“What, Erin — are ye too cool or something?”

He’s needling me. I take the bait, eager to shake the feeling of dismay that’s followed me out into the street. “Right! Race ye!” I take off sprinting and join the line for Duck Tour tickets with Michaél hot on my heels.

We find a seat near the back and settle in. Our tour guide is cool, and it’s a relief to not have to talk for the next hour or so. I’m giving myself a good talking to as I sit down beside Michaél, trying to convince myself to enjoy our friendship for what it is now. Friendship. Nothing more, nothing less.

I suppose I should be grateful that he even still wants to be friends after my behavior over the last few weeks. I haven’t been my best self since his arrival in Boston. Not to say that he’s behaved any better. He did his due diligence and checked out the bar before he came here. He knew exactly what shape The Pot O’Gold was in and he came anyway. He knew he didn’t have a legal leg to stand on, and yet he threatened that he did. Neither of us has been fair to the other.

I stare out at the monuments passing by and think of all the ways I resisted his ideas and the myriad ways I tried to make him feel so uncomfortable so he’d just leave. It was a knee-jerk reaction to what I perceived to be a threat to all I’ve worked for. All that mattered to me was the bar. And while I still stand by that, I look across the water and realize that I have been singleminded to a fault. Sure, it’s important for me to be strong and independent and to make my own way in the world, but what’s the point of any of it if I can’t share my life with someone else?

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, time for something a bit special!” announces Kip, our guide. We’re heading for the water and the Duck doesn’t seem to be stopping. With great fanfare we splash into the Charles River and begin to sail.

Somehow I’d never realized that this was part of the tour. I scream and grab onto Michaél’s sleeve as a blast of cold water hits me. He wraps his arm around me and rubs my freezing arms warm. I snuggle into him, but he pulls away to take one of the blankets that are being passed around by Kip. He tucks it around both our laps but he doesn’t put his arm around me again. I smile my thanks. It’s beautiful to be out on the river; the air is clear and I feel the anger and frustration I’ve been carrying around lately being swept away. I pick at a thread on the blanket that covers us both. I am hyper aware of his leg touching mine but he seems to be elsewhere, gazing off into space. I guess that’s it for us then. Good friends. No benefits. As though hearing my thoughts he turns and smiles at me. No kiss. No little touch. Just a friendly smile. I have to make a massive effort to make my own smile big ‘cause right now I’m feelin’ kinda small.

We arrive home in time for dinner and I’m beat. I’m beat from acting like the best best friend a guy could ever want and from not giving into the lusty desire that is literally eating me up. I can’t go on like this. We have to have it out or he has to leave. Now.

“So, Michaél. What’s the deal?”

He looks up from the Sunday roast dinner I have just set down in front of him, compliments of our new chef, Aaron. Yet another one of Michaél’s initiatives that has gone down a treat with the punters. It’s late and we’re eating dinner in the apartment. It’s time to clear the air.

“Deal?” he asks, all innocence.

“There’s something I don’t understand.” I push my food around my plate.

He just smiles.

Okay, he’s not going to make this easy for me. I soldier on, searching for the right words. I know that I’ve been a class-A bitch these past few weeks but what did he expect? Is he fucking with me for fun?

“I know for a fact that you have no interest in acquiring half the bar, and I also know that you knew that all those threats about fraud and misrepresentation were bullshit.” I look up at him. “So, what I’d like to know is why you put me through hell these last few weeks?”

He laughs. He actually laughs!

I put down my fork and give him a hard stare. “I don’t find any of this funny, Michaél. The bar is my livelihood— my future.”

“I’m sorry, Erin. Ye’re just so cute when ye’re serious.”

“Are you mocking me?”

He realizes that he’s gone too far. Standing up, he comes round to my side of the breakfast bar and takes my two hands in his, forcing me to stand up too. He’s all serious now.

“No, I’m not mocking ye. I’ve travelled three thousand miles to be with ye with some bogus excuse about acquiring half yer bar, fabricating stories so that ye’d have to keep me around. And, while I know that it perhaps hasn’t been all that much fun for ye, I’ve loved spending each day in yer company. Ye’re a feisty, determined, hard-working young businesswoman, who maybe needs to take more days off.”

This, I was not expecting. I’m left flabbergasted. Speechless. Agog. I stare back at him stupidly.

He takes my silence as a need for more explication. “Don’t ye know that I’m in love with ye, Erin O’Neill? I have been since that first night, when ye bought me that pint and sang to me. This charade with the bar, an expensive charade I might add, was to allow ye the time to fall in love with me. I told ye; I don’t take my relationships lightly, especially not the important ones. And ye’re very important to me.” With that he bends his head and his lips hover gently over mine, as if awaiting permission.

I kiss him back, softly at first and then with more fervor. We play with one another’s lips, teasing, exploring, before allowing our tongues to meet, tasting and savouring each other. I snake my arms up around his neck.

Reaching up, he runs his finger along my breastbone, brushing the straps of my bra. Slowly, he twists each button of my blouse, releasing it from its tiny hole, until my shirt eventually falls open.

I quiver in anticipation.

He studies me and smiles. Then he reaches up and caresses my breasts through the lacy fabric of my bra. My nipples are hard, and he fingers them playfully, sending spikes of desire from my breasts to my groin. I groan with pleasure, leaning into him and feeling the outline of his hard-on against my thigh. I turn around and rub my ass against his groin, soft at first, then harder. It’s his turn to groan.

“I have wanted this for so long,” he says lifting me up into his arms and carrying me toward my room.

I don’t stop kissing him as we move from the sitting room to my bedroom. It’s just too good to stop. He lays me gently down on the bed and removes my shoes and socks. Then he reaches for my belt and unbuckles it. I help him by shimmying out of my jeans and taking off my blouse, so that I’m lying there in only my bra and panties.

He removes his own shirt and jeans. Sliding out of his boxers, he kicks them to one side and stands before me, his cock like a ship’s mast.

“Yer wish is my command, my darlin’. Would ye like it hard or do ye feel like some gentle lovemaking this evening?” He speaks in a strong Irish accent that makes me giggle.

“I have been gagging for this for weeks! Do you even have to ask? I would definitely like the hard option, please.”

He reaches for one of the silk scarves that I have draped over the headboard. A wave of electricity goes through me as he weaves the scarf around my wrists, attaching it to the bed.

Standing up again, he goes over and opens my underwear drawer, riffling around until he finds what he’s looking for. Carefully, he ties pantyhose around my head as a blindfold. I giggle and squirm a little in anticipation. These kinds of games are new to me.

“Time to let someone else drive for a bit, darlin’. I’m going to make ye scream,” he whispers, biting my earlobe. He begins an exploration of my body with his tongue. Blind, I feel every lick and probe all the more intensely. Each time he places a finger or a hand on my body, all my attention is focused there. My body becomes a hotbed of liquid pleasure, and every inch of me has become an erogenous zone.