flushed from her hair down to her feet. Connor let her hand go and she set her cue on the table.
“I’ll claim my winnings here,” she said haughtily, hoping to cover how giddy and warm she suddenly felt. Earlier she’d thought herself doomed to a pathetic consolation of a first evening at the local pub, but this was just perfect. Guinness, whiskey, snooker and a flirtation with a hot local. What could be more Irish?
She fed the table another coin, and Connor delivered her glass after tending to a couple customers. From the first stinging taste, the whiskey lit a glow in her chest—like a hearth, warm and comforting.
“Good?” he asked.
“Perfect, thank you. Another game?”
He eyed the bar. “I better not. I’ve been rather neglectful already.”
“Thank goodness you don’t work for tips.”
“Indeed.”
He lingered for a bit, attention divided between the patrons and Jamie’s one-woman snooker match.
“You really are quite good. You sure you’re not a shark?”
She sank the blue ball. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
She caught him smiling again, his eyes squinched in the most adorably sinister way. “I wouldn’t mind knowing rather a lot of things about you,” he said casually.
“Like what?”
“Oh, nosy things.”
She liked how he said that—tings.
“Like what exactly your ex did to get himself dumped...?”
She bit her lip. “He dumped me, actually.”
His eyes widened, the drama overdone but not unwelcome. “No.”
“Oh, yes. I was as surprised as you are.”
He cocked his head. “He must’ve been a right spanner, then.”
“Does that mean idiot?”
“It does.”
Jamie grinned. “Cheers to that.” A right spanner. She could hug him. In fact...
“You deserve a taste of this yourself, for saying so.”
He eyed the bar, finding his customers placated. “You’re a bad influence.”
She shrugged and took another sip. The whiskey was making her feel bold in the most natural, essential way.
Connor nodded his surrender. “Fine. That’s top-shelf—I won’t say no.”
With a smile, she took one more generous taste, then rose on her tiptoes. He caught on just in time, leaning in to bridge the gap. Their noses brushed first, then their lips. She held the glass between them, one of his shirt buttons teasing her knuckles—a strange and perfect little intimacy. A different sort of buzz arrived as their lips met, the contact rocking through her with a sharp, hot bolt.
All at once woozy, she kept it brief—just enough of a kiss to let him taste her winnings, then she dropped back on her heels. Her cheeks were flushed, lips tingling. From the whiskey, or from Connor? Both. And from her own desire, a well that had gone untapped for far too long.
His blue eyes were half-closed, lids looking heavy. Languid. Lips parted. If sex were a season, it had settled over him in full bloom.
He smiled. “It would seem perhaps we’ve both won.”
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