Page 60 of Beer & Broomsticks
With a slow perusal of his body, she met the dare in his intense eyes. “Deal. But no cheating. You have to be honest in your evaluation. We shall be observing you, and if you don’t weigh the scales fairly, you won’t have me and you will be required to make the amulet anyway.”
He narrowed his eyes as he studied her. “Who’s to say what’s fair or not? If I deem she’s not worthy and say I’ve been honest but you don’t agree, how do we find the middle ground?”
She glided forward, stopping a few inches from touching, and smiled up at him. “I have my ways of judging honesty, my dear Goibhniu. If you lie, I’ll know. And on my bad side is not a place you’d care to be.”
His bark of laughter thrilled her to her bare toes, but she didn’t show it. “Fine.” He turned to Anu and grinned at her affronted expression. “It’s not that I don’t find ya attractive, but me brothers would hold me down and cut off me bollocks if I were to try to seduce ya. They’ve claimed you for their own, they have.”
“You’re forgiven. Where are these randy brothers of yours? I’d like to meet them.”
He held out his arm, glancing back over his shoulder to wink at Isis before vanishing.
With a laugh, she went to check on Ronan. His training was of the utmost importance according to the Fates.
CHAPTER25
Morning dawned, and with it came a weighty sense of dread. Needing the comfort, Bridget reached for Ruairí only to discover he wasn’t there. She sat up, half worried she’d dreamed the entire night. A quick shower later, she pulled up her damp hair in a ponytail, drew a jumper over her head, and shimmied into her favorite jeans. If she had magic, she’d have accomplished it all in a fraction of the time, but she was still earlier than usual today.
Pausing outside her door, she listened for the sounds of the inn stirring. When she was satisfied she was the only one awake, she crossed to Ruairí’s designated room to see if he’d crept back there to avoid anyone learning about their night together.
She knocked lightly. When no one answered, she twisted the knob and eased the door open. The bed was perfectly made, and Ruairí’s duffel bag resided in a chair at the far corner of the room. She didn’t hear shower sounds, so she assumed he wasn’t there.
With a shrug and a huge amount of regret that he’d not hung around for morning sex, she descended the stairs to make breakfast for the guests. As she turned the corner to the kitchen, she stopped short, a gasp escaping her lips.
When Ruairí looked up from his place at the stove and smiled in welcome, her heart thawed completely, leaving her raw and aching with the need to accept everything he was willing to offer. He’d done this to let her sleep in and to please her, and she was undone by the small kindness.
“You don’t need to do my chores, love.” She approached, rested a hand on his lower back, and leaned in to take an appreciative sniff. “You madecrêpes?” Stealing one from the plate, she spread the fresh strawberry mixture on top, rolled it, and took a hearty bite. The hint of vanilla mixed with the berries was ambrosia.“Ohmygoddess!”
After a second bite, washed down with the coffee he set in front of her, she sighed her pleasure and kissed him. “I’ll shag you every night and twice on Sundays if you take over the cookin’ and continue to make these for me.”
He laughed, and she relished the joyful sound.
With a plate in one hand and her coffee in the other, she raised them up to his line of sight. “Thank you for this.”
“My pleasure,mo ghrá.Go and have your breakfast. I’ll finish here, brew another pot of coffee, and wet the tea.”
“Thank you. It’ll give me time to tackle the administrative side of things today.” Despite Loman and the threat he posed, she couldn’t ignore her business. Somehow, Ruairí had understood and provided her with the help she needed. Something her brothers sometimes failed to do, wrapped up as they were in their own lives. “I’m not looking forward to rescheduling our upcoming guests. It’ll hurt to do it, but I’ll refund their initial deposit and give vouchers for a future stay.”
“I’ll see you’re reimbursed.”
“No!” Shaking her head, she sat at the table and spread the strawberry topping on another crêpe. “It’s not your fault, and it won’t make us paupers to lose a few visitors.”
“It’s the fault of my family, all the same. And I refuse to let yours suffer for it.” His expression was determined, and Bridget let it go for the moment. When this mess was over, she’d settle the debate for good.
He set down the spatula and faced her fully. “You’re going to argue the point, aren’t ya?”
“Not right now, I’m not. Right now, I’m going to enjoy another crêpe, drink my coffee, and bask in the morning-after glow.” She gave him a cheeky grin, realizing for once, all was right with her world. Or at least eighty-five percent right. The rest would be resolved when Loman O’Connor was dead and buried and when she could have an honest conversation with Ruairí about love and trust moving forward.
Mouth open as if he intended to respond, he glanced beyond her, and the transformation of his facial expression indicated an end to that particular conversation. “Ronan. Welcome back, man. How are ya feeling?”
“Surprisingly well for someone who had his insides turned out.” The hoarse quality of his voice suggested he’d screamed or shouted a time or two during the process.
Her desire to help him was strong, and she jumped up to mix specific healing ingredients with the tea Ruairí was brewing. “Roisin stocks just the thing for sore throats,” she said, measuring out the recipe as her friend had previously instructed. “There’s a bit of earth magic grown into the herbs, so it’ll take care of what ails you.”
“I’m grand, Bridget. No need to fuss.”
“You’re not grand as we can see and hear. You’ll drink the tea I’ve prepared, with no argument, mind.”
“I’ve the feeling it wouldn’t do me any good.”
