by KT Webb
“Sorry, I was cold,” I shrug sheepishly.
Gannon clears his throat, “No problem. It looks good on you. That’s from my college, I haven’t worn it in years.”
I look down to see a bold proclamation of the University College Cork. I hadn’t thought about Gannon doing anything other than owning the Wolfhound.
“How old are you?” I didn’t mean to say that.
Gannon laughs, “Oh, I’m sorry. Does my sweatshirt seem outdated to you?”
I shake my head, “No. I’m sorry. That was rude. That isn’t even what I meant to say.”
Gannon has two mugs in his hands. He walks closer to me and offers me a steaming cup of coffee. Sweet nectar of the gods. I take it gratefully, not even worrying about whether he put any cream or sugar in it or not. One glance tells me he remembered how I like my bean water. I pray he added enough sugar for it to taste decent.
“Tell me, what did you mean to say?” Gannon grins behind his own coffee mug.
My mouth is full of coffee, so I have a few seconds to think before I have to offer an answer. I meant to ask him what he studied in college, but my brain had an entirely different conversation without consulting my mouth. So, I went from “what did you study” to “how old are you” with an entire monologue in the middle that no one heard but me.
“What did you study in college?”
“Sociology. Have you been to college?”
I arch an eyebrow at him, “Yes.”
Gannon shrugged, “You’re awfully young. I assumed you were fresh out of high school.”
“Well, I asked how old you are because I thought maybe you were a member of the first graduating class from UCC.”
“Ouch,” Gannon chuckles.
It’s easy to banter with him. He doesn’t make me feel pressured to behave in any particular way. I’ve always been quirky. Vince always acted like I was embarrassing him if I joked around, he thought it was immature. He was older than me and usually made it clear that he believed age equaled maturity.
“I’m thirty,” Gannon pulls me from the thoughts that always lead to a dark place. “What did you study in college?”
“I earned my degree in Literature with a minor in History,” I tell him, bracing myself for the judgment that usually accompanies admitting that I have an arts degree.
“When did you finish college?” Gannon is looking at me as though he’s waiting for me to admit that I’m pulling his leg.
“I graduated from college a little over three years ago.”
I watch the wheels begin to turn in his mind. He isn’t that much older than me, but Gannon is probably wondering how someone my age could possibly be three years past college graduation. I let him mull it over for a bit as I return to his bed and pull the blankets up over my legs. The drugs are kicking in, and it’s getting harder to stay upright. Gannon mirrors my movement, settling in next to me. Shouldn’t he be at work or something? Am I keeping him from his life?
“What time is it?” I ask, realizing there isn’t a clock in sight.
“Early enough that we can both go back to sleep before anyone realizes you spent the night with me, and we become the talk of the town.”
I narrow my eyes at him. He could be fibbing to get me to agree to more rest, not that he has to convince me to sleep right now. This is such a small town, there will undoubtedly be rumors flying about us already, especially if anyone saw me returning to his cottage. To any outsiders, I probably looked drunk. Great, now I’m the American tart who jumped in bed with a sexy Irishman she barely knows. That should do wonders for my reputation with the extended family I’ve got to meet soon.
“How much longer can we sleep?” I ask him with a giant yawn.
“At least a couple more hours. By then, everyone will be at work or busy going about their days. They won’t notice us taking a stroll back to your cottage. The only obstacle we may encounter is my mum.”
“Oh. Is she going to think we, ya know?”
Gannon sets his mug down on the bedside table, then gently does the same with mine. He lies down on his back and pats his chest as though he’s inviting me to snuggle in. I don’t need to be told twice. I lay my head on his bare chest, thinking about how much I’d like to lick every inch of it. I guess if people are going to label me a slut, I could do much worse than Gannon Fitzpatrick.
“To answer your question, no. My mum knows me better than to think I would take advantage of you. Besides, Roald will undoubtedly have told his wife what happened to you, and she’ll probably spread the story to a few people without a second thought.”
“Hmmm. So, you think we’re safe then? You wouldn’t want any rumors started that linked you with the foreigner that no one wants here.”
Gannon’s heartbeat echoes in my ear. He doesn’t say anything for a few moments, which only makes me panic. I’m not his girlfriend or anything, but I don’t like the idea that he would be humiliated by having his name linked with mine outside of giving me a ride to town. Gannon places an unexpected kiss on my head before wrapping an arm around me.
“Blake, I wouldn’t have a problem if people thought we were together. I don’t particularly care what anyone thinks of me.”
A grin creeps across my face. No, I can’t imagine Gannon would care about the opinions of others. It feels nice to be wrapped in his embrace as the medication starts to take over. Before I fall asleep, there’s something I want to tell him. He didn’t ask me how old I am because he’s not an asshole, but I know he’s wondering just how young I am. If that’s a barrier between us at all, I want to break it down before he starts to see me as a little sister.
“Gannon?”
“Hmm?”
“I graduated high school when I was seventeen. I finished college when I was nineteen. I’m twenty-two now.”
Gannon chuckles, “We’ll have to discuss how you managed that when you’re conscious again. Get some rest, Blake.”
He plants another soft kiss on my head as I drift off into a drugged sleep, thinking about how lucky I am to have found someone like him to help me adjust to my life in Ireland.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Holding Blake as she sleeps is probably the best thing I’ve ever done with my life. When she curled into my side last night, I almost lost my cool. Her sweet, sexy innocence mixed with her quick wit and innate intelligence makes her more attractive than any woman I’ve ever met. There was a time when I never thought I’d think that about anyone again. Now I’m holding her once more as she snores lightly.
I tilt my head slightly so I can sniff her hair. She smells so fucking good. When she came out wearing my sweatshirt, I nearly popped a boner in my boxers. Why was it so sexy for her to wear my sweatshirt? Maybe it was the way the shirt fell below her shorts, making it seem as though she was standing there in nothing but my clothes. Just thinking about it makes me start to get hard. Abort mission, Gannon.
I’ve learned there’s a difference between attraction and connection. It’s too early to tell, but I think we have both. Before I make any moves, I have to be sure this is right. A girl like Blake deserves to be with a man who has no doubts in his mind about what he wants. I’m not there, hell, I don’t know if I’ll ever be there. Right now, my body wants nothing more than to make her mine. Thankfully my brain is still maintaining enough control to tell the rest of me to calm down.
Sleep is tugging at the edge of my mind. I’ve got a beautiful girl lying in bed with me, I have no obligations until later today, and there’s absolutely no reason I should fight this moment. Blake sighs in contentment while her injured arm rests across my abs. I hope she heals as quickly as Roald seems to think she will. Blake has a tough road ahead of her with the older Molloy’s, but with Roald Molloy III on her side, I’m pretty confident she’ll win them over in no time.
“Gannon Donal Fitzpatrick, what were you thinking? I’ve heard from no less than three people that you took the drunk Molloy girl home last night.”
I’m standing in my mums’ kitch
en as she busies herself with the bread she bakes fresh every day. If it weren’t for the dough, I’m afraid she’d be kneading my face. Before I came to face mom, I took Blake to her cottage so she could grab a shower and put something on other than her pajamas and my sweatshirt. She insisted on going to speak with Roald Molloy III today, Blake wants to thank him for helping her and officially introduce herself.
I knew I’d be having this conversation with Aoife Fitzpatrick. Quite honestly, I can’t say I care what anyone thinks about me; it’s Blake I want to protect from the rumors that are already flying. I probably should have taken her to her cottage last night rather than selfishly keeping her with me. In the back of my mind, a voice that sounds remarkably like mum tells me I knew Blake would have been just fine on her own overnight. The louder, less logical voice that resembles Patrick is cheering for the decision I made. I guess they’re the proverbial “angel and devil” on my shoulders.
“I understand why you’re upset, ma. She was pretty out of it, but she wasn’t drunk. That rat bastard Roald Molloy broke her hand when he hit her with that stupid cane!”
Mum rolls her eyes at me, “I know that, Gannon. As your mum, I’m proud of you for helping her get the medical attention she needed. As a member of the community, I can see why it looked bad.”
With a sigh, I plop down on the kitchen chair that probably has a worn spot in the shape of my arse. So many serious talks have taken place around this table, this is just one more to add to a long list.
“Okay, I’ll make sure to set the record straight. But I’m doing this for her sake. You know I don’t give a single feck what anyone thinks of me other than you and Patrick.”
“Language, Gannon!”
And with that, I know the conversation is over, subject closed. It’s one of the many things I admire about mum; she tells you what she thinks, then she lets it go. This situation isn’t any different. She trusts me. If I say nothing happened between Blake and me, she believes me without question. There’s something in the expression on her face that tells me she’s got something more on her mind, so I brace myself for whatever’s coming.
“Gannon, I know it’s been a long time since you’ve shown any interest in anyone. That bitch ruined that part of you for a woman who would actually deserve it.”
I try not to laugh. Mom has referred to Madigan as “that bitch” since the day the latter left me behind in favor of England and her big plans. It’s not that I disagree with her, but I try not to let myself think of Madigan like that for Patrick’s sake. Then again, I try not to think about Madigan at all if I can help it. It seems like she’s been coming to mind far more often than I’d like in the past few days.
“What’s your point, ma?”
It’s her turn to sigh, “I don’t know much about this girl, but she seems to have gotten under your skin in a short amount of time. Do you think there’s any possibility of something starting between you?”
There it is. My mum is poking in a delicate situation, hoping I’ll finally settle down and give her some grandchildren. How do I tell her there’s nothing between us when I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Blake since I met her? As much as I don’t want to admit it, meeting her was like being struck with lightning. The jolt of electricity shot through me, waking something at my very core. There’s no way for me to put any of that into words. People would think I’d lost my marbles. The best thing I can do is keep my response simple. If anyone is going to read through the line of bullshit that is “just friends”, it’s going to be my mum.
“We just met, mum. I like her well enough. Blake is beautiful, smart, funny, and sassy. She’s nothing like Madigan. I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy her company. Right now, I’m just seeing where things go. We don’t even know if she’ll stick around.”
Mom stares at me with narrowed eyes. After a few moments of trying to get me to break, she seems to accept my answer as it is. It’s far from complete or in-depth, but it’s all I’ve got to go on right now. I glance up at the clock on the wall and practically jump to my feet. It’s approaching lunchtime on Saturday, and I haven’t done a damn thing to clean up the Wolfhound.
“I better get going. I’ll see you later, yeah?”
I plant a quick kiss on her cheek, and she bids me farewell with a smile. My childhood home is just up the road from the B&B, so it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for me to stop by and check on Blake, right? Who am I kidding? I would probably go out of my way to see that girl at this point. Damnit. She’s got me hooked, and she doesn’t even know how she affects me.
As I approach her cottage, a strange pit forms in my stomach. What am I doing? This is stupid. When am I going to learn to leave well enough alone? One second, I tell myself not to go there, the next I’m in too deep to back out.
“Gannon? I didn’t think I’d see you again until later,” Blake says as she steps into the crisp winter day. “I hope you don’t mind if I wear your sweatshirt again. I didn’t feel like digging through my suitcases to find one of mine. The one I wore on the trip here smells a bit too much like airport.”
Of course, I don’t mind. Blake left her hair down, so the wavy tresses are lifted by the gentle breeze. Again, her perfect face is free of make-up, not that she needs it anyway. The smattering of freckles on her cheeks, nose, and forehead will never stop being adorable. I notice she’s wearing a pair of skintight black leggings with an open latticework design from the ankle up to her thighs. Jesus, even in comfortable clothes, Blake is the sexiest woman I’ve ever met.
“Earth to Gannon,” she laughs as she nudges me.
Apparently, I was too busy ogling her to realize I hadn’t responded, “I don’t mind if you keep that sweatshirt. I haven’t worn it in years anyway. It looks great on you.”
“It’s just a sweatshirt, Gannon. It’s not like I’m sporting any cleavage.”
“You don’t have to show off your assets to look amazing, trust me.”
Blake gives me her signature eyebrow arch. Time for a subject change. We start to walk toward town as I ask her about her hand and how she’s feeling today. She seems utterly oblivious to the rumors mum mentioned, which is good. The longer I can protect her from the ugliness of her older relatives, the better. By the time we’re standing in front of the Wolfhound, I feel pretty confident that I should ask her to lunch.
“There’s a café down the street that’s only open for breakfast and lunch. Do you want to grab a bite?”
Blake gives her head a shake, looking over her shoulder toward the clinic. “No, I think I’d better stop over to speak with the youngest Roald Molloy. I need to thank him for helping me last night.”
I do my best to hide my disappointment, I need to keep myself from looking like a desperate little boy with a crush. She tells me she’ll see me later and heads straight for the first positive connection she’ll make within the Molloy family.
If waking up in Gannon’s bed was intimidating, waking up in his arms was confusing. I’ve never felt so conflicted in my life. I wasn’t sure if I should wake him or let him keep sleeping while I tried to sneak away. As soon as I started moving, he was awake. We laid there, not saying anything for a few minutes. Gannon rubbed his hand along my arm, and even through the sweatshirt, I could feel the tingling chill that accompanied his touch. It was a simple gesture, but it felt more intimate than I was prepared to handle.
I got up and said something lame about needing to go home and shower. I carefully stripped the sweatshirt from my body, careful not to take my tank top with it. Gannon laid in the bed, trying not to look at me. When I caught sight of his expression, I nearly dove back into the bed with him. His eyes clouded over with a hunger I’d never seen before. No one has ever looked at me that way. It affected me far more than I care to admit. The moment Gannon absently ran his tongue along his bottom lip caused an immediate reaction between my thighs.
Of course, the next thing I noticed was the bulge in his boxers. My mouth went dry. Gannon seemed to
come to his senses as his eyes met mine. I tried not to be overly awkward about it. I’m not going to fault him for finding me attractive. I’ve been ogling him too.
“Uh, maybe you should keep the sweatshirt for now. It’s pretty chilly outside this time of year,” Gannon suggested as he attempted to sit up without me noticing his raging hard-on.
At that point, I’d put the sweatshirt back on and excused myself to get some water from the kitchen. It wasn’t just for my sake. I didn’t want him to struggle anymore with his, well, condition, and the best way to give him some relief was for me to exit the room.
Since leaving his cottage, the only thing I can think about is his incredible body and that bulge. I’m not naïve enough to say he has the biggest dick I’ve ever encountered, but I can definitely say any woman who gets to experience what he’s packing isn’t going to be disappointed. If I keep heading down this path, I may be that lucky girl. Our exchange outside my cottage only made me feel more attracted to him.