Page 18 of Beer & Broomsticks
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Bridget felt lighterthan she had in ages. She didn’t want to think too long or hard about it, or give credit to Ruairí’s presence in her home. The fierce protectiveness he’d shown in the alley melted another block of ice encasing her heart. With his quick, instinctive action, he’d shown her he cared. Although she’d hated being effectively halted in her tracks, she couldn’t hate that he felt the need to keep her safe. That need, one mirrored in her for him, had been the driving force behind her rolling pin-wielding charge into the fray.
Yes, she needed to be cautious where her heart was concerned. She couldn’t take another blow like the one that caused their breakup, but she was feeling cautiously optimistic in relation to him. Like perhaps this time they’d get it right.
And when he gazed at her with such heat, her ever-present ice began to thaw and drip away. Their kiss came back to her with total recall, and her body reacted as if they were in the midst of the action. Butterflies fluttered low in her belly, and her body warmed, becoming achy with want.
She paused outside her door, fanning herself with the map as she shook her head.
“Calm yourself, woman!” she scolded. “You’ll have him believing he’s in charge with all your fawning and giggling and blushes. You’re not a bloody schoolgirl, now are ya?”
“Oh, I don’t know. You’d look hot in one of those short plaid skirts for a uniform,” came a suave, sexy voice from behind her.
She squawked her fright and turned to give Quentin a glare. “You’d think for a man so large, you’d make noise instead of sneaking up on an unsuspecting woman.”
“To borrow a line from my father-in-law, where’s the fun in that?” His grin was a thing of beauty, like the man himself.
“Jaysus. Put that thing away, why don’t ya.” She twiddled her fingers in the direction of his mouth. “It’s dangerous to be casting it about like you do.”
His laughter boomed loud, and the wicked sound curled her toes. For a hot minute, all she could do was stare. The twinkle in his eyes said he didn’t mind.
“Sure, and Holly will kill me,” Bridget muttered with a shake of her head. “Stow the charm so I can get on with me day.”
A dimple flashed, enhancing his already disarming grin. Plucking the map from her fingers, he asked, “What do you have here?”
She tried to grab it, but he held it above her head as he unfolded it. At times like these, Quentin Buchanan was as childish as her brothers.
“Do you need a swift kick in the bollocks, man?” she snapped. “Yeah, and that’s what you’re likely to get if ya don’t hand that back over.”
“Bloodthirsty. I love it.” He had the nerve to wink. “Holly just put Frankie down for a nap. Let’s explore your treasure map.”
She’d planned to spend the time doing that with Ruairí, and her disappointment at having her time with him intruded upon was keen. And apparently not easily hidden.
“Ah, you don’t want me to help with whateverthisis.” He narrowed his eyes and brought a hand up to his chin as if to concentrate. His laughing eyes gave him away. “Why, I wonder? Could it be that you want to spend time with your ruggedly handsome employee? What’s his name… Rocco, Ronald…”
“Ruairí!” she ground out between clenched teeth as she managed to snag the map from Quentin’s hand. “As you bleeding well know!”
“You’re beautiful when you’re angry, Bridget. And I was just helping put color in your cheeks for your little assignation.”
“Assignation indicates sneaking around, and I’m doing nothing of the kind.”
His teasing gaze traveled over her face and locked on something beyond her shoulder. “She says she’s not meeting you for a lovers’ tryst. Sorry, guy.”
She whirled to see Ruairí leaned back against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest and a grin fading from his face. A look of hurt flashed.
“You’ve abandoned me yet again,mo ghrá? Sure, and I’m crushed.” He placed his fingertips over his heart and pretended to brush away tears with the knuckles on his other hand.
“I’ll crush something,” she said in disgust. “The bollocks on both of you!”
They shared a commiserating look to which she stalked off.
Men!No smarter than oxen, the lot of them!
CHAPTER8
Ruairí found Bridget in the study with a pad of paper at the ready and a pen in hand. The O’Malley grimoire rested on the wide round table in front of her, and her concentration was total.
“It took you a lifetime to get here,” she said, never looking up from jotting down her notes.
