Page 3 of Beer & Broomsticks

He wanted to go to her, yet as sure as the sun rose in the east and set in the west, she’d reject him. The tension in the way she held her luscious body said as much.

“No matter the motivation, you betrayed what we had, Ruairí.” She sighed and pressed two fingers to the area between her brows. “What do you expect from me? Forgiveness?”

“That’s a start.”

“Fine. I forgive you.”

His heart stalled and resumed at triple time. “Truly?”

“Aye.”

With a smile on his face and a song in his heart, Ruairí braced his hands on the low stone wall, ready to scale it and kiss her rosy lips until stars appeared in her brilliant eyes and the night sky grew jealous of the glow.

She held up a hand, effectively stopping him before he got started.

“Hold it right there. You’re still not welcome to set one foot on this property.”

“What’s this then?” He wanted to smash the wall with his bare fists. “Either you forgive me or you don’t.”

“You were twenty years old, Ruairí, and stupid to boot. Of course I forgive you. But it doesn’t mean I intend to take up where we left off.”

“Why the hell not? I love you, Bridget.”

She laughed in what appeared to be genuine amusement. Laughed hard enough to double over. Hard enough to have tears pour from her eyes.

Ruairí almost despised her in that moment.

“Your face!” she crowed. “You look as if I stole your favorite toy.”

“Is this about paying me back? Tit for tat?”

Bridget sobered in the blink of an eye. “Oh, no. I haven’t begun to pay you back. But I will.”

His unease was back as soon as he saw the promise of retribution in her eye. “You can’t forgive and still take revenge, Bridget O’Malley. Sure, and that’s not the way it works.”

Her smile was pure wicked intent. “Oh, but it does, Ruairí O’Connor. It most certainly does.”

CHAPTER2

Ruairí showed up for work an hour early, and Bridget cursed her damned luck. Sure, the contrary man had to do the opposite of what he was told. Without a word of welcome, she jerked her chin toward the back room. “The front coolers need stocking since you’re here.”

He grinned, probably because he knew good and well he’d gotten the best of her by showing up before his shift, but he went to do her bidding without a word of complaint.

She heard the bottles rattle as Ruairí stacked cases on the hand truck, and her mind wandered back to his confession earlier in the day. Had he really only kissed that horrid minger, Molly Mae Murphy, to provoke her into a jealous response? Or was he lying to save face? It begged the question why he’d bother seventeen years after the fact.

He returned with the beer and began stocking. His presence was larger than she liked. Never before, when Bridget shared the space behind the bar with her brothers, had it felt so small. Ruairí hummed as he worked, and the lively tune grated on the last of her nerves. She’d favored the song when they were young lovers—and he fecking knew it.

“Shut your yap and turn on the radio if you must have music,” she grumbled.

His mouth twitched, and a small knowing smile played on those full, kissable lips of his.

Kissable?Where the hell had that thought come from? She’d be buggered if she put her lips where Molly’s had been—even if he’d scrubbed his mouth five times every day since. “You only kissed her the once?”

His body jerked, and his head whipped around to stare.

Bridget stared back, shocked the words had left her mouth.

“Aye.” He placed a hand over his heart. His sincerity couldn’t be mistaken.

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