Page 12 of Beneath Pearly Irish Skies
Her shoulders felt heavier all of a sudden. If she was all tied up with finding a solution to this problem, she wasn’t going to have the mental or emotional energy for intimacy—not to mention the problem of finding physical space for it. People would be popping by to talk about the arts center if she didn’t head this off quickly.
Donal ducked his head out from behind the refrigerator again, his green eyes steady and understanding. “We’ll be helping you too,mo ghrá. You’re not alone in this.”
She loved hearing that as much as she loved hearing him calling hermy love.
Her shoulders lightened a fraction, and she rose and walked over to him. Dammit, she was not going to let Tom MacKenna and company mess with her personal life. They had to find a way to clear the path—of everything. They needed to get the arts center independent and functioning, and they needed to find a way to have the kind of sex she wanted. Assuming he’d want it too, of course. Piece of cake, right?
He opened the refrigerator door when she reached him, fiddling with something in the back. “Your cooling fan is out, Bets. And I believe I found your keys.”
When he held them up, unbidden laughter surfaced. “Of course they’re in the fridge. I brought home those fresh eggs you’d given me.” And promptly opened the freezer for ice to press against her hot neck.
His mouth twitched as she grabbed them from his hand. Putting her hand on his strong back, she lowered her voice to say, “Donal, to answer your original question before we were interrupted… Yes, I happen to really like sex.”
His green eyes gleamed down at her. “Good to know. We’ll talk more, then.”
Damn right they would.
