Kiss of the Irish (Foreign Fling)

by Lauren Hawkeye

  When Cian raised his head to pour a draft beer, his eyes met hers and everything in her tightened. She watched his lips curve into a sexy, inviting smile and fought not to squirm in her seat. As he continued to pour the beer, his gaze never left hers. He didn’t need to look to know when the glass was full and pulled it away from the tap with just the right amount of creamy foam at the top before handing it to his customer.

  And then he was in front of her, leaning across the bar to address her in a voice smooth as silk.

  “You,” he growled, “look absolutely glorious.”

  For the first time since she’d arrived, Sarah wasn’t embarrassed. She remembered how she had looked in the mirror in her racy little nightie and realized precisely how much like a woman Cian made her feel.

  “Thank you. Can I have a Guinness?”

  Cian’s surprise showed on his face. “No juice?”

  Sarah laughed softly at his expression. She liked surprising him. More than she could have imagined. “No, a Guinness.”

  She had always liked beer, really. When she was home in the States, she didn’t drink much of it, telling herself that it had too many empty calories. At that moment, however, Sarah wanted the bitter, frothy taste of a dark ale, and she just happened to be smack-dab in the middle of the country where they made the best.

  So why not treat herself?

  “Well, aren’t you the proper little Irish miss?” When Cian winked at her, warmth curled through Sarah, and her fingers clenched on the bar. “One Guinness, coming right up.”

  She wanted to kiss him. She needed to kiss him.

  Before she could make the decision to actually do so, however, he was off to pour her beer. While he was at the task, he got called back to the kitchen to look at something, and he disappeared from view. Sarah sighed in disappointment before plucking a menu from its holder. Just when she finally got up the nerve to be direct with the man, he was out of her reach.

  Sarah did her best to occupy herself with the menu, deciding that she might as well have her dinner at the pub. Once she’d decided what to order, however, her mind drifted back to Cian and the way he’d touched her in his office. Just thinking about it was enough to make her shiver in anticipation. At the time, she’d been mortified that he would seduce her in a place so close to where others could hear and see…but when she thought about it now, she only grew aroused. She liked how risqué the encounter had been—and she liked how demanding Cian could be when he was wrapped up in her.

  Cian was wrapped up in her.

  God, sometimes it was hard to believe she wasn’t dreaming.

  “You look as though you’re thinking awfully hard about something.” Sarah inhaled sharply at a low Irish lilt in her ear and turned to see Cian beside her, holding her Guinness. This time she did blush at being so obviously caught, and took the beer from him to have a long swallow.

  It was delicious, thick and frothy, with a bitter aftertaste that stimulated her palate wonderfully. “This is amazing.”

  “Fresh from the tap.” Cian nodded toward the draft station behind the bar. “Makes all the difference. Now…” One of his hands moved discreetly to her thigh, curling into the warmth there so that she bit back a moan of need. His other hand took her Guinness and set it aside. “Tell me what you were thinking with that gorgeous face all pink and wanting?”

  When asked like that, Sarah wished for nothing more than to tell him her every dirty fantasy. But this wasn’t the time or place. “I…I…” Before she knew it, his mouth was on hers. There was no pretense and absolutely no time for her to prepare. Even so, Sarah melted against him, her hands going to his shoulders as he maneuvered himself in between her thighs so she was all but straddling him. She knew she should be embarrassed. They were in the middle of a crowded pub where the world could see them, but she couldn’t bring herself to think about anything other than the heat of his body against hers and the way his tongue teased her lower lip.

  By the time Cian drew back, Sarah was little more than a puddle of raging desire, and he chuckled as he spoke to her, breaking the spell. “You were saying?”

  Dear God, what was she saying? The moment he kissed her, she had completely forgotten. Sarah hurriedly wracked her brain, remembering what she was doing before she came to the pub, and a lightbulb went on. “I signed up for a painting class.”

  Cian arched a brow—the one with the ring in it—intrigued. “Did you, now? Is that part of your courses?”

  Ah. Her courses. “Um, no,” she admitted reluctantly. “It’s a local class. In the studio above the library. I…took a few classes in college and found I had a knack for it, so I thought I’d try again.”

  Cian smiled, slow and devilish, and Sarah fought the urge to kiss him again. “I can see you painting. You’ve got very delicate fingers.” As he said so, he plucked her hands from his shoulders, bringing them to his mouth to kiss her knuckles, one by one, as Sarah watched with bated breath. “You’re taking art history, aren’t you?”

  It was hard for her to concentrate when he did that. If she found his mouth so erotic on her hands, Sarah could just imagine how it would feel on choicer parts of her. “Um…I was. I decided not to.” Much like that afternoon, everything came spilling out in a rush. “The books came today, and I sent them back to the U.S. I’d rather take the painting class.”

  If she expected Cian to judge her harshly for speaking the truth, she was sorely disappointed. “Good on you.” He kissed her forehead in a surprisingly tender gesture before picking up her half-full glass from where he’d set it and rounding the bar to refill it. “A painting class sounds much more like something one does on a vacation than a bloody college course.” When he returned her full pint, his hand lingered on hers, and Sarah all but swooned. “Are you staying for supper? There’s a bit of a rush now, but when things quiet down, I’ll have a bite with you.”

  “Yes.” Sarah blurted her assent with perhaps too much enthusiasm, and Cian grinned as she covered her mouth self-consciously. “I mean, sure. I’ll wait.”

  “Wonderful. Drink up, darlin’.” She loved the way his voice turned up at the end of words, cutting them off just the slightest bit. Darlin’. Perhaps she was being silly, but it was incredibly sexy.

  With a last kiss on her hand, Cian moved away to work the crowd, and Sarah watched him with no small amount of longing. Why, she wondered, had she denied herself this? Nell was right. She was a consenting adult. If she wanted to have a fling with a sexy Irish bad boy, so be it.

  Chapter Seven

  That evening, Cian was so busy he needed another set of hands—or two, or even three. But as he filled gleaming pint glasses, commented on the score of the football match playing on the screen over the bar, and chatted with his regulars, most of whom he’d known his entire life, he couldn’t stop his gaze from drifting over to where Sarah sat, looking more relaxed than he’d ever seen her.

  “Take over for me, will you?” The second it started slowing down, he picked up the two pints of Guinness he’d just built, tilting his head at Ainsley as he came out from behind the bar. She let loose with a string of curses that turned the air blue and had the group of elderly men clustered around the bar breaking into laughter.

  She hadn’t been pleased to be called into work for the evening after the prospect of having an entire day off.

  “Must be nice to sit and have a bit of a flirt whenever you’d like.” Her eyes, the same color as his own, snapped with irritation, even as her hands started moving, lightning-quick, to fill drink orders. “The rest of us have to work for our keep.”

  “I seem to recall you slipping out early last week to watch a movie with Jack Grady, and me getting slammed as a result.” He smirked when she reddened and scowled. “Now it’s my turn. Have a good night.”

  His sister snarled behind him, but he was already moving away. He wouldn’t be taking a break if he didn’t think she could handle the crowd—it had thinned by now, and with Tommy in the kitchen and their part-time wait
ress Brianna on the floor, they were just fine. He headed to the cozy table where Sarah sat waiting for him, the pint of Guinness he’d given her two hours earlier down to its last inch.

  “You don’t have to spend time with me if you’re needed at work,” she said, reaching for her purse and starting to rise. “I can head back to my apartment…my flat, sorry. I don’t want to be a bother.”

  “Sit.” Catching her wrist, he tugged her, not into the seat she’d been in, but onto his lap as he sat himself. Her breath caught, a lovely little sound of excitement in his ear, as he shifted her sideways and wrapped his arms around her. She smelled as she usually did, of that sweet shampoo, but it was layered with another note, something deeper, exotic. “Christ, you smell so good I want to take a great big bite.”

  “Cian.” She squirmed, her skin heating, the feel of her soft curves against his hardness making him growl low in his throat. “Put me down.”

  “I will if you’ll tell me why you smell like sin.” To please himself, he nipped at the cord of her neck, hard enough to leave a small pink mark, and she shuddered hard enough to make him clench his jaw.

  He remembered her oh-so-sweet question about the hoops through his nipples, and if they’d feel as good on a woman as a man. He had a feeling that once this woman started to learn about all of the pleasures to be found in the flesh, he was going to have to hold on for dear life.

  “It’s a perfume sample.” She wiggled again, and he felt himself thicken, hardening against the curves of her ass. “Something with jasmine. Nell sprayed it on me in a department store. Now put me down.”

  He did, but not before nipping at that creamy expanse of skin one more time. He had to ask Nell what it was. He was going to buy Sarah a gallon of it.

  Cian watched with amusement as Sarah scrambled back to her own seat, her skin flushed from being pressed up against him. Once situated, she sat up straight and pulled her composure around herself like a cloak.

  “That’s better.” She arched an eyebrow at him primly. He grinned.

  “You look lonely all the way over there. Why don’t you come back over here? I’ll make it worth your while.”

  She swallowed hard, then shook her head. “I’m hungry, and you promised to feed me.”

  “That I did.” He could eat, himself, and fixed his mind on a platter of fish and chips. He slid the computer printed menu across the small table to Sarah, who studied it as though she hadn’t taken most of her meals in the pub since her arrival.

  “Tommy has that stew that you fancy today.” Christ but she was cute, so studious as she read the menu as though her life depended on her decision. “Or there’s that cheese sandwich you’re fond of.”

  “No.” Sarah almost shouted the word, then looked as though she’d startled herself. Cian merely blinked, cocking his head as he waited for her to explain. “Sorry. That was loud. I mean…I don’t want anything I’ve already had. I want…I want to try something different. Something I’d never think to order myself. Something…something Irish. You choose for me.”

  “All right.” He studied her as he tugged the menu from her fingers. Where was this coming from? The comment, the new perfume, the brightness in her eyes—something had clicked inside his woman this afternoon, and he was pretty sure he’d find out what if he just waited long enough.

  “How’s steak and kidney pie sound?” A trickle of amusement worked its way through him as her lips pursed on the word kidney. Still, she nodded gamely, and when Brianna stopped by their table, he ordered the pie for Sarah…and an order of her favorite stew for himself, pretty sure that they’d wind up swapping.

  After Brianna left, Sarah cupped the fresh pint that Cian had brought her, her expression introspective. Tracing her finger through the condensation on the side of the glass, she sank her teeth into her lower lip and seemed to be mulling over something that she wanted to say.

  To make it easier on her, Cian started.

  “Tell me about this art class, then.” Lifting his own pint, he took a deep sip, letting the bitter froth roll over his tongue and enjoying the way Sarah peered up at him from beneath her ridiculously long eyelashes. She’d painted them today, he realized with a start, something she rarely did. The black paint that females used made her eyes seem even more blue, more sapphire than cornflower, but still, he preferred her without.

  He preferred her just as she was.

  “It’s probably stupid, me taking a painting lesson,” she began, her fingers on the glass speeding up as they traced that abstract pattern. “I’m an art historian, after all. I work in an auction house. I’m not an artist.”

  He’d have had to be blind not to see the longing and the twinge of pain that crossed her face as she spoke. It irritated him, working under his skin like a thistle. Setting his glass on the table with a thump that startled Sarah into looking up at him, he slapped his hands on the wooden surface after it, palms down.

  “Why do you always do that?” he demanded, pinning her with a stare.

  “Do what?” She blinked up at him, at a loss.

  “Sarah.” Sighing with frustration, he raked a hand through his hair. “You always worry about what you should be, not what you want to be.”

  “I—what?” To his horror, she blinked, and then wetness appeared in her eyes.

  Female tears. Something that terrified him to the core. Christ, he was making a blunder of this. Reaching across the table, he grabbed her hand. She tried to pull away, but he squeezed and held tight.

  “All I mean,” he started gently, “is that I want you to be happy. There’s nothing wrong with wanting what you want, and don’t ever let anyone tell you any different.”

  No tears overflowed, though the dampness shimmered for another long, terrifying moment. Finally Sarah narrowed her eyes at him and squeezed his hand back.

  “How do you see me?” Such a simple question but one, he realized as he tried to form his words, with no easy answer. With another woman, he’d say something flirtatious and charming. Something that would have her inviting him into her bed for an easy bout of hot sex.

  Nothing about his Yank was easy. And surprisingly enough, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

  “You’ve got one of the keenest minds I know.” She made a face, pursing her lips, and he couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, I see. You’re wanting to know what I think of your more womanly attributes, is that it? Well, then.”

  She remained quiet, but those eyes were fixed on him. Something flickered in them, warning him that his answer was more important to her than he could understand.

  “I noticed you the second you walked into my pub,” he started, and she cut him off.

  “Only because you were watching for your new tenant.” She exhaled heavily, and his irritation surged again.

  “You’re doing it again. Be quiet for one bloody minute and let me finish.” He narrowed his eyes at her, daring her to speak again, and she pressed her lips tightly together.

  “Now then. I said I noticed you when you first walked in, and that’s the truth of it. Yes, I was watching for my new tenant, but I was still drawn to you before I figured out who you were.”

  “Why?” The word was soft, expectant.

  “For one thing, even though you were half-drowned, you gave off this kind of…glow.” Feeling more than a little ridiculous saying it, he took a hasty swig of his beer. When he lowered the glass, she was watching him closely, warily, and he couldn’t help but notice the hope on her face.

  Was she really so starved for the most basic affection, then? What kind of people was she surrounded by in America that she has such a warped vision of herself?

  Then he understood. Sarah knew that she was smart—she’d built her life upon that foundation. She was intelligent. Responsible. Conservative. Did as was expected of her. Was probably praised for all of those things, and gently scolded every time she did something that stepped outside of the lines.

  She wanted to be told that she was beautiful. Sexy.

&nbs
p; She wanted to know that he wanted her.

  Lifting his drink again, he studied her for a long moment over the rim of his glass. He could tell her those things, certainly. But in the case of this woman, who was so clearly starving for what she thought she shouldn’t need?

  He was pretty sure it would be more effective for him to show rather than tell.

  …

  Why wasn’t he saying anything?

  Sarah felt her hopes crumbling as Cian regarded her from across the table. She’d built herself up on the way home from Dublin with Ainsley and Nell, and then again at home, reminding herself that she was so much more than Ross or her parents had made her out to be. And yet here she was, tearing herself down again. Cian was right to call her out on it.

  Her spine stiffened as she waited for him to speak. She didn’t need a compliment from him. Didn’t need to know how he saw her.

  She needed to figure out how she saw herself. That afternoon she’d gotten the first tiny glimpse, and she’d liked it.

  She opened her mouth—to say what she wasn’t entirely sure—but then Cian plucked the pint glass from her fingers. Setting it down on the table in front of her, he skirted the table, closing the short distance between them, his gray eyes dark and shadowed like a thunderstorm.

  “Stand up.” She shouldn’t have been able to hear him so clearly over the din inside the pub. Maybe it was because his voice was pitched low, maybe it was because every cell in her body was attuned to him, but she heard each syllable, each breath, and read a world behind it all.

  Limbs trembling, she did as he said. His fingers tangled with hers for one moment, dancing over the backs of her hands, and then he scooped her up in those lean arms, right up off her feet.

  “Cian!” Sarah shrieked as he tugged her against his chest. Her body stiffened, and she wrapped her arms around his neck in a death grip, feeling as though she was falling even as she demanded he put her down. “What are you doing? Stop it!”

  Cian merely grinned down at her, hefting her up higher. One of his hands slid unapologetically over her ass, and she sucked in a breath at the frisson of heat.