Billy's Baby - Annie J. Rose Page 0,29
richer and nuttier than what I’m used to.”
“You drink light beer. There isn’t a comparison,” I said. “Guinness is totally different.”
“You got that right. I think I’ll try it again sometime, see if I can develop a taste for it, but I’ll stick with my bottle of light for now.”
“At least you gave it a shot,” I said with a shrug and took back my pint.
“I’ll try anything once,” she declared wickedly.
I choked on my Guinness and she had to clap me on the back. She laughed until she snorted. I pounded on my chest, “You did that on purpose.”
“I’m sorry, did I make you blush?” she grinned like the Cheshire cat.
“Jesus,” I said, with another half-choked laugh. “You’re going to be the death of me Morgan.”
“Oh no, I’d never want to deprive the world of the charm and good looks of Billy O’Shea.”
I laughed and shook my head. “You really are an unusual woman, you know that, right?”
“That’s just a fancy word for weird. But I’m okay with that. I own it. I get to travel for a living. I say inappropriate things, and I’m not-so-secretly afraid of snakes. No point having a freak flag if you don’t fly it, right?”
“You’re not weird. You’re just—you. You’re being yourself, and that’s intoxicating. Most people don’t have the courage to just be themselves. So that confidence is very—” I searched for the word.
“What?”
“Sexy,” I said finally. “It’s sexy as fuck.”
A blushed creeped up from her neck over her cheeks and she smiled shyly.
“Why, Mr. O’Shea, are you flirting with me?”
“That goes without saying,” I answered. “Now, I think I’d like to walk you back to your hotel. It’s getting late, and the moon is full. It’ll be a gorgeous night for a walk.”
“I’d say no and call a rideshare, but I like the idea of a moonlit walk. Maybe two light beers made me a romantic after all. Someone tell Maggie,” she said.
“I’d be glad to call and tell her. Give me her number,” I said, practically daring her to let me call her friend. She shook her head, didn’t call my bluff. She probably realized I would have dialed up this dirty-mouthed friend who wanted her to be more romantic and I would’ve said all kinds of crap to shock Morgan and make her laugh.
I paid the check and took Morgan out of the bright, noisy pub and into the soft, humid night. A light, salty breeze off the water was enough to refresh us. As we walked away from the bright outdoor lights around the pub and onto the sidewalk, the streetlights were farther apart and shadows stretched around us. She reached for my hand. I held it in mine, liking that she had reached for me. I knew her well enough to know that she wasn’t bothered by being out on a strange street after dark—she took care of herself. So I knew she took my hand, not for comfort or reassurance, but because she wanted to hold it.
We were a few blocks away from her resort. I stopped on a corner to point out the wrought-iron Juliet balcony above us that spilled over with bright flowers. A smile broke across her pretty face. I brought my mouth to hers and kissed her. I couldn’t resist anymore. Her expression was so open, those lips parted, and I wanted to taste her mouth. I bent and skimmed my lips over hers. Startled, her mouth clung to mine, her hand going to my chest and resting there lightly, tentatively. I caught the bow of her upper lip between mine and kissed first her top lip and then her lower one, tenderly, savoring the sweetness of her mouth and the way she responded to me. Soon her other hand came to the back of my neck. I had dreamed of having her arms around my neck, and it felt incredible. Better than I had imagined. When both her arms went around my neck, I caught her by the waist and lifted her off her feet, parting her lips and slipping my tongue in her mouth. God, how could she taste like vanilla and sin instead of supper? She was like a drug I needed more of, that I could never have enough of. I groaned into her mouth and felt her smile against my lips.
When I set her down, finishing the kiss out of necessity since I couldn’t take things further right there on the sidewalk. She seemed reluctant to slip