Kiss Me I'm Irish: A St. Patrick's Day Novella
Page 8
I step up and the next thing I know we’re inside…somewhere. It smells absolutely delicious. There’s noise that makes me think we’re in some sort of a restaurant. I can hear a sink running, dishes clanging, knives cutting vegetables on cutting boards.
I’m walking carefully, holding onto my guide while trying to figure out where we are. He keeps leading me and within another minute, we’re in a different room. It’s quiet now, all signs of the kitchen left behind. We walk a few more steps and then he leads me to a chair and helps me sit down.
“Here you go ma’am. Mr. McLoughlin will be right with you.”
“Thank you.” I sit down and lay my hands in my lap. “Oh,” I say to him before he can leave, “Can I take the blindfold off now?”
“Yes,” a deep voice says, “Take the blindfold off.”
My heart starts to race and I’m wondering what’s going on. I’d recognize that voice anywhere.
“Rowan?” I untie the blindfold and let it slip off my face. Rowan is sitting in front of me in a chair of his own. I look around us and we’re sitting in the dining area of a cozy little restaurant. There’s no one else in the room with us, however, but there are candles on all of the tables casting the room in a soft romantic glow.
“I thought we were going to the bar tonight?”
“We will.” He slides off his chair toward me onto the floor. “I thought we’d go after dinner…to celebrate.”
He looks mischievous, his hands sliding up my legs, resting on my thighs.
“What are we celebrating?” I ask, breathless.
“You, saying you’ll be mine…forever.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a ring. My hands grasp his tightly. He looks up at me and I think back to the first time I looked into his eyes. I never would have guessed we’d be sitting here a year later. He was so dark and mysterious. Now I know him inside and out. He’s closer to me than anyone else.
“I already am yours,” I say. I slide down off my chair into his lap, kissing him like my life depends on it. “But, yes, I’ll be yours forever.”
We’re kissing when I feel his hands slide up to my chest.
“Rowan!” I pull back, shocked. “We’re in the middle of a restaurant!”
“Yes but we’re alone. And your tits look so good in this shirt. They look big!” He’s staring at my chest in fascination and I laugh. Then he reads the slogan on my shirt while he massages my boobs. “Kiss me, I’m Irish. Well you don’t have to ask me twice.”
Afterword
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About the Author
Genevieve Matthews is a steamy romance novelist who specializes in men who know how to treat their ladies right. She lives in the heartland with her husband and two little boys. When she can find time, she likes to catch a movie, head out to dinner, or curl up with a good book.
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