She tried to break the kiss, needing air, needing answers, but Padraig tightened his hold.
“Not yet,” he murmured against her lips. He was gentling his kiss, but he wasn’t letting her go.
“Paddy,” she whispered.
He shook his head. “No,” he insisted again. “Not yet. I’m not done.”
She jerked slightly, then shivered when she felt him pull her blouse free of her jeans, slipping his hands underneath, his fingers stroking the bare skin at her waist. Her pussy clenched in response. Actually, everything clenched in response.
“God,” she breathed, when his hands shifted north, engulfing her breasts. He pinched her nipples, more roughly than she would have expected, the pain setting off some sort of sensual current that had her rolling her hips against him.
Why were they wearing so many clothes? Because suddenly, all she could picture was him stripping her blouse and bra off, dragging her jeans down, and taking her against the shelves.
Oh my God. They were in the pub. His entire family was just outside this storage closet.
Had he locked the door?
Was there a lock on the door?
She pushed against him more firmly this time. If she didn’t stop him now, she was going to spontaneously combust. “Paddy, please.”
He relinquished her lips, his forehead pressed against hers.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Kissing you.”
“Practice kissing?”
He scowled. “No!”
She blew out an exasperated breath. “Then what?”
“I didn’t like seeing you with Joe Moretti.”
Emmy frowned. “Is this an overprotective thing? Or…” She wouldn’t let herself ask if he was jealous. Her self-preservation genes were finally kicking in. She’d been wearing her heart on her sleeve for too long and her pride was tired of taking a beating.
“No. Not overprotective,” he said, placing one soft kiss on her lips. Then another. His sweet kisses were as deadly to her libido—and her heart—as his hungry ones.
“Then what?” she prompted, praying he’d say the word her heart longed to hear, the one that would mean he felt something for her stronger than friendship.
And then…she got her wish.
“I was jealous, Em. I’ve been seeing red ever since you walked in the pub with him. Spent the last couple of hours fighting the need to walk over and punch the guy’s lights out.”
She slowly shook her head. “But you said—”
“That kiss last week wasn’t practice, and it wasn’t me reaching out to you because I was sad about Mia. And I want you to forget everything I said on Christmas Eve because I was wrong. I was lying to myself and you. I can’t be just friends with you anymore, Emmy.”
Emmy was tempted to pinch herself, simply to make sure she was awake. Because she’d dreamed about him saying those words to her at least a million times. She was afraid to believe this wasn’t some figment of her imagination.
“You can’t?” she asked quietly.
“No. I can’t. Go out with me. On a date.”
She smiled. “Okay.”
“Tomorrow night.”
She nodded. “That works.”
“I’ll pick you up at six.”
“I’ll be ready.”
“Get rid of that damn online dating app and cancel any plans you’ve made with other guys. I’m the only man you’re dating from now on.”
His tone was nothing short of demanding, and she felt like maybe she should call him out for it. But the lonely woman who’d read way too many dark mafia romances lately was secretly thrilled by the possessiveness in his gaze. No one had ever looked at her like that.
“I don’t have any other dates scheduled,” she admitted.
“Good.”
Ah, and now she understood what all those “goods” meant.
“Wear that black skirt and the indecent hot-pink shirt,” he added with a wicked grin.
“I wore that on our first date. How tacky,” she joked.
“Don’t care. Wear it.”
She laughed and started to shake her head. She really should put her foot down on him trying to control what she wore. However, her refusal never came.
Especially after he added, “And don’t wear any panties.”
Emmy’s mouth fell open, a small squeak of shock emerging.
Something Padraig clearly found amusing, as he placed a finger under her chin, pushing her mouth closed, so he could resume their kiss.
A kiss that was interrupted when the door to the storage closet opened. She and Padraig broke apart as Ewan walked in and caught sight of them.
“Dammit. We’re going to have to initiate some sort of signal,” Ewan declared, unremorseful about barging in. “A napkin hanging on the doorknob or something. There’s always somebody making out in this damn closet.”
“There is?” Emmy asked.
“Caught Teagan and Sky in here the first night they met. I gotta say, I’m relieved to see you’re both wearing your own clothes. That night, Sky ended up in Teagan’s skirt.”
“Do I want to know why?” Emmy asked, unable to resist, always a fan of his family’s stories.
“Paparazzi. It was the only way to get him out of the pub without being mobbed. I’ve also walked in on Tris and Lane a couple of times, Hunter and Ailis, Yvonne and Leo, Kelli and Colm…”
Emmy and Padraig laughed as he continued to rattle off names, including most of the family on his list.
“Sounds to me like you’re the problem,” Padraig said to his uncle. “Always coming in unannounced.”
“Hey, don’t blame me. I just work here. Not my fault if everyone has declared the closet Lover’s Lane,” he added, reaching for a large jar of pickles.
“What about you and Aunt Natalie? Find it hard to believe you two have never snuck in here,” Padraig said.
Ewan shook his head. “Nope. Never made out with Nat in here. We’re classier than that. Save our sexy workplace encounters for my office over on Sunday’s Side. Got a nice big desk and office chair. Lots of possibilities. Plus, there’s a lock on that door. I’m nobody’s fool.” Ewan chuckled as he left them alone once more.
Padraig wrapped his arm around her waist, intent on picking up where they’d left off, but Emmy placed her hand flat against his chest, holding him back.
“About that panties declaration,” she said with a grin.
“Nonnegotiable.” He backed up that statement with a quick, hard kiss that sent a flood of wanton thoughts through her head. “But test me if you want to,” he said darkly. “Because I saw how you responded to Joe’s threat to punish you—and I’m definitely down to carry through with that. Either way, you will be panty-less on our date.”
“Have you been reading my books?” she whispered before she could think better of her question. It was just…it felt as if this Padraig had been ripped from the pages of one of her stories. Because she didn’t just read about super alphas, she wrote them too.
As a friend, Padraig was affable and easygoing. But this man…
God, he was every fantasy she’d ever had, come to life.
He looked at her curiously. “I don’t know your pen name, remember? Though I think you’re going to have to give it to me now. I’m getting the impression I’d really like reading what you’ve written.”