Page 9 of Highballs & Hexes

As Patrick limpedhis way toward the door, Fi shared a worried look with her mother. He was obviously hurting, but the stubborn jackass shunned her help. Mam had experience with mulish men, and Clara simply shrugged as she gathered the remains of tea to store for later.

Left with no choice, Fi followed Patrick outside.

“Do you think you can find Tadhg with so little to go on?” She hated that her voice cracked, but maybe if he understood her fear for her brother, Patrick might work harder to uncover his whereabouts. “What if he’s come to harm?”

He turned so quickly she couldn’t stop fast enough, and her chest pressed to his as one of his arms wrapped around her waist to steady her.

The breath whooshed from her lungs, and she stared up into his weathered face, still handsome despite any hardships. The green of his eyes lightened marginally as they locked with hers, and his lips twitched as if he wanted to smile or laugh. But standing in front of her was someone who refused to let his guard down. This much she sensed about him, over and above what she’d already witnessed by his actions.

“Who broke your heart, Patrick O’Malley?” she asked, whisper quiet.

His shutters came down, and the light left him. If he hadn’t been holding her as gently as he was, Fi would’ve been terrified of the abrupt change. Cold. Lifeless. And a sneer bordering cruel.

“My wife,” he replied in a clipped tone after what felt like the longest time. “Sure, and she liked to discover new ways to torment me daily.”

When he didn’t elaborate, Fi shifted her grip from his shoulders to his face, cradling it between her palms. “She was a fool.”

He softened. Not enough to invite confidences, but his terrifying look relented. A slight shift of his head pressed his lips to her skin.

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to,” Fi said. “I don’t know a thing about you other than you volunteered your time to come here and search for my brother without expecting payment or praise of any kind. That alone tells me you’re a good man.”

A twinkle entered his eyes, and his mouth curled fully for the first time. His engaging grin stole her wits and made breathing difficult.

“Who says I’m not after payment?” His low, sexy timbre sent a shiver of delight throughout her body.

When he focused on her mouth, she licked her lips.

“I’m of the mind to collect with a kiss. Are ya willing?” he asked gruffly.

Her delayed comprehension was embarrassing, and his brow shot up as he waited for his comment to sink in. When it did, she blushed like the foolish schoolgirl she no longer was. Hell, she’d left crushes and girly sighs behind twenty-five years ago. At forty-three, she possessed enough experience to make their tame encounter laughable. Certainly not enough to draw attention from the censor police! Why, then, was she reacting as she was?

Regret twisted his mouth, and he dropped his arm. “I’ll take that as ano.”

But as he stepped back, her body reacted, willful and mindless to the bitter end. Taking the lead, she kissed him. The instant their lips connected, color burst behind her closed lids, and Fi experienced a sense of rightness. He sighed his pleasure into her mouth, and she drank it in, enjoying the heady sensation caused by his passion. What person didn’t want to be desired?

Her arms snaked around his neck as her fingers burrowed into the hair above his nape, and locking his head in place, she tasted her fill of him. His wasn’t the kiss of a young man, inexperienced and seeking. His held a lifetime of expertise, and that skill came into play as he languidly explored her mouth. Large, gentle hands traveled down her back until he reached the hem of her shirt, then explored underneath. His cool, skillful fingertips brushed along her spine, and she mewed as he leisurely stroked her like a cat, creating pleasure with every pass.

There was no accounting of time or space during their lengthy kiss. But if Fi had to say, it was a lifetime of perfection in the sum total of those moments they shared. When she dredged up the will to break away, she met his searing-hot gaze. His irises were the color ofÉire’swet fields after a storm passed. Gorgeous and bright like the Emerald Isle she loved.

“It’s the Goddess’s honest truth when I say that’s the best snoggin’ of my life, and one helluva thank you.” He brushed his thumb over her lower lip.

Laughing, she pushed him away.

“You’ve the Devil’s own charm when you want to, Patrick O’Malley. And if I’m being true, I’d have to admit it was feckin’ grand, too.”

A mischievous light danced in his eyes. “Better than Ned Riley’s?”

“Ned—oh, ya meanNoah,” she corrected as if she hadn’t caught on to his game. Scrunching her nose, she squinted. “I’ll need more to compare. Maybe we should head back to the pub, and I could host a contest? The winner earns the title of best snogger and a night in my bed.”

The teasing left him, and the distance between them was miles wide with no bridge for the gap.

“Patrick?” She touched his arm, but he jerked away. “What’s wrong? Where did you find the hurt in the craic?”

The hand he ran through his hair trembled, and he stared at the village in the distance.

“Am I supposed to guess, then?” she asked. “Perhaps walk on eggshells around you from here on out?”

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