“You’re shit at mixing drinks,” Padraig said absentmindedly, unable to take his eyes off Emmy and Joe dancing. So far, the guy was keeping his hands on her waist, but even that touch was too much for Padraig’s liking. Plus, they were dancing close. Way too close.
“Then I guess it’s a good thing it’s mainly family tonight. You and I both know all I’ll be doing is draining the keg of Guinness. Any fool can pull a tap.”
“Says the fool who pulled the tap so hard one night, he broke it off. All I asked you to do was cover the bar for ten minutes so I could go upstairs and change out of a shirt I’d stained with cranberry juice.”
Colm chuckled, looking unremorseful. “One mistake, asshole. And I was three sheets to the wind. You’re the clown who asked a drunk guy to man the bar.” Colm nudged Padraig with his shoulder. “You’ve been different since we got back from Ireland. Happier, more like your old self. I’m glad. And before you say it, it doesn’t have a damn thing to do with the fact we’re standing back in this pub.”
Padraig couldn’t deny his brother’s observation because it was true. The change in him had started with Pop Pop’s pep talk in Ireland and grown stronger ever since returning to Baltimore and seeing Emmy again. “It doesn’t. Or it’s not just because of the pub. It’s her. It’s been her for a long time.”
“So go get her.”
6
Emmy laughed as Joe’s hand slipped the tiniest bit lower on her back, skirting very close to touching her ass. Layla was right. He was a shameless flirt.
“I think our date is about to come to a close,” Joe said out of the blue, just as the slow song was about to end.
She tilted her head, confused. The night was still young. “What do you mean? Do you need to leave?”
“Nope. But after this dance, I’m gonna go hang out with my family at their table.”
“Joe,” she said, wondering what the hell had gone wrong. She thought they’d been having a lot of fun. “Did I do something…say something…”
“Hell no. This has been one of the best dates I’ve had in a long time. It’s just…”
“What?”
“You’re not single, Emmy.”
She studied Joe’s face, trying to recall how much he’d had to drink tonight. He didn’t act drunk. “I’m very single. Painfully, excruciatingly single.”
“Yeah? You’re wrong about that, and I’m gonna prove it.”
“How?” she asked.
“I’m going to grab my good-night kiss now.”
She didn’t have time to react before he lowered his head and kissed her. It was a surprisingly gentle kiss. Soft. Too soft. It felt more friendly than passionate. She would have expected Joe’s kisses to be more like…Padraig’s. Joe seemed like the type of guy who would know his way around a kiss. Instead, this felt, well, lukewarm. Like he was phoning it in.
“I want to have a word with you, Moretti. Now.”
Emmy jerked back, surprised by Padraig’s deep—angry—voice so close to them on the dance floor.
“So I’m Moretti now, huh?” Joe asked, grinning, despite the outright fury on Padraig’s face that seemed to scream danger.
“You and I need to talk,” Padraig continued.
Emmy didn’t often lose her temper, but Padraig was taking this overprotective routine to new levels, and it was pissing her off. What the hell was wrong with him?
“Padraig, listen—” she started.
“I think we should step outside,” he added.
Neither man seemed to notice she’d spoken. Which infuriated her even more. They were facing off like two boxers in a ring, waiting for the bell to sound the beginning of the round.
Joe shook his head, heedlessly leaning closer to Padraig. Apparently a fool and his head are soon parted, because Padraig’s fists were clenched and there was a fury in his eyes she’d never seen before.
“We don’t have a damn thing to talk about, Padraig. But I think you have a lot of things you need to say to her.” Joe jerked his head toward Emmy.
Emmy wasn’t sure why that comment took the wind out of Padraig’s sails, but it certainly seemed to. His gaze softened as he looked at her. “Yeah. I do.”
“You and I don’t have a beef with each other,” Joe continued. “I was just saying good night to my date. But heads-up, man. You leave her alone again, I’m gonna grab the chance you’re not—and I won’t back down a second time.”
Padraig’s expression seemed chiseled in stone, his jaw was clenched so tightly. “So noted.”
“Good.” Then Joe gave Emmy a quick kiss on the cheek, laughing deeply when Padraig growled. “Good night, Emmy. I had a great time.” Then he actually had the audacity to wink at Padraig as he said, “You kids have fun tonight,” before walking away.
That was it?
Her date was over?
Emmy turned to Padraig, hands on her hips, her temper spiking. “What the hell do you think—”
Before she could say more, Padraig grasped one of her hands and tugged her toward the back of the pub.
“Paddy,” she said, digging her heels in. “Dammit. Stop!”
He spun to face her, and she gasped at the expression on his face, trying to figure out what the hell she was looking at. Best she could come up with was furious hunger.
Was that a thing?
“Walk with me, Em, or I swear to God, I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you.”
“Where are we going?” she asked stupidly, taking a big step back when he lowered his shoulder, ready to make good on his threat.
“Emmy…” he growled.
She threw her hands up in the air. “I’ll walk.”
Satisfied, he grabbed her hand once more.
Her feet began to move, even as the romance writer in her immediately committed his words to memory. Throw her over his shoulder and carry her? That was definitely going in a book.
Of course, the second that thought crossed her mind, she was instantly sorry she hadn’t tested him, just to see if he’d do as he threatened.
They reached the door to the storage closet, Padraig opening it and pushing her inside.
Once the door closed behind them, she whirled on him, ready to demand answers.
“You better explain to me what the fuck you—”
Emmy didn’t get to finish that question either. Padraig kept steamrolling over her.
Not that she minded this time. Not when he gripped her shoulders and pulled her toward him, kissing her deeply.
Like last week’s kiss, this one rendered her completely senseless as well. All capability of thinking or reasoning simply vanished as he plundered her mouth with his demanding tongue.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on. It was either that or melt into the floor, her body boneless under his delicious attack.
Padraig paid absolutely no heed to the appropriate waist zone, his hands running up and down her back, over her hips, then reaching lower to cup her ass. He used that grip to draw her even closer, his erection hard against her stomach.
Jesus.
His erection…