Chapter 3 #2
“You do actually know who Deirdre cares about, do you not?” His voice contained a note of exasperation. “I’m running out of time to make the match, so if you’re not knowing, be kind enough to say so.”
“I said I’d help you, Bellamy.” She took a step closer. What should she ask him for first? “And yes, I know who Deirdre admires.”
“Who?”
She moved again, this time putting herself directly in front of Bellamy and leaving only six inches—or less—between them. “If I give you the name, I’d like something in return.”
His eyes rapidly narrowed. “What?”
She halved the distance so now only three inches remained. She was close enough she could hear his breathing.
If he was intimidated by her nearness, he wasn’t showing it. He didn’t move and didn’t react, not even in surprise.
She had the urge to walk her fingers up his arm and across his chest as she’d once seen her oldest sister, Finola, do with her husband, Riley. Finola had finished her finger-walk at Riley’s top button, then had fisted a hand in his shirt and pulled him down for a kiss.
Zaira guessed such a move would be entirely too bold. Nevertheless, she had to keep going. Too much was at stake if she acted shyly.
Sucking in a steadying breath, she reached out and laid her hand on Bellamy’s arm.
His gaze snapped there like he’d been stung by a hornet. “What are you doing, Zaira?” His voice was low and full of warning.
Warning of what? She shrugged as nonchalantly as possible. “I need to do some research for my writing. And I’d like your help.”
He stared at her hand for several long heartbeats before lifting his eyes to hers again. “What kind of research?”
She hadn’t really thought through her plan. What exactly did she want Bellamy to do? Hug her? Perhaps kiss her? That surely ought to be enough to help her understand romance, wouldn’t it? “I was thinking one hug and one kiss.”
“Holy mother.” He took a step back and shook his head, a strange panic filling his features.
She grabbed his arm. “Please, Bellamy. I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.”
He was still shaking his head, his eyes wide.
“Okay, no hug. Just a kiss.”
“I’m not kissing you.”
“It won’t mean anything. It’s not like I want to have a relationship with you. In fact, I don’t even like you.”
The panicked look seemed to ease from his features. “You don’t like me?”
“No.” Maybe she liked him a little. Or a lot. But she didn’t want to like him. And that was mostly the same thing, wasn’t it?
He studied her as though he was reading her thoughts, probably realizing her denial had been too adamant.
“Okay,” she said. “I admit I find you a smidgen attractive. But I don’t want to marry you or anything close to that.”
“So, you’ll help me with Deirdre if I help you with your research by kissing you?”
She bit her bottom lip. She wanted to tell him yes, that was the only way. But she wasn’t so desperate that she would deny him help if he really was opposed to kissing her. “Listen, Bellamy.”
He was staring at the bottom lip she’d just worried between her teeth. And the brown of his eyes was dark and melted and dangerous.
She couldn’t keep from releasing her hold on his arm. Something about him was so magnetic that she was liable to be drawn in and lose herself to him if she wasn’t careful.
“I’m listening,” he whispered, a small smile beginning to tug at the corners of his lips.
Did he think she was silly? Maybe she was, but she didn’t care. “It obviously has to be a good kiss and one full of feeling. But that’s all.”
He nodded slowly. “How long does it have to be?”
“I don’t know. How long are kisses supposed to last?” See, this was why she needed to do the research.
He shrugged, his smile turning sly. “It can last as long as you want.”
“Then let’s agree to a time limit.”
“What will be sufficient for your research?”
“Half a minute?”
His brows shot up.
What did that mean? Was half a minute too long or two short? Probably too short, if the kissing of her married siblings was any indication. “Then two minutes.”
“Two minutes of kissing?”
“You’re right, that’s too long. Maybe one.”
He crossed his arms, the muscles in his forearms taut. “And when would you like to do this one-minute kiss?”
“The sooner the better. I need to turn in my next segment in three days.”
He hesitated. “So, your story has a kissing scene?”
“Just a brief one, and the editor says it needs to be more realistic.”
“Does it now? And you think kissing me will help you convey that?”
“Aye.” She actually didn’t know, but it was worth a try.
He glanced around again, probably checking if they were alone.
Which was a good idea. She needed to make sure no one—especially her two younger brothers—was near to witness her bold behavior in kissing Bellamy McKenna. She didn’t want word getting back to her da and mam that she was a loose woman.
Oh, sweet saints. She pressed a hand to her chest. Would kissing Bellamy make her a loose woman? Maybe she shouldn’t kiss him.
“What about a hug instead of a kiss?” Her question came out rushed and wobbly.
He stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets. “You decide. ’Tis your research.”
“Then let’s stick with a hug.”
He shrugged as if either a kiss or a hug was all the same to him. Maybe they were. And maybe she was having a moment of worry for nothing.
“So now that we have that worked out,” he said, “will you be telling me the man for Deirdre?”
“We haven’t picked a time or a place for the hug.”
With an exasperated sigh, he stepped forward and reached for her. “Let’s get this over with.”
She batted his hand away. “Eww. No. I won’t hug you like this, not with that kind of attitude.”
His brows shot up again.
“It has to be romantic, sweet, tender, and full of emotion.”
“That wasn’t part of the bargain.”
“Oh aye, it was implied. What good is a hug if it doesn’t have any romance to it? Then I may as well go hug my mam.”
He shoved his hands back into his pockets. “Fine. You’re right.”
“Of course I am.” She sniffed, then turned up her nose at him. “We’ll meet here at the pond tomorrow at this time, and you can hug me then.”
“Why not now?”
“Because I want to be dressed for the occasion and in the right mood.”
This time he looked at her like she’d grown antlers out of her head.
She supposed she was being a bit dramatic about it. But she loved drama, and the anticipation of meeting up with Bellamy secretly tomorrow for a romantic hug would certainly inspire her writing.
“I can’t wait for tomorrow to discover Deirdre’s match.”
“Zach Meier.”
Bellamy’s forehead furrowed, and she could see him trying to place the name.
“The Meiers own the breweries—”
“Aye, I am just a wee bit familiar with the Meiers.”
Of course he would be, since they likely provided much of the beer sold at Oscar’s Pub. “Deirdre met Zach last summer when a group of us went to the horse races together. He was sitting near us and introduced himself to her. I could tell right away they were meant for each other.”
“Could you now?” Bellamy’s tone held a slight note of sarcasm.
“You’re not the only one who has a gift for finding true love. I happen to have an excellent instinct too.”
Bellamy was silent several heartbeats, as though trying to decide whether to believe her. “Zach Meier’s family is German and Protestant.” He spoke with a finality that said the matter was settled.
“They fell in love with each other.” She picked up her manuscript and pen in one hand and her stockings and shoes in the other.
Then she started toward the path that led back to Oakland.
“Love doesn’t respect boundaries based on a country of origin or a way of worshiping.
True love pushes past all that, Bellamy. And you know I’m right.”
She waited for him to argue with her. But he didn’t say anything. When she glanced over her shoulder a moment later, he was striding to his horse.