“I hope so,” Maggie said. “Because I do love him, Mom.”
Her mother gave her a hug. “I know you do. I also know he probably doesn’t make it easy. But if you ask me, he returns those feelings. I just don’t think he recognizes it quite yet, perhaps because it’s such a new experience for him.”
Maggie thought about her mother’s words on the drive into Boston. She held tightly to them as she braced herself, put on a sunny smile and walked into the pub as if she’d never been away. She dropped his present casually on the bar, then moved on to hang up her coat. Before she turned away she saw the surprise in Ryan’s eyes and something else, possibly a hint of relief.
Determined to act as if nothing were amiss, she grabbed her apron and immediately went to work, grateful that the place was packed and she could delay actually speaking to Ryan.
When Maureen caught up with her, she said, “Maggie, thank God you’re back.”
“I can see you’re swamped,” Maggie said.
“It’s not the crowds I can’t handle, it’s Ryan. He’s been grouchy as a bear since Christmas. It’s a wonder he hasn’t driven all the customers away, to say nothing of the staff. Even Rory’s giving him a wide berth.”
That news gave Maggie more confidence. When she eventually passed behind the bar, Ryan caught her hand and held her still, his blue eyes searching her face.
“I’m sorry for what happened on Christmas,” he said finally. “I behaved like an idiot.”
She studied his dear, familiar face and saw the genuine remorse. She touched a hand to his cheek. “I know.”
“I’m glad you came back.”
She permitted herself a small smile. “I know that, too.”
He drew in a deep breath as if gathering his courage, then declared, “I’ve had nothing to do but think the past few days, and I’ve come to a conclusion. I want you, Maggie O’Brien, and if you say you know that, as well, I’ll have to kiss you, right here in front of everyone.”
Her smile spread. “I know everything about you, Ryan Devaney. Get used to it.”
It was tantamount to a dare and they both knew it. Heat flared in his eyes right before his mouth covered hers. This was no coaxing, tentative kiss. It was a crushing, demanding kiss that had her blood turning to fire. The new urgency and neediness turned the kiss even more dangerous than all the others that had gone before. His tongue swept inside her mouth, and Maggie felt the world spin.
The only thing that stopped the kiss from lasting an eternity was the cheer that erupted from the entire bar. Ryan backed away from her as if he’d been burned.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice husky.
Maggie scowled at his words. “Don’t you dare apologize,” she said.
He grinned at the ferocity of her response. “We’ll finish this later,” he promised.
“The kiss or the discussion?”
“Probably both,” he admitted with a rueful grin.
It was all the opening she needed. Maggie’s gaze locked with his. “It could be a good night to close early,” she suggested with a wink.
Ryan shook his head, suddenly all practicality and reason, as he grabbed a cloth and began polishing the bar. “Monday-night football.”
She’d already learned not to let reason kick in with him. It kept him safe, not alive the way a man should be. He needed to work on his spontaneity.
She glanced around at the sea of mostly familiar faces and said loudly, “Don’t any of these people have televisions at home?”
The question was greeted with laughter and a sudden flurry of activity, and the place cleared out in ten minutes flat. Even Maureen had vanished with a promise to come in early to count the receipts in the morning.
“You can sleep in,” she said to Ryan with a wink.
After Maureen had gone, locking the door behind her, Ryan gazed around with a stunned expression, then faced Maggie with feigned indignation. “You trying to ruin my business?”
She shook her head. “Nope. Just trying to get your clothes off.”
He swallowed hard at that, then turned out all the lights except for the neon shamrock in the window, picked up his unopened gift and grabbed her hand. “Well, then, since it looks as if I have the night off, let’s go upstairs and see what we can do about that.”
Maggie gave him a considering look. “What’s wrong with right here?”
“You want me to strip in the middle of the pub?”
“I’m a risk taker. How about you?”
“The condoms are upstairs.”
Maggie hesitated, then glanced around the room with regret. “I’m not that much of a risk taker. Upstairs it is.”
“Don’t look so sad,” Ryan teased. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
She grinned at him. “I’m counting on it.”
Chapter Twelve
Ryan kept expecting to wake up from a dream. Instead, each brush of Maggie’s hands over his chest, each deeply satisfying kiss, felt very real. The roar of his blood, the heat generated by each caress, the demanding need, couldn’t possibly have been matched by a mere dream, no matter how sweet.
He opened his eyes, saw the flesh-and-blood Maggie be fore him and knew the greatest sense of satisfaction he’d ever felt in his life. This—she—was real. She was in his arms, just as she was in his heart.
For better or for worse.
Right now, though, he could only think of the positives, of the way the light turned her pale skin a soft gold, the way her curves fit him, the way she came alive with each touch, the way her back arched when he cupped her breast in the palm of his hand.
There was nothing halfway about Maggie. She was open and giving, and demanded as much as she gave.
Ryan lifted his head and gazed into her sea-green eyes. “You are a revelation.”
“Oh?” She eyed him with sleepy sensuality. “What were
