“What?” I tore my gaze away from Dee, who looked effortlessly stunning in a deep green dress that hugged her curves. She was talking to a group of locals near the food table, smiling and laughing, carefree as fuck, and I wanted her to smile and laugh with me.
“You got designs on our Dee, do you, lad?” Moyna narrowed her eyes at me.
“Me?” I feigned innocence. “You have a fine imagination, Mrs. Cahill.”
“I must be imagining how you can’t stop looking at her.” She rolled her eyes. “Now go run along and get that lass onto the dance floor. She needs some fun in her life, if you know what I mean.” She dropped her voice to a low whisper. “I think a good lay is just what our Dee needs.”
I gaped at Moyna, and then, because she was grinning widely at me, enjoying my discomfort, I bowed. “You slay me, Mrs. Cahill.”
I turned away from Moyna and bumped into Ronan.
“Moyna ain’t easy to keep up with, but you did a decent job of it, Yank.” Ronan raised his pint at me.
“Tell me about it.” I scanned the room for Dee and now found her by the beer taps.
Ronan sighed. “Go on, then, ask her to dance.”
I knew pretending I didn’t know what he was talking about wouldn’t work. I was smitten with Dee Gallagher, and all of Ballybeg knew it.
Before I could make my way to Dee, Sinead, who lived in a cottage close to the pub and ran the hair salon, grabbed my hand. “Come on, follow my lead.”
The next thing I knew, I was stumbling my way through some kind of group dance, trying not to trip over my own feet as the music sped up.
Sinead spun me one way, then the other, herlaughter infectious. By the time the music ended, I was out of breath but grinning like an idiot.
My eyes went straight to look for Dee, and this time,shewas watching me.
I went to her. “How did I do out there?”
I nodded at the young man manning the beer taps when he raised his chin in enquiry. He pulled me a red Irish ale, which was my new favorite, though nothing beat a Guinness.
“You didn’t embarrass yourself, but beyond that, I can’t say much.” Her tone was dry, but her eyes were soft.
“What?” I took the beer glass handed to me. “That was my best work.”
She tilted her head with a faint sigh, obviously amused. “That’s the saddest thing I’ve heard in a long time.”
I leaned toward her, my face close to hers. People were watching. Of course, they were. This was Ballybeg, even smaller and gossipier than Charleston, and I hadn’t thought that would be possible.
“Why don’t you show me how it’s done, Wildcat?”
She blinked. “Wild…what?”
“When I first saw you, I thought you looked like a wildcat. Green eyes. Temper to match. And”—I dropped my voice and brushed my lips against her ear—“so beautiful that I wanted you before you even asked if I was one ofthem.”
A faint blush crept up her neck, and she watched me with those emerald-green eyes of hers with pure lust that made my dick wake up and say, “Aye, that one.”
I set my beer glass down and held my hand out to her. “Dance with me, beautiful.”
She stared at my hand like it was some kind of trap. For a moment, I thought she’d tell me to piss off, but then she muttered under her breath, “I’m afeckin’ eejit,” and placed her hand in mine.
Her skin was warm, and her grip firm.
I gently tugged her toward the open space where the other couples were dancing. The accordion played a lively reel, and the fiddler joined in, the tempo quick.
“You think you can keep up with me, Yank?” Her lips curled into a wicked smile.
“I can only hope.”
