Page 42 of Wild Irish

“Ye’re American?” He’s still holding her damn hand.

A rush of jealousy smacks me in the chest, and without thinking, I wrap one arm around her shoulder and pull her towards me.

Patrick chuckles. “So, it’s that way, is it?”

I grunt, causing him to laugh harder, and Delaney to look up at me in confusion.

“Are ye coming to the Crow’s Head?”

I nod, which seems to satisfy him.

As they start up to the beach in the direction of the pub, Patrick shouts over his shoulder in Gaelic and the other men laugh.

I grunt, glad Delaney doesn’t understand the language. If she did, I may have had to knock a few of the man’s teeth out. I still might if he looks at her that way again.

“What did he say?” she asks, as we start to walk back to the pier.

“That ye’re beautiful,” I lie.

“Oh.” She pulls her lip between her teeth, and even in the fading light I can see the blush that spreads across her cheeks.

I swear the woman doesn’t know how sexy she is. In a way, it scares me, because she doesn’t see the way men look at her, or the danger they pose.

“What’s the Crow’s Head?” she asks, shivering as a cool gust of wind twirls around us.

“A pub.”

She groans. “No more whiskey.”

I laugh.

“Ye can stick to Guinness tonight.” I scoop her up, and she lets out a little yelp before wrapping her arms around my neck and burying her face in the crook of my neck.

“I could get used to this,” she murmurs against my skin. “You carrying me.”

“Ye’re making me wonder if ye haven’t been faking being hurt all along.”

She chuckles. “I guess you’ll never know.”

There’s a lot I’ll never know about her. And a million things I want to.

Chapter 17

Delaney

Today has been perfect. Or maybe it’s just being with Cillian that’s made it so great. The only problem is that I’ve bared my soul to him, and I still know practically nothing about him.

“What?” he asks over his Guinness when he catches me watching him.

We’re sitting in the Crow’s Head Pub at one of the back booths. I keep catching people staring at him, but when I mention it, he just shrugs it off.

I pick at the fish and chips in front of me. “You just haven’t told me much about yourself.”

“There’s not much to tell.” He shrugs, and glances at the band as they start to set up on stage. “What do ye want to know?”

Everything.

His family seems to be a sore subject, so I ask him, “What do you do for work?”

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