Page 7 of My Irish Mafia King

“Hey.” Anna holds her hands up. “I’m not saying I think it’s weird, but these are reasons he might. There’s always the nuclear option… you could ask him out.”

“That’s an option for you, maybe, but not for me,” I blurt out.

“The best option, really, is to lock the door the next time it’s just the two of you, throw yourself into his arms, wrap your legs around him, and go to pogo-stick city.”

I laugh. “You’re a lunatic. I could never do anything like that.”

“What about that green dress you bought last month?”

I was wondering when she’d bring that up. I bought a green dress specifically because I noticed how Killian sometimes looks at me with hunger burning in his fierce blues… and I wanted him to look at me like that again. But so far, I haven’t had the courage to wear it.

“I think it’s time. Or you just fall to your knees and…”

“Relax,” I say, chuckling. “I’ll wear the dress.”

The next morning, I stand in front of the mirror, looking at the dress with some slight cleavage showing. The green plaid guarantees I can play it off as part of an Irish theme, to go along with the prints and green banners in The Crust. Nerves twist in my belly as I note my wide hips, the size of my body… But I can’t let nerves win. I refuse to.

Anyway, thinking about this is better than the other stuff, the Shane crap.

I put Clover in the back office because she was so needy last night, then set up her dog camera on my phone in case she needs me. For an hour, I work, trying to focus, but I’m counting down the seconds until Killian’s visit.

Just like that stormy day in Ireland, fate is on my side. There are no other customers when I see Killian approaching.

I take off my apron and turn to the coffee machine, getting his usual ready. The bell rings above the door, as usual. But Killian rarely stands in the doorway, staring, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession. I watch him in the reflection, shivers dancing up my thighs, over my cleavage.

When I finally turn, it’s impossible not to notice him staring at me. It’s like he can’t look away. His blues move to my cleavage, then my legs, and finally my face. I’m wearing more makeup than usual, a light layer which I hope brings out my features.

“What’s the special occasion?” he says, reaching for his coffee.

His hand brushes mine, but this time, he keeps it there. I keep my hand in place. Electricity sparks between us, heat coursing up my arm, pulsing through me as I try to act casual.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“You look…hálainn.”

“Beautiful?” I whisper. “Really?”

He keeps his hand on mine. We can’t pretend this is an accident. He’s holding me like he’s going to pull me over the counter, sweep me into his arms, and crush me with a passionate kiss.

“Yes,” he says huskily. “Why are you all dressed up?”

“I thought I’d try to match my outfit to the Irish theme.”

“For a second, I was worried you wore that for your boyfriend.”

“You wereworriedabout that, were you?” I say, feeling drunk.

But then he gets this panicked look on his face, like he’s suddenly realized what he’s doing. He pulls his hand away. “Who’s going to make the best coffee in town if you’re too busy with your boyfriend?”

What the heck is this? Does he want me to believe he only said that because I make him good coffee? I refuse to believe that. His words might lie, but he can’t mask the hunger in his eyes, the heaving in his chest. His eyes won’t stop flitting to my chest, to the ring pendant resting suggestively near my cleavage.

Another customer enters. As I serve them, Killian stands off to the side, his eyes never leaving me. My skin burns the longer he looks, like at any moment I’m going to catch fire under the pressure. When the customer leaves, I try to think what would Anna do.

It’s like climbing a mountain of nerves, but I do it. I lean against the counter and look up at him, loving how he seems unable to look away from me. “What are you still doing here, huh? Making sure my boyfriend doesn’t interrupt us?”

“So youdohave a boyfriend?” he says fiercely.

“No,” I tell him.

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