Page 45 of Naughty Irish Liar

I muttered about how he was a colossal douche of all the canoes before I turned on my heel and stomped from the empty restaurant down the stairs and through the packed bar. When I swept into Ronan’s office I did it without knocking and I slammed it behind me.

The man himself was behind his desk, with his eyebrow caught half way up his forehead, watching me. “What crawled up your ass?”

“Nothing.” I snapped and got right to business. “I think you should go with this company. It’s slightly pricier … hear me out … but they have 5-star ratings across the board. They’re reliable, can do short notice, and I like the menu they submitted.” I put that sheet in front of him to look over. I moved onto the next which was a DJ.

“I don’t want a DJ. It’s hen party kind of tacky. Next.”

I didn’t huff. I just went onto the next idea. “People love drinking. They love theme nights and they love fancy dress. Paddy’s day combines all three. We don’t allow entry if you’re not wearing green. But they win a voucher for one free drink if they come in Irish fancy dress.”

“Hm. Go on.” I went on. Loving every focused minute he sat quietly listening to the suggestions while the long fingers that wrought terribly wicked pleasure out of me this morning tapped on the desk.

Thirty minutes later all details were finalized, companies booked, and I felt a sense of satisfaction no other work had ever brought me before.

Knowing I was pleasing Ronan at the same time was a warming bonus.

I got to my feet, assuming he was about to dismiss me, he followed suit and didn’t stop coming forward until he was soaring over the top of my head.

Not touching, yet I felt touched all over by his intense darkening gaze.

“Now you can tell me what brought you in here like a ginger Tasmanian devil.”

“You’ve been thinking about it?” I smiled and then smiled bigger when he scowled. I tucked every little piece of information about Ronan in my mental notebook. Eager to know every corner and crevice of the man.

He was troubled about me.

Which had to mean he cared.

“Take me for something to eat and I’ll tell you.”

Though he scowled and he made a point to let me know we werenotdating, we still ended up at a little sandwich place down the block from his pub.

While I consumed a ham and arugula on rye with a side plate of pickles I told him about the conversation with Dylan.

Unconcerned, Ronan sipped on a coffee.

“It’s to be expected.”

“How so? I haven’t fawned over you once, even though I get the urge to climb you like a telephone pole and sit on your face every time you walk through the doors.”

“Christ.” He grated, lowering his head over his clasped hands.

I loved when his accent became thick as tar, so rough.

I went on nibbling my sandwich with a little smile on my lips.

“I haven’t spread myself over your desk covered my naked body in mini cupcakes waiting for you to eat, either. So his accusations are unfounded.”

“Your mouth, Catherine, is about to get you fucked in a crappy sandwich shop over a filthy table. Ask me if I give a shit who sees me taking you.”

“You promise?” I exclaimed, pushing the plate away, ready to climb across the table and sit on him to make sure he kept his word. “I need to take my eyeballs out first, they’re killing me.”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

I chuckled, digging in my purse for my contact case with the solution. “I’ve had my lenses in too long, my eyes are itchy.” Using a dollop of hand sanitizer, because as Ronan had said the place was kind of grotty and I wasn’t looking for pink eye, but they made a delicious sandwich. I popped out my contacts, stored them away and rooted around my purse for a pair of frames. Today’s were big and red. I just loved how old fashioned they were.

I found him staring almost with a look of lust and … annoyance etched into every manly corner of his face. I loved his eyes on me. It was like being bathed in handsome assholery. There was nothing more I wanted than to have his gaze on me for the rest of forever.

“You look sixteen again,” he complained with his lips tight.

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