"You know what I mean." Irina rolled her eyes from the depths of his coat, which really was big enough for at least three of her. It went most of the way to her knees, and she hadn't even tried to get her hands all the way down the sleeves. She'd just wrapped herself up in it, and now looked completely adorable. "Thank you," she added from somewhere in there. "It's nice and warm."
"Can I walk you home? Or call a taxi," Mick said with a glance at her feet. The shoes she wore were pretty sensible for heels, but they were still heels. "Or I could call a taxi and take you out on the town before bringing you home."
"A taxi sounds good," Irina said, muffled by the coat. "Going out also sounds fun, but I don't drink."
"Jaysus, you'll never make it in Ireland, then," Mick said, only half kidding. "It's the national pastime, like. Though half of us are teetotalers."
"I'm not a teetotaler, I just don't drink." Irina emerged from the coat enough to make it clear she was laughing at herself. "What I mean is, I'm in the middle of a competition and already doing badly. Dancing with a hangover isn't going to help. Those shoes are loud."
"You don't need to explain it," Mick promised. "But there's not much nightlife here that isn't at a club or a pub. Not that we have to partake if we go out to one."
"Okay, as long as you don't expect me to get sloshed."
"Grand so." Mick ordered a taxi on the app, showed her the expected pickup time, and put his phone in his hip pocket. "Are you just here for the competition, or do you have some holiday time?" He hoped the answer was the second one, and felt a wave of real relief when she smiled.
"I've got a week after the competition. It's not enough, but it's all I can afford, and probably it'll be the only time I ever get to come here, so I've got to make the most of it. What do you recommend?"
"Aaah, jeez, in a week? Even Cork alone would keep you busy for that long. There's Cobh, which was the last stop for the Titanic, and the Safari wildlife park?—"
"I've been there!" Irina said brightly, which was good, because Mick had been about to say, 'but you've been there,' which would have been hard to explain. "It was great," she said. "I met a nice gorilla." Then she laughed. "I can just imagine saying that to my mom. She's hoping I'll meet a nice Irish boy, and if I called her up and said I'd met a nice gorilla…" She laughed again.
If they were not in a still-busy public space in the middle of a city, Mick thought he would shift right then and there, to show her she'd met both a nice gorillaanda nice Irish boy. That was really not an option, though, so he just smiled at her. "Porque no los dos? And that's all the Spanish I know," he warned. "Meme-based language learner, that's me."
"I'll totally take it if I can meet a nice gorilla man," Irina said. "Anyway, the wildlife park was really neat. Where else?"
"Oh." Mick drew a blank for a moment. "Oh, Kinsale, the sailing's good there, and out to Bantry, which is lovely, and there's Blarney for proper touristy stuff."
"We're going to Kinsale tomorrow! The whole group of us. There's some kind of old fort there? And we're doing some kind of photo shoot."
"Oh, brilliant. I'll take you out to dinner after." Mick almost clapped a hand over his own mouth, and hastily added, "If you'd like, I mean."
"I'd love that. Oh, all right, I know. If we're going out in Cork tonight, is there somewhere we can hear trad music? I'm sure it's not your thing, but it's not like I'm going to have lots of chances to go to a real Irish pub and hear people play trad music, so if you wouldn't mind?"
"Macushla, there's nothing I'd mind as long as it's with you." That was probably a little too honest, but from the way Irina gazed up at him, Mick decided he didn't care.
CHAPTER 5
Irina was almostcertain she was gazing up at Mick with soppy, heart-struck puppy dog eyes, but she didn't care. His voice had dropped into that resonant register, making her bones tremble with desire, and he'd used that word again. She didn't know what it meant, but shelovedthe way he said it. "What is that? Macushla? You said it before?"
There he went looking stricken again. Irina was pretty sure he'd gotten more mileage out of that expression with her than he ever did, because how could a big strong gorgeous guy like this possibly have a need to be troubled by much of anything? "Macushla," he said, and then more slowly, "or, acushla mahkree. They're Irish phrases, endearments. It's a bit bold of me to be going around using them." He flashed a smile. "And they're not spelled anything like they sound, in English. M-o c-h-u-i-s-l-e."
Irina felt her forehead wrinkle. "Mo chisel?"
Mick's smile broadened. "See? No, that's macushla. The other one's worse, but I won't spell it out for you. There's the taxi," he added in a rush, and for a minute or two they were involved in getting into the car, which, in Irina's case, meantwrangling a great deal of large leather coat. She didn't want to take it off, though. It was the coziest thing she'd ever worn. She liked how it made her feel safe and protected, and she liked how it carried Mick's warm, inviting scent. He said, "Over to Shinay, will ye, thanks," to the driver as he settled in.
A few minutes later the cab pulled up to a building that saidSin Éabove the door, and Irina gave Mick a skeptical look. "Sinny? That seems like a non-starter for a low-key night out."
He laughed loudly enough to fill the taxi. "Sin isshin, and fada-e isa. Shin A."
Irina threw her hands up, which just made the long sleeves of Mick's coat dance. "Fada?"
"The accent above the E," Mick said, amused. "You're right. We are separated by a common language. Although in my defense like, the fada's Irish, not English at all. C'mere to me, let's get inside. They'll have music until last call. Bring your dancing shoes," he added. "They might clear half a square meter to let you do your thing in."
Irina waved her purse, not that even she could see it from beneath the coat. "I actually have them, although the shoes I'm wearing work just fine for informal stuff."
"A woman who's prepared," Mick said in an admiring tone. By that time they were out of the car and he was pushing the pub door open. The music was already audible from outside; when the door opened, it became a nearly physical thing, fiddles and whistles and voices raised both in song and speech. Irina felt like she was actually colliding with it. But Mick was there, a huge, gentle hand against her spine, and the general size of him so much that people just…got out of the way.
That was a great trick. Irina was not only short, but slight. Muscular, yeah, in great shape, and she knew it, but that didn't change the fact that there just wasn't very much to her. Usually in a tight-packed crowd, she could squirm through.
