"I'll want to lick you if you're wearing a shirt that color," Irina said unwisely, then blushed furiously as Mick's gaze jerked up to hers and he grinned.
"Would you now. Would it be only the shirt that made me lickable?"
Irina, still flushed hot pink, shook her head. "No. No, definitely not."
The big man across from her beamed. "Good to know. Now," he added with an almost guilty look, "it's only early but I've either got to bring you back to your hotel or otherwise set youfree, as I'm meant to be back at the Marquee tonight. Unless you'd like to come along again?"
"There's almost nowhere else I'd rather be," Irina said honestly. "It sounds great. Although I can't stay out until three o'clock again, because I've got a performance tomorrow night. So I might just come along for a while?"
"Will I get you to dance for us again?" Mick teased, then shook his head. "I'd love it if you came with, of course. And you can slip out at a sensible hour. What are your plans tomorrow, besides the competition?"
"I can't dance in these," Irina said with a kick of her feet that nearly sent her clogs flying off. "But tomorrow I might just look around the town. There are cathedrals and churches to visit, right?"
"And the Four Liars!"
"Thewhat?"
"The Four Liars," Mick repeated cheerfully. "The Shandon bell tower has a clock on each side and they each always say a different time, so they're called the Four Liars. And the Butter Museum is right next to it."
"Thebuttermuseum?" Irina asked incredulously.
"It's unexpectedly good," he promised. "I'll bring you, if you like."
"I'd love that. Should we meet there at…" Irina paused, thinking about how late he'd probably be up. "I don't know, around one?"
"You're a star and the most thoughtful woman that's ever lived," Mick said with a grin. "Let's do it."
CHAPTER 12
For a womanwho said she couldn't dance in clogs, Mick saw Irina out on the floor as he worked, her red dress a beacon that drew his eye. It was after midnight, but well before his shift ended, that she waved goodnight, and despite the after-show buzz that usually kept him awake for hours, he was more than happy to go home and get some sleep so he could meet with his fated mate for the afternoon.
And she was waiting for him beneath the Shandon Bells, a tall clock tower built on one of Cork's many hills, an integral part of its cityscape. Her neck was craned back, studying the clock face above her, and her dark hair fell down her back in smooth waves that he wanted to sink his hands into. She was dressed for summer, and he hoped the weather would keep obliging her—right now it was in the low twenties, almost as warm as Cork ever got—and her pink-checked sun dress looked both refreshingly cool and unbelievably cute.
She reversed her gaze from studying the clocks and found him with her eyes, waving and smiling. "You're right," she called. "They all say something different. Notverydifferent, but different."
"They're doing some refurbishment work," Mick said as he crossed to her and fought the impulse to scoop her up into a kiss. "I'm sort of afraid they'll add some kind of digital management or something that will lead to them all saying the same time. It would be an actual crime." He brightened, though, remembering something. "On the other hand, they made them keep the shake in the shaky bridge."
"The what?" Irina didn't seem to feel as much uncertainty about whether they should embrace, because she put her arms up to hug him, and squeaked with laughter when he picked her up. "God, you're tall!"
"I am. You're also small. But Iambig. The Shaky Bridge. It's just down over there." Mick swung her in the right general direction, then put her back down. "It's a hundred year old footbridge that shakes when you walk on it, and it needed repair a while ago and they got it in writing that it had to still shake after the repairs were done. We can have a go after we've done the bells and the museum, if you like."
"And after we eat, because I wasn't hungry until I got here and smelled something delicious nearby." Irina literally followed her nose around the corner from the bell tower, then clapped her hands in satisfaction. "Oh my God, it's Middle Eastern food. And now I'm prepared to eat my way through an entire mezze platter. Look, it's even called the Four Liars, so that means we're definitely going to the Four Liars, right?"
"You know, I can't fault that argument." They went in to lunch, where Irina didn't eat anything like an entire mezze platter, but she did have Mick handy to take up the slack. Afterward, full and content, they went next door to the Butter Museum, where Mick took a delighted pleasure in Irina finding it as charming as he'd thought she would. Her expression was bemused as they left an hour later.
"I had no idea the history of butter would be that interesting. None at all."
"Right?" Mick felt like he'd developed the whole museum himself, he was that pleased. "I went in there once when it was lashing and I had nowhere else to hide, and came out determined to tell everybody I ever met that they should visit. People think I'm mental when I tell them they should go there, but?—"
"But you're right!" Irina said gleefully. "Thank you for bringing me. Are we allowed to ring those bells?"
Mick breathed, "You can ring my bell any time, baby," and got a wide-eyed blush from Irina, whom he hadn't really intended to hear that. "Ah, sorry."
"Not that it doesn't sound like a great idea," Irina said through her blush, "but the thing about sex when you haven't had it for a while is that it leaves all kinds of unexpected muscles sore, and the last thing I need before a dance competition is a random leg cramp!"
Mick blinked once, then again, then cackled with laughter. "I hadn't thought of that. Not that I meant to be pressuring you anyway, but that's a fair point like."
"You weren't," she assured him. "Thosebells, though, notyourbells." She pointed back toward the Shandon Bells, and Mick grinned.
