“Sexy as sin.”
She obviously liked that response. Emmy tugged at the hem of his shirt and he helped her, the two of them drawing it over his head together. Hers followed next.
Neither of them bothered with patience, both racing to strip the other of all their clothing. Once they were naked, Padraig pulled her into his arms again, his hands exploring every inch of her he could reach.
Then he pushed her toward the bed. She climbed into the middle and he followed Emmy down, caging her beneath him as they kissed, stroked, touched, driving each other higher and higher.
“I know I promised to help you fulfill that list of fantasies, but tonight…all I want to do is get lost in those pretty blue eyes of yours while I make love to you.”
Emmy’s legs parted. “That’s the ultimate fantasy,” she whispered.
He guided the head of his cock to her pussy, their gazes locked together as he slowly slid inside. Once he was seated to the hilt, he kissed her again and again as he began to thrust.
Emmy lifted her legs, locking her ankles behind his back, tilting her hips so he could slip in even deeper.
Padraig moved faster, driving in harder as Emmy’s fingernails scored his bare shoulders. Reaching down with one hand, he stroked her clit, loving the way she cried out with pleasure, her body jerking in response.
Emmy came loudly, his name on her lips. Padraig gave her the briefest of reprieves before moving once more, needing her like he needed oxygen. He would never get enough of her.
Emmy cupped his face, lifting her head from the pillow to steal more kisses.
“Love you,” she murmured. “Love you so fucking much.”
“Language,” he teased. The two of them laughed even as he continued to thrust inside her, the sound cut short by his climax striking hard and fast.
This—this was what Emmy had brought back to his life.
Laughter. Friendship. Romance. Sunshine. Love.
A second wonderful, wild chance at happiness.
Two nights later, Padraig stood at the end of the bar, taking a breather for a moment and looking around the pub, which was busting at the seams with family and friends and regulars, all ready to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day in style. The place was awash in green—thanks to Ewan’s decorations, countless pitchers and pints of green beer, and everyone’s attire.
If they’d held a contest for the best outfits, Ryder and Darcy would have won, the two of them sporting matching green T-shirts. Ryder’s said, “We’re pregnant, but mostly her,” while Darcy’s said, “You can stop asking me when we’re having a baby now.” Padraig had to admit his family always found clever, funny ways to announce they were expecting.
The family had gone mad when Darcy and Ryder had taken off their winter coats and started making their rounds of the room. Apparently, the pregnancy hadn’t been planned and had taken them both by surprise, though no one could tell that from the delighted smiles on their faces.
Padraig had managed to slip away from his duties as bartender earlier for just a few minutes when he pulled Emmy to the dance floor, drawing her into his arms for a slow dance. Teagan had stopped by the bar at the beginning of her second set, proclaiming she was about to perform his and Emmy’s song and she expected to see the two of them dancing. He’d told Teagan they didn’t have a song, but she’d informed him that they did, and she was singing it, and he and Emmy were dancing to it.
When she said it in that stubborn Collins way, Padraig knew resistance was futile.
Teagan introduced a Kacey Musgraves song called “Rainbow,” and Padraig had to admit his aunt had found them the perfect song. The lyrics felt like they’d been written just for him and Emmy.
He had been walking around like a man lost in a storm for so many years. Then Emmy came along and reminded him to look up. To see the rainbow over his head. After the song ended, he’d kissed Emmy, told her he loved her, and returned to his station behind the bar. From there, he watched as she walked over to the stage to thank Teagan.
He stretched briefly, silently hoping he found the opportunity to steal at least one more dance with Emmy before the night was over. Though he wasn’t sure his chances were good. Ewan had organized one hell of a party.
He was about to return to his spot behind the bar when he heard Finn say, “He reached for a wipe!”
Padraig rolled his eyes, glancing toward the table most of his male cousins and brother had claimed. He laughed when he realized Lochlan and Finn were each making a case for their side of the wing argument to Colm. It appeared that once again, they were fighting over the last wing on the platter. Colm listened with great interest, asking questions to clarify the parts he was fuzzy on, then he told them they were both right—just before snagging the last wing, declaring it his retainer fee for taking the case.
The argument might have continued if Aunt Riley hadn’t shown up at that point with a huge platter of potato skins.
“Should we hammer out the finer points of potato skins etiquette before we eat?” Oliver’s suggestion probably would have held more weight if he’d said it before stuffing one into his mouth, a big glob of sour cream on his lower lip.
Emmy was currently in the middle of a huge circle of Collins women on the dance floor, she, Caitlyn, and Kelli skirting the line between tipsy and wasted, laughing and singing and shaking it like they’d just discovered music and dancing. Teagan, who was belting out one of her most popular songs, caught his eyes and tilted her head toward the girls and winked. He’d already made half a dozen pitchers of margaritas for the whole group of women and they were showing no signs of slowing down soon.
Ailis and Fiona were scream-singing near the stage, neither one too concerned with pitch or key. Padraig remembered Sky joking once that singing talent had skipped a generation with his and Teagan’s daughters, teasingly telling them to “stop strangling the cat,” which only ever encouraged Ailis and Fiona, the minxes, to sing louder and more off-key.
A loud cheer drew his attention to the back of the pub, where they’d set up an area for darts. His uncles, Sean and Chad, had obviously just handed Justin and Killian their asses, their palms upward in the age-old “pay up” gesture. Killian pulled out his wallet but stopped when Justin loudly insisted on “double or nothing!” The chalkboard was quickly erased for round two despite the fact Hunter and Lucas complained that it was their turn to play the winners.
The Italian Stallions had claimed a large table in the middle of the pub with Aaron, Miguel, Landon, and a few of their cop friends. As always, the Moretti brothers drew a crowd, as no fewer than a dozen women hovered around, hoping to catch their eyes. Tony, the sexy bastard, had worn his hair down, much to every Collins woman’s delight.
Padraig met Joe’s gaze, the man lifting his mug and his eyebrows in a silent cheers. He nodded with a friendly grin, forced to admit Joe had definitely done him a solid when it came to Emmy, opening his eyes to what was standing right in front of him.
“Quite a night.”
Padraig turned around and realized Pop Pop was doing the same survey of the room he was. “It really is.”
“Quite a family,” Pop Pop added.
Padraig grinned widely. “It really is,” he repeated. “Of course, what do you expect? We’re in a room full of young warriors and Vikings and kings.”