I pulled myself out of a daze and took a better gander at her. Aye, she’s got the look of a Morrigan. Clear, smooth, pale skin that nearly begged to be stroked affectionately. Long silky hair (albeit scrunched into a careless ponytail) so dark it looked like the purest black ink. The mouth on her, oh my. Plump off-pink lips that offered the promise of a kiss that would doom a man for life. And again, those gray lakes that drew me in like smoke to a vacuum. Against my better upbringing, my own eyes began to wander south, helpless before a pull so strong it could send birds on a migration. She was slim, but not stick-like, petite without being frail. Modestly dressed in a way so comfortable it was as natural as a habit. Her off-the-shoulder sweatshirt did the girl no favors, or rather just barely enough. But I could sense her curves and knew they would stand out if and when she decided to posh herself up a bit. The jeans, though? Those did the job. Girl had a great pair of legs on her, and that sweet-looking bum looked none the worse for her earlier fall. Overall, I was impressed.
Okay, besotted.
Fuck it, she got me horny.
Oh, but she was a wee fit thing indeed.
“Hey? Hello?” She waved a hand in my face, and I finally looked up again. “You done checking me out yet?” she asked as she tugged down on the bottom of her sweatshirt.
I’m practically scarlet, as I blinked myself out of my infatuated trance. But I noticed the girl had a sly grin on her face. Thank goodness she seemed to appreciate the attention, instead of pegging me for a stalking wanker.
“Apologies, miss,” I mumbled, feeling like a shy schoolboy suddenly. “Yes, I am looking for a Morrigan. But some shyte for brains told me I was looking for a man.”
The girl’s eye took in the sign I’m clutching. “Well, I’m a Morrigan. But no Keiran.”
“Yeah, no shi—” I stopped. “I mean, nobody would take you for anything but a lass, sure enough.”
She stuck out her hand. That, even more than the accent, pegged her as an American. “Keira,” she said. “Keira Morrigan.”
I took her hand to shake it. I may have held it a nanosecond longer than absolutely necessary, but Jaysus, what a fine one she was. I’m going to effing kill Brann when I see him next. I bet the bastard knew that ‘he’ was indeed a ‘she’, and he’s been playing the maggot on me.
“Well now, Keira-not-Keiran. Someone screwed up.”
“Well... guess it’s sorted out now, Mr.....”
“God-a’mighty, raised in a barn, I was. Orin Kavanagh. Call me Orin.”
“Good. I usually like to know a man’s name if he’s taking me home,” she said quickly, in a tone drenching with dry humor.
“Oh? Just ‘usually’?”
“Right now? Definitely.”
“Well, then, we’re off like a dirty shirt, eh?” I gestured for Keira to follow me. “Come along now, and let me take that for you,” I said, nodding at Pinkie.
“Yes sir,” Keira said, grinning as she handed over the Pink People Eater.
I knew better than to try to roll it. So I picked it up by the handle to carry it. “Ooof,” I said for effect, playing like it was almost too much for me. Which of course it wasn’t. But how did this wee feek of a thing ever lift it?
“Any rocks left back there in America?” I kidded her as we headed for the terminal exit.
“A few. I only took the heaviest ones,” she said with a smile. She trailed along behind me, before speaking up again. “Orin, I don’t know where I’m going, so...”
“Yes? What?”
“Just... please don’t try anything... funny.”
I found this so... I don’t know, so vulnerable. But unwelcome monkey business? Me? No, not my style at all. I tried to sound as mild as a parish priest as I told her “Rest assured, no harm can come to you. I shall whisk you to home in the most direct way possible.” Which I would do, but I didn’t mention that I wouldn’t carry this pink box of shit a yard farther than I had too.
As we crossed the lanes of cars and entered the short-term car park, she said, “Thanks for picking me up then, Orin. I hope it doesn’t spoil your day.”
Which it would have done, young miss, I thought, if you’d been a mister after all…
“Anyway, uh, sorry for being late,” she went on. “I had some trouble with my suitcase earlier.”
“You’re joking, surely. Trouble? Old Pinkie here?”
“Did you just name my suitcase?” she asked. “How cute. For the record, I had to borrow it from my best friend.”
“I had a feeling,” I replied. “Pink doesn’t really seem like your color.”
As we walked past the endless rows of cars, I constantly checked over my shoulder, afraid Keira’s smaller strides might not keep up with my gigantic ones. Should I try to slow down? Or would she think that was the start of something creepy? I wondered.
It flummoxed me, though. Why would she think I’m after grabbing her by the nobs and dropping the hand like some cheeky wanker? Truth was, it was just the opposite. I didn’t mind Keira being my charge. In fact, I enjoyed being her knight in flannel armor. In fact, I was even feeling a powerful instinct to watch over her with my very life. And I wanted her to know she could trust me. She probably got all kinds of unwanted attention.
Well, woe to the dipshit who’d dare trifle with me about. Besides, it’s not like she was some brasser, just asking for trouble. No, she was wee fine thing, and sweet (but not too much so). And
