“Now there you go again, Daisy. You can’t go saying that stuff to me… not when I’m fighting a raging horn in my pants and I’m trying to do the right thing by you.”
Giving me a piercing stare she hesitated for a few moments then grinned, “That was a joke, right?”
“Nope, got me a fine piece of steel right here,” I said, patting the agonizing bulge in my jeans. “But I’m not going to overstep the mark and fuck my landlady now, am I? You do know there’s not a hotel room to be had in Dublin this weekend what with it being the Saint Patrick’s Day holiday,” I said again, lightening the mood while I tried to recover from the truth I’d admitted to both of us.
Despite what I had begun to feel about Daisy, my head kept reminding me it was a bad idea. There were mountains of obstacles between us and I was leaving the following day. Most relevant was the fear that if I had her—if I started something with her—for the first time in my life I wouldn’t have the strength to walk away.
“For a moment there you had me going, all full of anticipation and wet knickers, and then you go and burst my bubble by telling me it’s all a joke,” she replied, and she didn’t look at all pleased I’d reeled my feelings in about what I’d have liked to do to her.
“Fuck, Daisy, you’re pushing all my buttons with lines like that… especially the wet knickers part.”
“Oh, that part is true. I mean come on, you’re Jamie Fontaine after all, no point in pretending between my thighs is immune to how hot I find you.”
“Seriously, I’m anything but immune to you, Daisy.”
“I call bull shite. I mean its only me—Daisy, the pub landlady. I’m not one of your glamorous ‘look- at- me-I’m-as-thin-as-a-rake-because-I-eat-no-carbs model waifs I’ve seen you with in the press.”
“I don’t like skinny women. They’re on my arm for image purposes only and you felt how hard I was in that first five minutes after we met, right?”
“How has this conversation suddenly gone to the gutter?” she snapped.
“I guess we’re not really joking if it keeps coming back to this.
“I never flirt,” Daisy said with a straight face. She looked adorable and full of conviction when she said it. It made me chuckle.
“You could have fooled me—you’re a natural,” I replied in a playful tone.
“I mean I never… before… I… I guess it was shock or something when I reacted the way I did when you walked through my door.”
“It was the best welcome to Dublin I could ever have had,” I replied. I reached out and tugged at the thin material of her blouse.
Daisy’s face flushed with embarrassment, “Sorry I kissed you like that… and kept kissing you.”
“I’m not, you’re delicious,” I told her and chuckled as I grabbed her by the hand.
A smile crept over her lips and she glanced fleetingly at me before she looked at the floor, “Delicious doesn’t begin to describe how you taste,” she murmured under her breath, then looked shocked that she’d said that aloud. “I mean you’re Jamie Fontaine,” she added again, shrugging like it was a reasonable excuse.
“Will you stop reminding me who I am? Besides you’re Daisy O’Donnell.” She giggled infectiously, and it resonated in my core. I laughed with her and squeezed her hand affectionately. “I love the way you laugh,” I admitted, and our glance morphed into an intense stare. My heart raced as we shared an intimate moment until she broke away from my touch, turned and reached up for another whiskey.
“Here, try this one,” she said changing the thick air in the atmosphere and the subject. She poured from another bottle and handed me the glass.
“Are you trying to get me drunk?”
“Maybe?”
“Then what? You’ll have your wicked way with me?” Her plan for diverting our conversation was dead in the water because I’d brought us right back to the easy way we flirted together.
“Maybe I’m trying to make you unconscious?” she suggested.
“Unconscious drunk so that I can’t get it up, or unconscious drunk so you can have your way with me?”
“Probably the first one,” she replied with a rueful smile.
I reached up and took a lock of her short hair between my fingers. “Too bad because I think you’d rock my world,” I admitted with a small honest smile. “But I promise you, Daisy. I’m not going to do anything you’ll regret later.”
“But you’re so fucking tempting,” she confessed as the agony in eyes shone through as she searched my face. “I mean one night with Jamie Fontaine has to be worth five hundred with Donnie O’Brian,” she added as if to herself.
“Donnie O’Brian?”
“Yeah the fecker who cheated on me on New Year’s Eve. He’d been my boyfriend for over a year… he’d even asked to marry me.”
Without hesitation I pulled her against my chest again and thanked Devlin for his action which had given me another opportunity to hold Daisy in my arms.
“He has no idea what he’s lost,” I said as I stroked her back through her semi-sheer silken blouse.
“Oh he does. The bastard came crawling back night after night, begged me to take him back. I told him to shove his own cock up his arse… then wished him luck with that when I reminded him it was so small he’d be lucky to tuck that excuse for a dick between his thighs and make a mangina, never mind reach for the stars.”
Her comment made me chuckle. “Ah, that explains it. Never trust a man with a small dick. They will always try to find ways of trying to prove their virility.”
“Is that your excuse?”
“What?” I asked, confused.
“For being with so many women?”
“First, I’m not a cheat. Second, I have no girlfriend. Third, I like sex. Fourth and most relevant to your question, I don’t have a small dick. Having no girlfriend leads to many dates, hence the number of women I’ve slept with. I know it’s more than your three guys—” I stopped, cringing inwardly at my mistake.
“How do you know I’ve had three guys?” Her voice had risen in distress.
“Have you? It was a figure of speech,” I said grabbing the whiskey bottle she had left down on the bar and pouring myself another larger measure. Gaining my composure, I saw her tense stance and knew she was suspicious of what I’d said. I sighed like I was about to casually explain my remark. “Usually the women I date tell me they’ve only been with three guys,” I replied in a quick recovery. I even shocked myself by how quick the lie fell off my tongue.
When I saw her shoulders slump and her tension leave, she exhaled a long breath in my direction.
“Shall we sit? I’m tired. I’ve been up since yesterday or the day before… I’m not sure anymore. Maybe I’m a little delirious?” What I had needed was to go to bed, but I knew in the morning I’d have to go, and I was nowhere near ready to leave.
“Maybe we should just go to bed?”
“Is that what you want?” I asked.
“I mean our own beds—not together,” she added, quickly.