Torin (Hope City #9) - Maryann Jordan Page 0,81

heart pounding?”

Eyes wide, she nodded.

“I swear to you that as long as my heart is beating, I’ll love you.” Her trembling lips curved slightly, and he said, “Come here, babe.”

Her eyes twinkled with unshed tears and her smile widened as she leaned forward, her hands on his shoulders. This time, their lips touched in a kiss that was much more than a quick hello peck. With their tongues tangling, his blood ran south, but he didn’t care. They were fuckin’ alive right now and celebrating with her breasts crushed against his chest, their hearts beating together, and their future laid out before them. Kissing her was the best way to claim the gift of life.

She pulled back gently, her tongue darting out to lick her lips, her chest heaving to suck in air.

“Jesus, Erin, I love kissing you like that.”

Her nose crinkled, and she tilted her head to the side. “Kissing me like how?”

“Kissing you when you’re smiling. I love every kiss we share, but I swear, kissing you when you’re smiling shoots straight through me every time.”

Her smile widened and she leaned down, offering her lips once again. The kiss was way too short as they were interrupted by the evening nurse coming on to duty. Erin shifted off the bed as the nurse checked his incision, his various contusions, and then headed back out of the room.

“I just thought of something,” he said. “You didn’t drive over here, did you? Not with a concussion?”

“I’m not allowed to drive for twenty-four more hours. I did what you encouraged—went home and rested. Then I had an FBI agent who questioned me, but the family was there. Afterward, Tara was taking Colleen home, so she dropped me off here.”

“Who’s going to pick you up?”

She shook her head, her lips curving. “Who says I’m leaving?”

If she thought he was going to complain, she was greatly mistaken. The idea of spending another night in the hospital held little appeal, but the thought that he’d have her in his arms again made everything seem right.

His phone vibrated and he checked his messages, chuckling. Looking up, he explained, “It’s from Maeve. Seems like my grandparents were helping out at the pub again. They opened up this afternoon, and the crowds have been huge. With you and me having our faces plastered all over the media, more people are coming in, wanting to see how we are doing.”

“That’s nice that people care so much.”

“Maeve has started a collection for people who were injured or killed, and it seems that a lot of our patrons want to give. They’ve already collected over five hundred dollars in the last few hours.”

“My God, that’s crazy! Good for her.”

“That’s my sister, always thinking about people.”

With the lights turned low, she settled in next to him on the bed again, and soon, both began to yawn. The last thought he had before going to sleep was hoping that she’d be with him in his bed in his apartment tomorrow night.

The Celtic Cock Pub

Bob stood outside the Celtic Cock, glancing inside whenever someone opened the door. He’d only been in the pub a couple of times in the past but had never seen it so crowded. His heart pounded as he watched a group of uniformed firefighters go inside. Pacing up and down the sidewalk, indecision filled him.

He remembered the bartender that had served his brother and dad when they’d come in. The guy had been nice, if not real talkative. And he cut Pops off when he drank too much, something Bob wished more bartenders had done over the years. Pops got nasty when he got drunk. Mean, bitter, and said things that hurt. Then he’d drink more and finally pass out.

Tonight had been just as bad. Pops’ good mood had disappeared when he didn’t like the news. When Pops started yelling at the TV again because the newscasters were focusing on victims and not the place where the explosion had occurred, Bob had waded in, bringing up what Marty had said earlier.

“Pops, Marty and I were talking. Why didn’t you put it next to the building like you were going to do? You put it too close to the street and innocent people got killed!”

Pops lifted his bloodshot eyes and snarled. “Who gives a fuck about them? And if you weren’t such a moron, you wouldn’t give a fuck either.”

Scrubbing his shaking hand over his face, Bob leaned his back against the brick wall outside the pub. He’d always been