Page 53 of Inheriting an Irish Groom
“Ohhh, Mr. Gallagher,” the hostess all but purred. “So nice to see you… and with company.”
Aisling raised a brow. The woman was beaming like she’d just walked in on a scandal.
“Irish stew is the special tonight,” the hostess added, barely keeping a giggle in check. “And I’ll bring you two a slice of chocolate Guinness cake for dessert. On the house, of course.”
“Thank you,” Ronan said smoothly. “We’ll need to be out by eight. Is that doable?”
The hostess nodded, grin widening. “Oh, absolutely. Are you going to?—”
“Secret,” Ronan cut her off with a charming smile. “But thanks for the cake.”
As the woman flounced away like she'd just been handed tabloid material, Aisling turned to him, arms crossed.
“Secrets again?” she said. “Don’t you think I’ve hit my limit today?”
“Nope,” he said like he had no intention of explaining anything.
She gave him a narrow-eyed look. “You’re enjoying this.”
He leaned in slightly. “That obvious?”
Her lips twitched despite herself. “Why do I get the feeling this is our ‘coming out’ night? The one where the whole town suddenly knows there’s something going on between us?”
Ronan gave her a slow, sideways glance, all smug amusement. “There’s something going on?”
She stared him down. “Yes. There’s something going on. You might not live to see the sunrise.”
He bit back a grin. “Then I’ll die a happy man. Everyone knows you’re here with me. Together. I’d hate to see you end up in the Gaol.”
“Is that a threat or a promise?”
“Depends. What’s in it for me? One night of happiness?”
Her breath caught in her throat for half a second before she recovered. “Only if you beg.”
She hadn’t even tasted the cake yet, and this night was already sinful.
Their stew arrived just in time to keep things from combusting. But as the waitress set the bowls down, Aisling could still feel Ronan’s gaze brushing against her skin—hot, deliberate, and entirely too dangerous.
Aisling took a bite, eyes closing for a second. “Okay. I’ll give it to you. This stew’s borderline magical.”
Ronan grinned. “You’re welcome.”
“You didn’t make it.”
“I brought you here. Same thing.”
She snorted. “Please. You dragged me here under mysterious pretenses and let a gossipy hostess plan our dessert.”
“Which you’re going to love, by the way,” he said, slicing through his bread with a little too much smugness. “Best cake in Clare. Possibly the whole of Ireland.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt the cake,” she replied, sipping her water. “I doubt your intentions.”
His eyes gleamed with mischief. “That hurts. I have nothing but pure, noble intentions.”
Aisling raised a brow. “Ronan, your goat mounted my goat three days ago. Your entire farm is a walking sexual metaphor.”
He laughed, leaning back in his chair. “Céilí gave full consent. She made the first move. My billies just took advantage of her heated condition.”
