Irish Kiss

by Sienna Blake

  I sank back in my seat, arms jammed across my chest, hating him with every second that went past, with every glare that he shot me.

  He was angry at me? How dare he be angry at me after what he’d done.

  Diarmuid pulled up onto the sidewalk of a deserted suburban street, his tires screeching, probably taking out part of that poor person’s tiny lawn. He leapt out of the truck. I pushed the door open and jumped out too, meeting him halfway around the front bumper.

  “What the hell were you thinking going to a fight with that douchebag?” Diarmuid yelled, his voice echoing into the night. The neighbours were probably already calling the cops on our fight, not that I cared right now.

  “Me? What about you acting one way then dropping my hand like a hot potato as soon as we get near your date.”

  His cheeks flushed and I knew I’d hit on a point.

  “If I wasn’t there to get you out of the brawl, who the fuck knows what could have happened? That kid is a fucking loser. You don’t go out with him again.”

  “How dare you think you can tell me who to see. You don’t want me, remember?” I choked on this bitter truth. “You have no fucking right.”

  “Don’t want you?” He grabbed my upper arms. “Do you know what it does to me to think that he might be touching you? That he is allowed to touch you while I can’t?”

  He was so angry he was practically vibrating with it, shaking me in his hands.

  “It kills me, selkie, it fucking kills me.”

  I sucked in a breath. His eyes, dark and intense, had never been so damn beautiful.

  “I want you so much I’m choking with it,” he said. “I want to be yours so hard it hurts. I can’t be yours. I shouldn’t be yours. But I’m too fucking selfish. I need you—only you. The rest of the world can go to hell.”

  I don’t know who moved first. It didn’t matter. Because we both lunged for each other, his hands yanking me to him.

  Our lips collided. They parted, our tongues warring as we had been warring, fierce and passionate, with love and tenderness underneath it.

  We were kissing like the world was ending right here in the middle of a public street, and I didn’t care.

  I just wanted him. The rest of the world could go to hell.

  If only the lawmakers could feel what we were feeling right now. Then they’d turn a blind eye to my age and his.

  His hands grabbed my ass and pulled me up against his hardness. We groaned into each other’s mouths at the illicit contact as he settled me on the bonnet of his truck. I wrapped my legs around him, pressing my hips against the very thing I ached for.

  Our kiss went from flame to raging wildfire in a second. I twisted my fingers in his hair, tilting my head so I could get closer. God, I couldn’t get close enough.

  His hand ran up my side and cupped my left breast. I moaned at the forbidden touch, a touch I’d been dreaming about for years.

  When he pinched my nipple through my clothing with his thumb and forefinger, I almost died.

  I would let him have me right here in the street if he wanted it.

  Dear God, did I want it.

  He pulled back, snatching his hand off my breast. “Wait…” he breathed.

  I moaned at the loss of him. He rubbed his nose against mine in placation, then leaned his forehead against mine, his breath coming out in hard pants.

  I saw the second reality hit him. He winced.

  “Fuck,” he hissed. “That wasn’t meant—”

  I shoved him back off me. I wasn’t that strong compared to him, but he stumbled back, probably out of surprise rather than my brute strength.

  I pointed a stern finger at him. “Don’t you dare say that wasn’t meant to happen.”

  Before he could say anything, I jumped off the bonnet and stormed into the passenger side, slamming the door shut behind me. I sat in the seat, glaring out the front window, arms crossed.

  Diarmuid remained standing where he was for what felt like hours. Then he walked slowly to his side and got in.

  It was deathly silent as he drove the final way to my house.

  Even as my nerves kept jumping around all over the place. My lips still raw from his kiss, my core throbbing in time with my anger.

  Fuck him. Seriously. Fuck him.

  I was sick to death of this want you, shouldn’t have you, push-pull bullshit.

  Diarmuid pulled up in front of my house, turning the engine off rather than letting it idle.

  He twisted his torso towards me and opened his mouth to speak.

  “Don’t,” I said, cutting him off.

  I didn’t want to hear it. I gave him a cold glare.

  “This…” I pointed between us, “you and me…we are already a thing, no matter how much you deny it. I’m under your skin. I’m weaved into your soul. And you are part of me.”

  Diarmuid sank back into his seat. For the first time since I’d met him, he seemed like such a boy.

  I did not want a boy. I needed a man.

  I lifted my chin. “Call me when you get over yourself.”

  I pushed open the truck door and slammed it shut behind me. Then I walked, head held high, all the way up my path, his eyes burning into my back.

  I did not look back. Not once.

  If he wanted me, he’d have to grow up and come chase me.

  57

  ____________

  Saoirse

  The week went by and I didn’t hear from Diarmuid.

  I distracted myself by focusing on the new installations and preparations at my father’s lab. The voice inside me that sounded like Diarmuid’s and told me don’t do this grew quieter and quieter.

  Until Friday morning.

  Diarmuid: Are you coming to the gym today?

  My guts twisted as a jumble of emotions tangled around inside me.

  Me: Are we still pretending that we don’t want each other?

  Diarmuid: Saoirse…

  Me: Diarmuid…

  Diarmuid: You know how I feel.

  Saoirse: And you know how I feel. Yet again we are at an impasse.

  Diarmuid: I hate this.

  My heart squeezed. I hated it too. But I was not backing down. I would not let him do this push-pull with me anymore. It hurt too much.

  Me: I don’t want to talk about this anymore.

  Diarmuid: Then tell me something.

  Me: Like what?

  Diarmuid: Anything. How’s work at the café going?

  Guilt stabbed at my gut.

  Me: Fine. Boring.

  I hated lying to him. But telling him that I’d been fired from the café would just lead to too many questions.

  Diarmuid: Wow. What a detailed answer.

  Me: Don’t be sarcastic. You don’t wear it well.

  Diarmuid: Well then tell me something else.

  Me: It’s my 18th birthday in a few months.

  Diarmuid: Don’t get arrested before then. You’ll spoil my reoffender record.

  Me: Diarmuid!

  Diarmuid: Joking ;)

  Me: I’ll be 18…

  Diarmuid: I’ll make sure to wish you happy birthday.

  Me: …

  Diarmuid: Maybe your bracelet will get another charm.

  Me: Better but not quite what I was thinking…

  There was a long pause before his reply came back in.

  Diarmuid: We should not be talking about this.

  I rolled my eyes at my screen.

  Me: Fine. We can wait until I turn eighteen to “talk” about it.

  Diarmuid: Saoirse…

  “Saoirse.” My name barked out snapped my attention away from my phone.

  I flinched, almost dropping my phone. I hurried to turn the screen off so Diarmuid’s last message wouldn’t give me away.

  I was sitting in the corner of the lab, waiting on my da to finish up for the day. I’d come here with him to oversee the installation of the exhausts. So far so good. My da had spared no expense.

  My father stormed towar
ds me, murder in his eyes.

  Guilt and panic flooded my body. Did he know who I was texting? I slid my phone down into the bottom of my bag.

  “Da, what’s wrong?”

  He stopped before me. “I just spoke to Malachi. What the fock happened on fight night?”

  I cursed internally. Malachi had finally told on me. Or perhaps my da had weaseled the truth out of him.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, trying to play innocent.

  “Malachi said you left with your JLO instead of him.”

  I shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Diarmuid saw me there. After a brawl broke out, he came and pulled me out of the crowd because Malachi was too chicken-shit to do anything.”

  The frown on my da’s face deepened.

  I continued, feeling like I was rambling. “He just took me home because he doesn’t trust motorcycles. He was there with another woman, Da. A date. It’s not like we were alone or anything.” Liar.

  My da’s eyes narrowed at me. “You and this Garda seem friendly.”

  I swallowed down a knot in my throat. “That’s ridiculous. I just tolerate him when I have to see him. I don’t tell him anything, Da, you taught me better than that.”

  Guilt threaded through me.

  I was lying to my father. My own flesh and blood. The man who was taking care of me.

  If he knew I was disrespecting him by falling for an officer, his heart would break.

  “He seems interested in you. A little too interested.” My da’s jaw tightened. “I might have to pay him a little visit. Have a little talk with him…”

  The violence in his tone was clear.

  “No!” I cried just a little too quickly, then forced myself to stay casual. “It’s honestly nothing, Da. He’s just overeager, overprotective of all his assignments. If you threaten him, you’ll make it worse.”

  My da studied me, mistrust seeping into the creases around his eyes. “I don’t like you spending time with him.”

  I swallowed. “I don’t spend time with him. It’s just the bare minimum JLO stuff.”

  Liar. Liar. Liar.

  “Yeah, well, you tell me when you have to go see the prick. I’ll send someone with you.”

  My guts swilled as if poison had been injected into them. The attraction between Diarmuid and me was too potent, too fiery, too obvious. I couldn’t let anyone see us together.

  If my da ever found out about Diarmuid and me, he’d kill him.

  58

  ____________

  Diarmuid

  A knock sounded on my door as I was getting ready to head to work.

  I threw on a shirt and strode to the door, my nerves jangling because I thought—hoped—it might be Saoirse. She was the only one who knocked on my door these days.

  It was not Saoirse.

  Liam Byrne stood on my porch.

  I tensed, immediately glancing around him for signs of more of his men. A black sedan with dark windows sat on the street. I couldn’t see who else was in the car.

  “Mr Brennan,” Liam said, his voice every bit as slimy as his gelled-back hair.

  I placed my forearm against the doorframe, blocking the entrance, making it clear that he was not welcome inside.

  “Mr Byrne,” I mimicked his pretense of politeness. “How can I help you?”

  His eyes slid up and down over me, studying me, probably assessing me for any weaknesses.

  “I heard that you…took my daughter home after last Friday’s fight night.”

  My blood turned cold.

  Of all the reasons to stay away from Saoirse, Liam Byrne had been the last thing on my mind.

  If Liam thought even for a second that there was anything going on between Saoirse and me…

  He’d kill her.

  I shrugged, trying to play it cool. “She needed a ride. I was there on a date. She and I took Saoirse home.”

  “Next time, you leave her to me.”

  I bristled. “If I see Saoirse in trouble, I’m going to help.”

  “And what? You want to gain her trust? Turn her against her old man? It won’t happen.”

  “Mr Byrne—”

  “I won’t tell you twice, Brennan.” He leaned right in, his sour breath making the bile rise up in the back of my throat. “Stay away from her or else.”

  “Are you threatening an officer of the law, Mr Byrne?”

  He smiled. “Of course not. I’m just a concerned father trying to protect his only daughter.”

  He held my gaze for another tense moment, then strode towards his sedan and got into the back seat. I tensed, waiting for the windows to roll down and guns to appear. But they didn’t. The car drove off. I could feel eyes watching me.

  Saoirse didn’t show up to our Friday evening appointment. Not that day, nor the following Friday. Or the one after that. Although I always made sure I was there at the gym, just in case. I found myself watching the door regardless of what I was doing, hoping to see her walk through it.

  I wanted to call her. To go to her house. But I feared her father might be monitoring her movements.

  Besides, there was too much between us.

  Her age.

  My job.

  The kisses that burned through me like a fever at night as I twisted in my sheets.

  Better to let things lie.

  Months went by.

  Her eighteenth birthday grew nearer.

  Nearer.

  Nearer.

  Until it was only days away.

  I couldn’t fucking take it anymore.

  Despite everything telling me not to, I texted Saoirse as I sat in my truck outside the gym after another missed session.

  Me: Hey stranger.

  My phone pinged with a message almost straight away.

  Saoirse: Hey…

  Me: How are you? You alright?

  Saoirse: Good. You?

  I’m shit because you aren’t around to make me smile. I fucking miss you.

  Me: Good, yeah.

  Saoirse: What do you want?

  She was pissed at me. Probably because it’d taken me months to contact her since we last kissed. She didn’t know I’d been staying away from her for her.

  Me: Just wanted to check in on you. It’s been a while since I saw you.

  Saoirse: Taken you long enough to notice I wasn’t coming to our JLO sessions.

  Me: I noticed.

  I’d felt every day without her around like it was scraping pieces out of my chest.

  Saoirse: What are you telling your boss?

  Me: About what?

  Saoirse: About why we haven’t been meeting up every week as per the program?

  Me: Oh.

  Saoirse: Oh, what?

  Me: … There’s something I have to confess.

  Saoirse: …

  Me: The program doesn’t require us to meet once a week.

  There was a long pause before her next message came through.

  Saoirse: You made that up?

  Me: I exaggerated a little.

  Saoirse: You made it up!

  Me: Embellished.

  Saoirse: I’m never trusting you again.

  Me: *sad face*

  Saoirse: Serves you right.

  Me: Would it help if I said I only lied because I wanted to spend more time with you?

  Saoirse: Diarmuid…

  Me: You forgive me? :)

  Saoirse: You can’t say things like that to me.

  Me: Things like what?

  Saoirse: You can’t say sweet things like that and kiss me the way you do then tell me we’re not meant to be together.

  Me: I’m sorry. I don’t mean to hurt you.

  Saoirse: I know you don’t. But it doesn’t stop it from hurting.

  Me: I wish I could kiss away all your tears.

  Saoirse: *cries* There you go again!

  Me: *sighs* I’m sorry.

  It seemed all that I did was hurt her.

  Saoirse: I know. I wish things were different.


  I sat in my truck outside the gym, gripping my phone, wanting her so badly it felt like a vice around my chest. I wasn’t a religious man but I prayed to God, begged him, to help me do the right thing and to walk away from her.

  Despite my prayers, my fingers flew across the keys, the truth of my heart pouring out.

  I miss you, selkie. I miss talking to you. I miss having you next to me in my truck. I miss you even though I shouldn’t miss you. I need to see you.

  I flung my phone aside, disgusted at myself, the last message unsent.

  I slammed my truck into gear and just drove. Selfish man. Why would you want to see her if it would only lead to destruction? Why do you still want her if it would only lead to her ruin?

  When I got home later that evening, I got out of my truck, mind numb, mentally exhausted from running around and around in circles in my head.

  I thought I saw movement through the frosted glass of my door. I frowned.

  There it was again. My senses flicked back to life.

  There was someone in my house.

  Liam Byrne had seen my messages to Saoirse.

  He’d come back to finish the job.

  I grabbed a golf club out of the back of my car before approaching the front door, club raised behind me.