Page 10 of Beer & Broomsticks
He grinned. “The only woman I’m interested in kissing is you,mo ghrá.Now and every day for the rest of our lives if you’ll let me.”
She was tempted.Oh. So. Tempted.
And for that reason, she didn’t push him away. The heat from his hard body felt good against hers. Too good. Too perfect. As if they were made for each other. And maybe they were, because neither had been able to move on in seventeen years.
“Why did you never marry?”
He looked surprised by her question. Dropping his gaze to the top button of her blouse, with one hand, he toyed with the fastening, neither buttoning nor unbuttoning. “You need to ask?”
“Aye.”
He lifted candid eyes to meet hers. “It’s always been you, Bridget. From the moment we met until this very second, it’s always been you.”
She nodded slowly, because she felt the same way. Oh, she’d had other lovers along the way, just as she was positive Ruairí had, but never had her heart engaged. That worthless organ was reserved for him alone—even when she didn’t want it to be.
“What about you?” he asked softly.
Unable to give him the power of her truth, she shrugged. “I’ve been busy with Lucky’s and the Black Cat. What time did I have to share?”
“And is that the only reason?”
She was positive his penetrating stare saw all the way to her soul. She answered the affirmative with a jerky nod.
“You really are a terrible liar,mo ghrá.” He rested his forearm against the wall and leaned closer. When he was just a hair’s breadth away, he said, “A terrible, terrible liar.”
Then he kissed her.
She moaned at the contact. Ruairí had a firm handle on the art of seduction, and Bridget was quickly falling under his spell. She hated he hadn’t learned it with her and had developed those skills on his own, but she happily benefited from his expertise now.
It took a good minute and a half for the sound of another person clearing their throat to penetrate her sexual haze. Ruairí was the first to react, and he drew back, but only enough to rest his forehead against hers and groan his frustration.
“If you’re going to be snogging my sister like that, I’ll be wanting to know your intentions, boyo.”
Bridget pushed Ruairí away and met Carrick’s laughing eyes. “As if I’m not an adult who knows her own mind. Be off with ya both!”
She’d made it halfway up the stairs before her brother stopped her.
“From the looks of it, he needs a room. Are you plannin’ to let him wander the halls opening doors till he finds an empty one?”
She heard Ruairí chuckle behind her, and her face flamed in response to her forgetfulness. Never had she wanted to wipe a grin off someone’s face as much as she did Carrick’s at that moment. “Are you tryin’ to say you don’t know how to check the chart to see what rooms have been reserved or not?” she snapped.
“I’d put him in your room and be done with it,” Carrick said with a short laugh. “It might sweeten your temperament, it might.”
She slapped his stomach and stormed up the stairs, calling over her shoulder, “Get your feckin’ bag and come with me.”
Ruairí snatchedup his duffel and took the stairs two at a time, pausing only long enough to observe Carrick’s disgruntled expression. “I’d have thought you’d have known not to poke the bear at this point in your life, man. She’syoursister, so you should know how quick she is to retaliate.”
“Feck off,” Carrick mumbled with a sharp look up the stairs.
Ruairí followed his gaze.
Bridget waited at the top, as gorgeous as he’d ever seen her—and in a temper. He couldn’t stop his wide grin as he noted her crossed arms, tapping toe, and scarlet cheeks. The fierce blush should’ve clashed with her pretty ginger hair, but it only enhanced her loveliness, and Ruairí was starstruck.
“You love her, then?” Carrick murmured. “Roisin thought you might.”
“Aye. I never stopped loving her,” he answered, never removing his gaze from Bridget. “She’s always been the one for me, whether she cares to acknowledge it or not.”
“Well, I’ll be wishing you all the luck with that one.”
