“Are you sure?”
His fingers brushed hers under the table. “Trust me.”
She scribbled down the answer, still flustered.
When the scores were tallied and “Gallagher-O’Byrne United Front” was declared the winner, the pub exploded in cheers.
They stood, mildly stunned, as Paddy held up their prize—two T-shirts that read: “Battle of the Clans Champion – May the Best Clan Win.”
Ronan handed one to her with a wink. “Teamwork looks good on you.”
She snorted. “This was a setup.”
“Maybe,” he said, watching her like she was something worth memorizing. “But you had fun.”
She didn’t argue. Because he was right, damn him. And for just a little while, he’d taken her mind off her problems.
By the time they got back to the estate, the stars had scattered like glitter across the Irish sky. The night hummed around them quiet, slow, perfect.
Ronan walked her to the door, hands in his pockets, body language a perfect blend of restraint and temptation.
“I had a good time,” she said.
“I noticed.”
“You planned this whole thing so people would see us together.”
“I did.” He stepped a little closer. “You’re not mad?”
“Not as much as I should be.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s flattering,” she admitted. “And annoying.”
“Two things I do very well.”
She turned the key in the door, aware of his presence beside her, of the way he kept glancing at her lips like they held secrets he was dying to read.
Then he said, voice low, “I was thinking… maybe a nightcap?”
Aisling gave him her best you-must-be-joking face. “Not happening.”
He didn’t budge. “Come on. I’ll behave.”
“That’s what men say right before they don’t behave.”
“So you’re afraid of me.”
She leaned back against the door, crossing her arms. “Not even a little. But I am afraid of my own judgment when it comes to very handsome men who smell like soap and testosterone and make me laugh during trivia.”
He took a half-step forward. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It wasn’t.”
He leaned in, his gaze locked on hers. “Aisling…”
Her heart jumped as his hand cupped the side of her face.
