Page 23 of Ignite

“Love you too.”

I end the call as Conan strides into my house, the air shifting with him. My stomach flips when he kicks off his shoes and lifts his gaze to me.

The way he stares—it’s like I’m his prey. Like he’s already decided how I’ll fall.

“How did you find her to drive?” I ask.

“Ugh,” he groans.

“She’s fucking gorgeous, Hallie. That fucking roar of the engine makes me hard just thinking about it.”

I swallow hard and reach for my wine.

“Here.” I slide him one of my dad’s favorite whiskeys. He used to get them imported from Ireland. I figure Conan would approve.

“A whiskey girl?” He tilts his head, settling on the stool across from me.

“Sometimes. I like this one anyway.”

He takes a slow sip, licking his lips. There’s a glint in his eye, something dark and amused.

“I’d know that flavor anywhere. You got the bottle?”

I nod and duck to grab it from the cabinet. He takes it, studies the label, and smiles—soft, sad.

“This one was my dad’s pride and joy. He spent years perfecting this recipe.”

My mouth falls open.

“Your dad made this? Oh my god. My dad would be kissing your feet if he were still alive. He lived for this.”

He nods, a flicker of something reverent passing through his eyes.

“I’ve not seen it here in the States. Only the ones I flew over.”

“My dad used to get them shipped every six months. He once took a trip to Ireland, fell in love with it, and never let it go.”

“Well, you know what they say…”

He leans across the counter, and my breath stutters. He’s close. Too close.

“W-what do they say?” I whisper.

“Once you get a taste of the Irish, ya never go back.”

A giggle bubbles up, and I try to hide it behind the rim of my glass.

“I thought it was about the luck of the Irish?”

“That too. I mean, I’ve been your lucky charm tonight, haven’t I? Your ex is racing around the street butt naked right now.”

I glance past him to the couch and narrow my eyes.

“Wanna help me burn it?”

He knocks back his whiskey.

“Now?”

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