Irish Whiskey

Part Two

As soon as he'd gone, Siobhan hastily finished up her few lingering tasks and switched off the remainder of the lights. The only thing she'd left untouched was the highball glass with his wedding ring. It didn't feel right to dump it out, or to keep the ring. If he didn't come back for it, she'd leave it for him at the hotel desk when she returned to work in the morning.

In the employee locker room, she quickly surveyed her appearance, knowing that she didn't have enough time to really do anything about it. Her braid had begun to have that fly-away look, but her eyes were bright and the color in her cheeks was still high. Smoothing her hands over her 'uniform', she decided that the black slacks and long-sleeved, scoop neck tee would suffice. Spritzing some vanilla body spray on her throat and wrists, the only other concession she made in going from work to casual was to kick off the black sneakers that kept her feet comfortable all night, exchanging them for black ballerina flats.

A lot of petite women wore stiletto heels to compensate for their lack of stature, but Siobhan had given up being a slave to fashion years ago. She didn't need a five-inch pair of death spikes to level the playing field between her and anyone else.

Blowing out a breath, she gave herself a last once-over in the mirror before looking at her watch. Eight minutes had passed.

She snatched up her purse and slid into the labyrinth of back hallways that, while intricate and convoluted, were as familiar as the back of her hand. In no time, she was in the guest elevator, pressing the button for the thirty-second floor.

What am I doing? He may be famous, but I know NOTHING about this man. What kind of idiot goes to a strange man's hotel room at three in the morning?

Without hesitation a second voice butted in on the conversation with herself.

The kind who doesn't want him suffering alone tonight.

And that was the truth. This wasn't some sex fantasy come to life. If she got to his room and he was passed out cold, she wouldn't have a moment's remorse over the loss. Her only – well, maybe PRIMARY was a better word– desire was to see the shadows chased from his eyes by whatever positive emotion had lived there before. She assumed it was happiness, or at least contentment. Either would be a perfectly acceptable substitute.

The elevator slid open, putting an end to her attempted justification for being here. In about thirty seconds she would knock on the door and know whether or not she was making a mistake. Until then, she wasn't second guessing herself any more.

A quiet knock heralded her arrival at the room number he'd provided, and the door swung inward almost instantly. In those first seconds, before he could censor himself, the relief radiated from him like a beacon, erasing any lingering doubts she may have had.

Tonight was for him, and if she happened to make a beautiful memory in the process – so be it.

"Are you going to invite me in?" she asked with a smile.

His teeth flashed briefly as he stepped back to admit her into the dimly lit suite, shirt tails flapping in the breeze. The few buttons that had been holding the black pinstriped dress shirt together had been freed, and Siobhan couldn't help but admire the broad expanse of chest that was now more fully exposed.

"Forgive my manners. I was stunned for a minute." He gently pushed the door, allowing it to fall closed with a muffled thump.

Hands on hips, she chastised him. "You didn't believe me."

"It wasn't that," he denied, towering over her. "I thought I dreamed you. Kinda like a pink elephant?"

Her laughter tittered throughout the suite, sounding loud and raucous to her own ears. "Sorry," she murmured. "I didn't mean to be so loud, but you just called me an elephant – or a hallucination."