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“Exactly. So, I have to ask again, who do you think was going to have that conversation? Because it certainly wasn’t me.”
She stops her movements and watches me, blinking slowly. “You weren’t?”
“No. Did I give you the impression that I wouldn’t be interested in seeing you again after that night? Did I say that?”
“You didn’t have to. We barely know each other, and we had a mutually satisfying, spontaneous relationship that I didn’t think would progress after that one night.”
My hands fist and my belly tightens.
She thought I’d be satisfied with only one night with her? That’s absolutely ridiculous.
I circle around the counter and reach for her hand. The moment her flesh meets mine, it’s like coming home.
“I wasn’t done with you, Anastasia.”
“You weren’t?”
I shake my head and bring her knuckles to my lips, nibbling them softly. “Not even close. I don’t know that I’ll ever get enough of you.”
How could I explain to her that the minute my eyes fell upon her in the museum, it was like recognizing a part of me I didn’t know was missing? I knew her, right then and there. It was a kind of knowing that I can’t explain, nothing I’ve ever felt before, but my grandda used to tell me it was the same way for him when he saw my grandmother.
There’s no need to startle her, to confess the knowing to her now. We’ll get there.
“What now?” she asks.
“Well, I think it’s a good idea to get to know each other, that’s for certain.”
“Your accent does things to me.”
I smile and kiss her forehead before pulling her against me, enjoying the way her arms encircle my back and hold on tight.
“It’s glad I am that you like the sound of my voice.”
Yes, I turned it up a notch.
And I’m rewarded with a low purr in the back of her throat.
“I really do have to work,” she says softly.
“Can I help?”
“No.” She steps back with a smile. “But you can watch.”
“Darling, I have a feeling that watching you do anything at all is about to be my new favorite hobby.”Chapter Four~Anastasia~“I’m so full.” I moan as I set my fork aside, resisting the last few bites of chocolate cream pie.
“You’re not going to eat that?” Kane asks.
“Nope. I’ll burst. You eat it.” I push it toward him and smile as I watch him eat it in one big bite. “This was really nice.”
It’s been a few days since our time in my bakery. He didn’t stay the night, he watched me work for a while, and then he left, but not before asking me to join him for dinner tonight.
I was surprised when he picked me up and brought me out to a little island about an hour from Bellevue.
“You have a voracious appetite,” he says with a half-smile. “I do believe I enjoy watching you eat, Anastasia.”
“I mean, that salmon was ridiculous. Is this your favorite place?”
He tilts his head to the side. “Why do you ask?”
“Well, I’m sure there are plenty of seafood places in Seattle. It’s just out of the way, that’s all.”
“I do enjoy the food here, but it’s also close to home for me. I’d like to take you to my place tonight, if that’s okay with you.”
And just like that, my core tightens at the thought of spending the night in Kane’s bed.
“It’s okay with me.”
He grins and pays the tab, then leads me out to his car, a gorgeous late-model Porsche SUV with buttery leather seats. His vehicle reminds me of Kane, sleek and powerful. Fast. Gorgeous.
He pulls away from the restaurant, and just a few blocks away, I see a bar with a neon sign that says O’Callaghan’s Pub.
“Wait. What’s that?” I point to the pub, excitement already settling in my belly.
“An Irish pub,” he says with a wink.
“Yes, I can read. But is it your pub?”
“My brother would lose his mind if he heard you say that. No, my younger brother Keegan owns O’Callaghan’s.”
“I want to see it.”
He pulls the car over to the curb and raises a brow. “Do you, now?”
“Aye.” I laugh when he narrows his eyes at me. “I couldn’t resist. Yes, I want to see it. I’ve never been to an Irish pub before.”
“It seems I’m willing to do just about anything you wish, especially considering I had my mind set on taking you home straight away.”
“We’ll get there.” I cup his cheek and sigh when he turns his face to kiss my palm. “But this looks fun. Show me.”
He gets out of the car, opens my door for me, and takes my hand as he leads me through the heavy wooden door of the pub. My senses are automatically overloaded with music and laughter, the smell of beer and food. It’s like with two steps, I went from Seattle to a tiny village in rural Ireland.
