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“Yep. Ma didn’t want to be here alone, so she made some changes to the house so we could all stay. God knows it’s big enough. Want a tour?”
“Maybe later.” There was heat in her eyes but Maisie wasn’t sure about me yet, not completely. “It’s sweet that you don’t want your mom to be lonely.”
Sweet? Hardly. Luckily for her, I was patient when I needed to be.
“How about a drink?” I gestured to the bar in the corner of the living room. It stretched half the length of the wall so I didn’t know how she could have missed it.
“Sure. What have you got?”
I slipped behind the bar and turned on the track lights under the shelf with the best of my collection. “What haven’t I got?” I reached for my favorite bottles of whiskey and lined them up on the black and gold granite counter with a smile. “These are my three favorite drinks.”
“Irish whiskey?”
I cocked a brow at her. “Is there any other type worth mentioning?”
Surprise flashed in her blue eyes and Maisie put her hands on her hips. “I guess not.”
“Good girl,” I told her with a wink and returned to the bottles. “This one is aged three years, this one twelve, and this beauty is twenty years old. They each have a unique taste and flavor profile.” I poured three shot glasses half full and pushed them in her direction. “Take your time.”
“So like, you guys are full on Irish, Irish?” Her black brows dipped low at the question and she shook her head. “You know what I mean, you’re into Irish whiskey, probably Catholic, and you sprinkle Celtic into conversations? Am I right?”
“Let’s take our drinks into the kitchen while I get things started.”
Luckily for me, we always had a set up for dinner ready at a moment’s notice. Our employees were good that way. I walked into the Sub-Zero refrigerator and pulled out a tray of two-inch rib eyes. Maisie’s eyes opened like she’d been poked in the belly.
I seasoned the steaks and laughed again, something I did a lot around Maisie. “So back to your question. Have you been watching old gangster movies?”
“No. But the whole whiskey thing,” Maisie said, scooting up onto to stool at the island. She motioned to the three glasses I’d placed in front of her. “The Irish thing just seems like a part of you is all. I’m curious. I don’t have that kind of tie to my roots or heritage, or whatever.”
I stopped at her words and thought about it. “I guess you’re right. I never thought of it like that before.” My old man wasn’t the best, but between him and Sadie, I had a rich sense of my ancestors on both sides of the ocean.
“Okay, I’m Irish, Irish. Based on your looks you might be too.” The black hair and blue eyes could peg her as black Irish in a heartbeat, not to mention her pale almost alabaster skin and those little splashes of red on her cheeks like someone slid a brush across her cheekbones.
“I think it’s Swedish, but you know how immigrants changed their names when they came to America back in the day. So technically it should be Nilsdottir.” Maisie stopped talking and slammed her eyes shut. “Oh well. Too weird?”
I shrugged. “Hot weird.”
“I’ll take it.” She took a sip of the third glass, the twenty-year-aged whiskey and moaned. “Damn, how is that so smooth? It’s like velvet fire.”
She licked her lips, and I had to stifle a groan because a woman who responded like that to booze would be so responsive naked in bed.
“Velvet Fire. Maybe I’ll distill my own whiskey and call it that.”
“I’d buy it.” She leaned forward, her thumb and forefinger toying with the rim of the third shot glass as she smiled. “I’m feeling a little tipsy already.”
“Not too tipsy I hope.” I would do it if I had to, but tonight wasn’t about babysitting some drunk college girl.
“Nope. Just tipsy enough,” she said and leaned closer until I could see the threads of silver and gold in her deep blue eyes. “To do this.” One more inch and her plump red lips were on mine, timid at first as she slowly learned my mouth. I let her, curious to see where this would go. Her tongue danced across the seam of my mouth until I opened it for her.
The moment her tongue touched mine, I grabbed her waist and dragged her across the counter, sending one or two of the shot glasses crashing to the floor. Maisie moaned into my mouth and wrapped her arms—and legs—around me, deepening the kiss like it was the only thing that mattered. We kissed like teenagers or the way teenagers would kiss if they knew how fucking erotic it could be.
