He nods in acknowledgment.
With a hitched breath, I watch as he navigates through the crowd of drinkers toward me. With every step he takes, our gazes remain connected as if tethered.
What the hell is he doing here? I knew something was off this morning. His annoyance was barely concealed under his cool, detached exterior. I didn’t understand why.
It’s then, as he walks toward me, that I realize I’ll never get over this man. Never get over how handsome he is or how he makes me feel. On my twenty-fifth birthday, I’m living legally in New York. I’ve had an amazing meal and am surrounded by my best friend and people who care about me. I’ve never laughed so hard in my life.
But nothing comes close to how I feel right now as Killian Quinn approaches me.
I’m doomed.
And then he’s right in front of me, within touching distance. So close I can smell his cologne, and I swear I can feel the heat emanating off his body.
“K-Killian?” I stutter as if he might be a figment of my imagination from drinking The Auld Dog’s bad wine.
“Clodagh.”
Is he here for happy hour?
“Your bloody boss is here?” Aidan grumbles beside me.
“Sorry, Aidan.” Please fuck off.
I step away from Aidan toward Killian.
“What are you doing here?” I sound breathless, like I’ve inhaled a cigar deep into my lungs. Nervously, I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. I need to get a grip, but Killian standing in front of me in Queens is making me go to fucking pieces. “Did I forget to do something at the house?”
“No.” He looks so uncomfortable that I worry he’s here to deliver bad news from Ireland like Granny Deirdre has passed away. “I’m sorry I never said happy birthday properly before.”
“Oh, right.” My pulse races, and I laugh nervously again because it’s all I’m capable of. “Don’t worry about it.”
Someone shoves me from behind, and Killian grabs my arm to steady me. He pulls me closer, his glare directed over my shoulder.
Now his mouth is nearly touching my forehead.
I blink up at him, defunct of all social skills.
He tilts his head so our eyes meet, then says into my ear, “I have a present for you.”
“For me?” I squeak. “You didn’t have to.”
“I’ll give it to you and be out of your way.” He looks around the noisy pub before meeting my eyes again. “You seem to be having a great time.”
He rummages through his pocket with a strange look on his face.
Am I imagining it, or is he nervous?
I watch as he takes out a small box wrapped in Tiffany-blue paper.
“Here.” He hands it to me. “Don’t get too excited. It’s nothing much.”
I tear off the wrapping with fat fingers, embarrassed at my trembling hands. It must be a side effect of the wine.
“Killian,” I gasp, staring down at the silver chain with a green heart. Blood floods my cheeks. “It’s… beautiful.”
He shrugs dismissively, but the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile.
“It matches your eyes!” someone shouts behind me.
I turn around to see the women from yoga and Orla hovering, watching us.
My brow arches as I give Orla a harsh glare. “Are you guys listening in on our conversation?”
She smacks her lips together to tell me I’m a moron. “Of course we’re bloody listening.”
I let out an exasperated sigh. “Go away,” I hiss, shooing them away before turning back to Killian.
He smiles as he takes the necklace out of my hand. “They’re right. It does match your eyes. Now turn around so I can put it on you.”
I rotate, making eye contact with Orla and the women, still watching me and winking. His hands are on my neck, fastening the chain. I touch the heart and nearly jump out of my skin when I feel his lips brush my neck. A delicious shiver of pleasure runs through me.
He turns me back around to face him.
“Thank you,” I choke out.
The band launches into a bad rendition of a Dropkick Murphys’ song, and the pub goes wild with whooping and cheering.
I let out a girly laugh and stare at Killian. It’s safe to say he’s the only billionaire the pub has ever seen. It’s a far cry from his fancy hotel bars.
I might be a little hysterical.
He runs a thumb possessively over my bottom lip, looking lost in thought. For a moment, I think he’s going to bite it. My lips part involuntarily, and I exhale an uneven breath, my heart pounding away.
I’ve been sleeping with Killian for weeks.
During the day, he’s still my grumpy boss, barking one-word demands and sending cryptic text messages.
Every night, he comes to my studio, and we have the most out-of-this-world sex. Going at it like horny primates. I feel all shagged out.
Every night, he leaves to sleep in his own bed. He’s never promised me more than a fling.
But here, under the lights of the pub with everyone I know in Queens looking on, this moment feels like something more.
There are a million questions I want to ask. A million answers I need.
Instead, I ask, “Do you want a pint, Killian?”
He opens his mouth, but before he can respond, Liam is in our faces. “I’ve done some digging on you, Quinn.”
“Back off, Liam.” I hiss, glaring at him. Bloody Liam cockblocking me. Seriously? Why is everyone in this bar so nosy?
Liam addresses me and ignores Killian. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret, Clodagh.”
I never lift my glare from Liam. “Do you want flowers stuffed in your mouth again?”
“You heard the lady,” Killian growls in a severe tone, flashing angry eyes at Liam. “Get lost.”
Liam’s undeterred. “You’re dangerous. I fucking know all about you.”
I stare at him, clueless as to what he’s blathering about.
“And now you’re after our Clodagh.”
“Our Clodagh?” I hiss at Liam. The cheek. “Who exactly are you talking on behalf of?”
Killian’s arm tightens around me. “She’s not your anything,” he snarls, his voice dropping to a low growl. Conversations around us cease as eyes turn to us. “She’s mine. Now get out of my face before I do something we’ll both regret.”