table, hurt slicing through her. Her cheeks grew hot.

“Just what I said. You may live closer than Ireland, but you never visit her. You haven’t been here in years. She talks about you all the time, you know…how proud she is of you, and how you were promoted to manager, how beautiful you are, and the ‘sex in the city’ life you lead in Los Angeles.”

Keara choked on her sip of coffee. “Sex in the city?”

“That’s what she calls it. I gather you do nothing but shop and party with your friends and have sex with men named Mr. Big.”

Despite the seriousness of their conversation, she laughed. “Mr. Big? I wish!”

Then her smile faded. “I guess my life is kind of like that, but…” She shook her head. “It’s not a TV show. I work hard. I love my career. And my friends are important to me, but we do more than just shop and party.”

“Really.” His skepticism heated her cheeks even more. “What else do you do?”

“Well I…go to yoga class.” That didn’t sound much better. “The bank supports a number of charities and I’ve been involved with Wishes for Kids.”

“Through your work.”

“Yes. But…”

“Never mind.” He slashed a hand through the hair. “We didn’t come here to talk about your wonderful life. We need to…”

“Just a minute!” She leaned forward. “Just a goddamn minute! Who are you to sneer at my life? Even if all I do is shop and party and have sex…what business is it of yours, and who are you to judge me? The man who goes through a box of condoms a week!”

He opened his mouth, but she kept going. “And my life is not so wonderful right now, in case you didn’t notice.” She closed her eyes against a sharp slice of fear inside her. “Don’t tell me my life is wonderful. You have no idea.”

He sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his wide chest.

“Was it that bad?”

She sat back, nonplussed at the change of tone of his voice, from cold steel to warm compassion. She cupped her hands around the coffee mug.

“You mean the robbery?”

“Yeah.”

She studied him while she thought about what to say to that question. Her friends thought she was losing it. She didn’t even want them to know how freaked out she was by it, how kooky she’d become. She wished she hadn’t burst out like that. “It’s fine,” she finally said. “Never mind my screwed-up life. We need to talk about Maeve. What do you think I should do?”

His thick dark brows drew down over blue, blue eyes. The corners of his mouth dipped. “Hell if I know.” He thrust a hand through his short hair. “I’ll talk to my mom. She and Maeve are best friends. They play bridge together every week. Maybe she’s noticed too. Maybe she has an idea.”

Keara nodded. “I guess I could ask Maeve about it. But I don’t know…”

“Yeah. You could. She might be worried about it herself. Maybe she’s already talked to her doctor about it.”

“Maybe.” But Keara didn’t think so, judging from Maeve’s confused reaction the few times she’d been confronted with her forgetfulness. “I’ll see if I can work it into conversation.”

“You need to keep an eye on her,” Shane said. “If she forgets something like leaving the stove on, it could be dangerous.”

“Oh lord.” Keara bit down on her lip. She looked down into the half-drunk cup of black coffee. “Do you think…she has Alzheimer’s?” She almost choked on the word.

She’d heard the sharp edge of pain in Gary’s voice as he’d said, “She doesn’t even know who I am anymore.” The look on his face. The agony in his eyes that had driven him to…oh dear God. She struggled to get air into her lungs and tears stung the corners of her eyes.

“Keara?”

Her lungs had tightened and she started to feel that whirl of dizziness. No. No. This could not be happening now.

“Keara, are you okay?”

She tried to focus on Shane’s face across the table from her, like looking at him through a wavery glass wall. She pressed her fingertips to her face. “I’m fine,” she choked out.

Shane snorted and the next thing she knew he’d come around to her side of the table and slid into the booth beside her. “Breathe,” he commanded, his voice like smooth whiskey. His arm circled her shoulders and the heat of his body seeped into her, the scent of him—warm, spicy, male—invaded her nostrils and distracted her from her panic. She swallowed, sucked in air. “Yeah. That’s it. Breathe again.”

When mortification replaced anxiety she knew she was doing better. Her cheeks heated to scorching point and she scrubbed her hands over her wet face. “Shit,” she muttered.

“Yeah,” Shane agreed. “Shit.”

His hand rubbed up and down her back and much as she wanted to shrug him away and tell him to get the hell back on the other side of the table, her body responded to his firm but