Servicing other customers, she’d put off approaching him as long as she could. Finally, she’d made her way to him, knowing he was taking in every aspect of her as she was him. His thick black hair brushed past his collar—lighting upon those broad shoulders as though the strands wished to eternally caress them—and was styled in such a way that a portion of the right side of his face was covered, which made him appear more mysterious, a man who possessed secrets and was extremely skilled at keeping them.

Something about him seemed familiar but she couldn’t quite place how she might have come to know him. Perhaps she’d passed him on these streets that after three long months were finally becoming familiar, or he’d come in another night and not sat at her table. Although she couldn’t imagine forgetting him if she’d ever seen him at the Mermaid. “What may I bring you, good sir?”

A barely perceptible widening of those onyx eyes that had steadfastly been studying her with an appreciation that had caused her to sound a bit breathy. “Scotch.”

His voice had been a deep rumble that had shimmied through the entire length of her, like the warm and comforting sensations she experienced when she came in from the bitter cold and approached a blazing fire. She’d been disappointed that he’d uttered only a single word. But then when she’d returned with his drink, he’d shown an interest in her past, which was a secret she was skilled at keeping because if anyone learned the truth—

It did not bear thinking about.

As she now wended her way among the tables after leaving him, she decided he did not bear thinking about.

An arm suddenly whipped out, wrapped around her waist, and rudely jerked her off her feet so she landed hard on a sturdy lap comprised of thick thighs. His other hand going to places on her person it most certainly should not, pinching what she’d given him no permission to pinch, the young man grinned broadly, his eyes filled with mischief. “What ’ave we ’ere? Who ye be, me lovely?”

Reaching back, she grabbed a nearly full tankard resting near the hand of one of his mates and proceeded to dump its contents over his ginger head. With a curse and a yell, he abruptly released her. In all due haste, she scrambled off his lap and beyond his reach. “Pardon my clumsiness. I’ll get you another.”

She’d have rather conked him on the side of the head with the tankard but knew she was going to be in enough trouble as it was. The Mermaid prided itself on how well it treated its patrons, regardless of how many or how few coins lined their pockets. Striding quickly, she made her way to the bar and slammed the pewter tankard down on the polished woodgrain. “Guinness.”