I hear myself moan against his mouth as I lean into him and plunge my fingers into his thick, dark hair.

Finally, after a few long moments of being locked together, Keegan pulls back so we can both catch our breath.

“I’m not sorry about that.”

“Good. It would suck if you were.”

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for weeks.” He swallows hard and tips his forehead to mine. “It’s been hell keeping my hands to myself.”

“Why did you?”

“You were a stranger. What if you decided to go back home and get married? What if you were a con artist? What if you sued me for sexual harassment?” His accent is driving me wild.

“None of those things will happen.”

“And thank Christ for it.”

Chapter 5

~Keegan~

Now that I’ve started kissing her, I never want to stop. I didn’t lie before. It was hell staying away from her all these weeks, telling myself that helping her out was enough.

But it wasn’t nearly enough.

Listening to her laugh, watching her silly dance when she’s eating something delicious, and being near her all the time, day in and day out, slowly killed me inside. I thought it would be easier on me when she moved in with Maggie. That I might start to lose interest. Out of sight, out of mind and all that.

I was wrong. I’ve missed having her in the flat, and I still see her almost every day. There is no out of sight, out of mind.

And tonight, when she stood in my pub and was strong enough to stand up to her mother, it only intensified my attraction to her.

No, she has nothing at all to be embarrassed about.

“I guess we should go back to work,” she murmurs. For the first time in as long as I can remember, work is the last thing on my mind.

But she’s right. I have a pub full of customers to see to.

“Before we go,”—I brush my knuckles down her soft cheek—“I’d like to take you out. On a real date. Tomorrow.”

“I happen to have tomorrow night off,” she says. “But you—”

“My da’s in town, remember? He’ll love nothing more than to be in charge for an evening.”

“Well then, you have yourself a date.”

She grins, and I can’t help myself. I kiss her again, softer and gentler this time until my brain buzzes, and my cock gets hard.

“Spaghetti,” I whisper.

“Are you hungry?” she asks.

“I need to think of things to calm down before I say fuck the pub and carry you into my bedroom to have my way with you.”

Her blue eyes dance with awareness. “I like spaghetti. I think tacos are my favorite, though.”

“Hard or soft shell?”

“Hard.” She grins. “With extra cilantro.”

“I hate cilantro. It tastes like soap.”