Kiss Me, I'm Irish-ish

“You can,” I tell her. All sorts of scenarios run through my head, but they all end with my cock buried eleven inches deep inside of her, owning her, making her scream my name.

“How?” she asks, looking up at me. She’s still against my chest. She’s panting, and it’s the hottest sound I’ve ever heard. I give her a wolfish grin.

“I have many, many ideas, little bird,” I growl. I seem to have forgotten how to speak naturally, but it doesn’t matter.

“You do?” she asks, swallowing thickly.

“I do,” I promise her.

“Last call!” a man shouts, and people all around us groan. She tries to look over her shoulder in the direction of the bar, but I don’t let her. She has to be single. Though I genuinely don’t give a fuck if she isn’t. She’s mine now, and I don’t share.

“My shift is almost over,” she says. I set her tray down on the nearest table and do something crazy. She’s gotten into my veins, and I am about to explode. I lift her into my arms, bridal style.

“Your shift is over now,” I say, carrying her out of the crowded pub. I walk directly toward my car. Despite making a ton of money as a doctor, I don’t advertise that fact. I can get around just as good in a Kia as I can a BMW.

“Put me down! This is kidnapping,” she protests, swatting my chest.

“Is it?” I ask, setting her down next to the passenger door. I parked under a streetlamp so she can see my face clearly. Her eyes shoot up higher when my eyebrow does.

“Technically, yes,” she shouts.

“But?”

“Where are you taking me?” she asks, looking down at her feet. I shouldn’t like her resignation as much as I do.

“Where do you want to go?”

“Wherever you are,” she says.

I know I have her, and I’ll never let her go.

Chapter 2

Raven O’Malley

I was having the worst night until I walked right into Mr. Tall, Dark, and Sexy. His accent is driving me crazy. He speaks Spanish but I can't place where he's from. His voice is so sexy that if he were to read me the phone book right now I'm pretty sure I'd come all over his car. I am squirming in the leather passenger seat of his car, just thinking about it. He's taken off the stovepipe hat he had on that said "Kiss Me, I'm Irish-ish" on it. He looked ridiculous but still so fucking hot. I never wanted to follow directions written on a hat, but I did then. I even saw myself walking right up to him and doing just that, right before I tripped over air.

I wasn’t even supposed to be at the pub tonight, but when Colin, my brother, called me because he was down a waitress on the biggest night of the year, I couldn’t say no. The Lucky Leprechaun was his dream. Two years ago, he got a career-ending injury when he played tight end for the Oregon Alphas. He came home and opened the pub two weeks later.

“Have you eaten?” he asks.

“Yeah. I ate about lunchtime, I think.”

“I’ll cook for you,” he says.

“Thank you,” I say; then I realize that I have no idea who he is. What kind of idiot gets into a car with a stranger without knowing their name? I’m not a complete idiot. I know what’s going to happen tonight. I want him. I might even need him. “What’s your name?” I blurt out. I should be scared, but I’m not. He feels important. Important to me. Important to my future.

“I’m Javier Días.” God, his raspy voice could make me come without him even touching me.

“And what do you do, Javier Días?” Anything to keep him talking.

“I am a doctor.”

“A doctor?”

“Chief of Emergency Medicine at Mass General.”

“Wicked,” I reply.

Growing up in Arlington Heights, we struggled a bit until Colin was drafted. Our parents worked a lot, but we made it. When I was in high school, everything got better. When Colin asked me to help out tonight, I felt like I couldn’t say no. It’s always that way with my brother, though. He doesn’t hold anything over our heads, but I feel like I owe him. I always will. I left my purse, my phone, and my tips back at the pub. I don’t even have my CharlieCard, so I can’t take the train back home when this ends. This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, but I had to.

“Are you in school?”

“No, I graduated high school last July.”

“How old are you?”

“Almost nineteen,” I reply.

“Fuck, I’m twenty years older than you,” he groans.

“So?” I say, reaching over and touching his forearm.

“I’m old enough to be your father,” he says.

“Not my father,” I tell him.

“You’re a little girl. I should take you home and drive away.”