"Mydrivelactually has a plot!" she snarled. "Andcharacter development! Your guy's still sniffing flower petals like a lost puppy. Kind of like the writer.”
The place was now howling with laughter. Paddy was doubled over behind the bar. Someone at the back was taking bets.
"And while we're at it," Ronan added, voice low and dangerous, "your bloody goat ate my new rose bushes this morning. Again."
The pub broke into actual applause.
Aisling slammed her hands on her hips. "Maybe Céilí just has excellent taste, and your flowers suck. She’s doing the world a favor by getting rid of them.”
"One more time and I'm putting her on a spit!" he roared.
"You so much as touch a hair on her head, and I'll call PETA, the Irish Times,andthe Pope himself.”
He took a step closer. She took a step too. There was barely a breath between them now, the heat rolling off them, anger and somethingelsemixing in the small, electric space.
The crowd was utterly silent, holding its breath.
"You're impossible," he said in a rough whisper.
"And you're a stubborn, egotistical mule," she hissed back.
"For the love of God," someone muttered from the back. "Just snog her already!"
Without thinking, without caring, Aisling grabbed the front of Ronan’s shirt, yanked him down, and kissed him.
Hard.
The pub exploded in cheers and whistles and stomping feet, but she barely heard it.
Because the second their lips met, the anger transformed into something hot and raw and breathtaking.
He kissed her back like a man who hadn’t tasted water in days. His hands slid into her hair, holding her like he was afraid she’d vanish. And she kissed him like her life depended on it, furious and desperate and aching for everything they couldn't seem to say out loud.
When they finally pulled apart, gasping for air, the room was a riot of shouts.
"That’s more like it!" Paddy bellowed.
"You owe me twenty euros!" someone else yelled.
Aisling blinked up at Ronan, dazed, her heart hammering against her ribs.
"You still think my writing’s boring?" he rasped, his forehead resting lightly against hers.
"You still think romance is drivel?" she fired back, breathless.
He grinned, slow and wicked. "Not anymore."
She laughed, the sound bubbling out of her before she could stop it. And maybe, just maybe, for the first time in a long time, the ache in her chest loosened its grip.
The cheering hadn't even died down when Paddy slammed two more whiskeys onto the bar.
"On the house!" he bellowed staring at Ronan and Aisling.
"God save Mountshannon!" someone hollered.
Someone else started clapping out a rhythm like they expected Aisling and Ronan to start dancing next, or maybe get engaged right there between the battered bar stools.
Aisling pulled herself free from Ronan's arms and smoothed her hair back, cheeks flaming hotter than a midsummer bonfire.
