Page 14 of Wild Irish

And I want him to.

I lick my lips, meeting his fiery gaze, my body humming in anticipation. I lean towards him just slightly.

He stares down at me for a long, tense moment.

Kiss me.

But he doesn’t. He breaks eye contact and moves past me.

“Come on,” he growls, voice brimming with frustration.

With me?

As he disappears out of the room, I hear his heavy, agitated breath.

The warmth of embarrassment reaches my cheeks, and I squeeze my eyes shut.

I totally misread him. Maybe he’s not attracted to me. Or maybe he has a girlfriend. I hadn’t even thought of that until now. I sigh and follow him into the kitchen.

“Sit,” he says, nodding to the table and chairs. When I take a seat, he places a bowl of stew in front of me.

He grabs the bottle of whiskey and two glasses and sits down across from me. Filling both glasses, he pushes one across the table towards me. Leaning back in his chair, he swirls the amber liquid and studies me.

“You’re not eating?” I ask, picking up the spoon.

He drains his glass, then places it on the table before refilling it. “Tell me about the list.”

I cough, choking on my first bite. Grabbing the glass in front of me, I drain it, but the whiskey only makes me cough more.

Cillian doesn’t seem fazed, he just refills my glass and continues. “That’s why ye’re here, right? In Ireland.” He leans forward, blue eyes studying me like I’m some sort of anomaly. “But ye don’t seem like the adventurous type.”

More heat races to my cheeks. Embarrassment mixes with indignation because there’s judgment in his words.

I place my spoon down and tilt my chin at him. “What typedoI seem like?”

“The kind that stays home. Gets married and has babies. Not the type who runs off…” His lips twitch up slightly. “And kisses strangers.”

“I never…” I fidget in my seat. “I mean, I haven’t.”

“Ye don’t have to justify yerself. I’m just trying to figure ye out.”

I glance down at my bowl, unable to meet his gaze. I hate that he can read me so well when I can’t figure him out at all.

“D’ye have a man back at home?”

“What?” I blink up at him. “No.”

“So it’s not a man yer runnin’ from?” There’s a slight slur to his voice.

I chew on my bottom lip and shake my head. “Maybe I just want to have fun. Live my life. And not care about everyone else’s rules.”

He sighs and rakes his fingers through his hair. “Ye don’t seem like the type that goes looking for trouble.”

“You’re assuming a lot about me.”

“Am I wrong?”

I pick up my spoon and stir the meat and potatoes around the bowl.

---