Page 26 of Beneath Pearly Irish Skies
Chapter Seven
Donal stayed on in Bets’ parlor after everyone else left. His expression was ruminative as he ate a fairy cake. What was he thinking?
Oh, who was she kidding? He was probably here to talk about sex.
“Something on your mind, Donal?” she asked, grabbing a fairy cake herself and taking the settee across from him.
He wiped his mouth. “We’re going to need a permit for the St. Stephen’s Day fair.”
“Shit.”
“Yes.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Tom MacKenna has taken over that job now that I’ve resigned.”
“Double shit.”
“I think we should expect more trouble from your sister-in law,” Donal said with an ominous frown. “Mary sabotaged your victory at the rose competition over a month ago. Whatever feud she has with you clearly isn’t over in her mind. Orla is along for the ride, as is Tom, being her husband and all.”
“Why can’t people simply live their own lives?” She had no interest in poking at Mary Kincaid. Hadn’t since she’d first arrived in town to meet Bruce’s family. Mary had told her she would never fit in—not in the O’Hanlon family, not in the village, and not in Ireland. Bets had been shocked by her rudeness and hoped the years would quiet it. Instead, Mary was still buzzing about like a mad hornet.
“Some people are mean to the core, and she’s one of them,” Donal said. “She was a jealous little girl in braids, I remember, and her jealousy over you having the O’Hanlon land and being so well liked in the village has never been more on display. Plus, she came by with her baked goods after my Margaret died, hoping my eyes would rest on her. Now they rest on you, as you know. More salt, I expect, in addition to your roses being more beautiful than hers. I expect your petals are too.”
She waggled her eyebrows at his cheek. Petals, indeed. She wanted him to see them too—at some point. Yet another reason they needed to figure out a way to check Tom and company for good. The profits from a fair, even a successful one, would only take them so far. Her grant would take them further. It had to. But he was right about the permit, and she groaned. Another thing for her to sort out. He wasn’t seeing her petals anytime soon at the rate they were going.
“Every time I hear about you not going for Mary’s baked goods, so to speak, it puts a smile on my face. I bet that put her girdle in a knot all right.”
“Like I’d want that shrew.” He crooked his finger to her.
She got up and crossed to him. Because she needed some assurance he was going to see her “petals” sometime in the future. Only they hadn’t hadhertalk about spontaneous sex. Why have it when they didn’t have the space for intimacy?
“What is it?” she asked.
“You look tense again.” He pulled her onto his lap, scattering crumbs on the rug.
“Couldn’t you have waited until I’d finished my fairy cake to grab me? I’m going to have to vacuum, and I only do that on Wednesdays.”
“I’ll do it,” he said with a snort, “and not just to show you that I can clean up and don’t expect you to be doing it for me—should we get married and all. Of course, I’d still be liking to have sex with you first. Assuming you can pencil me in now that you have the writing of that grant application. Did you arrange it to elude me?”
Elude him? She fantasized about him five to ten times a day. Like a guy. She was losing her keys. She’d burned out the batteries in her vibrator. Next thing she knew she’d be blowing a fuse. “Don’t be ridiculous. I told you we’d have sex. But we need to have the time to have it, and right now, I have the grant to write and the permit to secure without getting blocked by Tom.” How in the hell was she going to do that?
He tipped up her chin. “I’ll take care of the permit.”
“You will?” She wanted to hug him. “How?”
“You focus on your grant,” he said, kissing her lightly on the mouth. “Bets, I suspect the lack of time and space isn’t the only reason we aren’t having sex.”
Okay, maybe a part of her still wasn’t ready yet. “Keep going.”
“Since we’re talking about it and not having it, I was wondering…”
Good Lord, here they went. “What?”
He paused, stroking the yellow butterfly in the right corner of her blue leggings, before saying, “Are you of a mind for oral sex?”
She met his gaze straight on, knowing her brows were in her hairline. “Are you joking with me right now?”
He looked away and cleared his throat. “No.”
No? She wondered why he wasn’t meeting her eyes, and then she noted his cheeks were red. Red! “Donal O’Dwyer, are youblushing?”
