His Wild Rose (Love on Tap #3)

Chapter One

Alicia - November

“I’d love to see the tattoos under your clothes.”

Wow…that’s original.

I roll my eyes even though this idiot can’t see me, toss back a shot of whiskey, and then whirl to face my nasal-voiced admirer with the intention of telling him exactly what he can do with his lame pickup line.

Only, it’s not a stranger.

“Goddammit, Ro! You just about got throat punched!”

“So the accent worked?”

The fact that Rowan Gallagher—a six-foot-five, ginger-haired, Irish soccer player, and royal pain in my ass—was able to hide his thick Irish brogue is pretty impressive.

“Are you saying your goal was to be throat punched?” I quirk an eyebrow at him. I know what he’s asking, but I like to give him as much shit as he gives me.

“No! ‘Course not! I’ve been working on my American accent so I can better blend in,” he says, smiling proudly.

I snort a laugh. “You wouldn’t blend in if you were wrapped up in an American flag. Everything about you screams Irish.”

He leans in slightly, bringing his face inches from mine. “Are you stereotyping me, darlin’? Because I take offense to that.”

Ignoring him—and the way my body reacts not only to his proximity, but to the way he calls me darlin’—I turn back to signal the bartender for another shot.

The irony of a bartender spending her only night off at the receiving end of familiar bottles isn’t lost on me, but it’s been a shit day.

The check engine light came on in my car—again—and my little sister was suspended—again.

At least I’m not mixing business with pleasure and drinking at O’Nelly’s.

Two muscled and tattooed forearms cage me in on both sides as Rowan presses his chest to my back; whispers of his ginger and clove cologne enveloping me. My skin prickles with goosebumps. It’s not unusual for Rowan to invade my personal space, and it’s not unusual for me to lash out when he does.

“Gallagher,” I grind out.

“Petersen,” he purrs into my ear, beard tickling the sensitive skin there.

The way my name rolls off his tongue has me pressing my thighs together, but I disguise it by crossing one leg over the other.

“Move your fucking arms before I remove them from your body.”

“Ach, no need to get violent, love.” He lifts his arms and takes a seat on the bar stool to my right. “What are you drinking tonight?”

I arch an eyebrow at him. “Why do you want to know?”

“So I know what to tell the bartender when I buy your next one,” he states, like it’s obvious.

“You’re not buying me a drink.”

“I am, actually. And,” he cuts me off when I open my mouth to protest, “as it’s not your money, you can’t tell me what to do with it.”

Damn.

“Fine,” I relent with a heavy sigh. “Buy me the damn drink.”

* * *

He bought me that drink. Then another. And yet another.

When I drink too much I become flirty and horny, so once the alcohol starts working its magic, I pull him to the dance floor and spin with my back to his chest, grinding my ass against his quickly stiffening cock.

He’s not shy, so his hands immediately grab my hips roughly to keep me flush against him.

One song turns to two, and by the third?

We’ve locked ourselves in the bathroom, making out like a couple of teenagers.

The moment we fall through the door, he slams me against the wall and shoves his hand down the front of my leather pants.

“Fuck me, you’re soaked,” he growls, licking up the column of my neck. The feel of his tongue on my skin has me panting and riding the heel of his hand harder.

“If you tell anyone about this, I’ll kill you.”

“For someone so ashamed, you don’t seem to be too upset about what I’m doing with my finger at the moment.” Rowan chuckles darkly against my clavicle as he curls that finger, massaging my G-spot.

“Fuck…” I hiss, then bite down on his neck.

The groan he releases as my teeth sink into his skin is so animalistic, I almost come on the spot just from the sound.

“Christ, woman. You’re not just all bark, are you?”

“Shut up, Gallagher.” I grip his hair with one hand and pull his head back, silencing him with my tongue down his throat.

The hand that was digging into his shoulder snakes down to his belt buckle. Once it’s loosened, I reach in to wrap my hand around his cock and gasp against his mouth.

He. Is. Huge. What do they feed them in Ireland?

“Like what you feel, love?” His words land softly against my mouth.

I’ll stroke his dick, but I won’t stroke his already swollen ego.

“Just surprised I found it and wondering if it can do what your fingers can do. Oh…God,” I choke out as Rowan curls his fingers deeply. “Don’t stop doing that.”

“I’m going to give that smart mouth of yours a new job, hen, if you keep talking. Now shut up and come on my hand like the good girl I know you can be.”

And I do.

“Rowan!” I scream as my body shatters.

“Fucking perfect,” he whispers against my ear in a tone I’m not familiar with. Especially coming from him. It’s too intense, too expectant, and I can’t handle it.

I pull his hand out of my pants and make sure he’s watching before closing my mouth around his fingers, sucking them hard.

His warm, caramel eyes blaze with the spark of challenge I’m used to seeing and it riles me up all over again.

It may not be the cleanest place, but I’m pretty certain I’m going to let Rowan Gallagher fuck me in this bathroom.

He’s your typical player. All charm and sex appeal, making you feel like you’re the only one he sees.

But as soon as he’s nailed you? He ghosts.

I’m fully aware of this. I don’t expect —or want—a relationship or declaration of love.

I just want to have this one night of pure, sexual bliss.

And after what I felt in my hand, I know Rowan will deliver.

“Do you have a condom?” I ask hurriedly, my hands moving to his zipper.

Long, freckled fingers grasp my wrist, stopping my progress. “No.”

“It’s fine. I’m on the pill, and I’m clean,” I mutter, trying to pull free of his grip. “I get checked regularly.”

“Alicia, stop.”

The finality in his voice stops me in my tracks, and my eyes whip to his. “What’s wrong?”

His normally smirking and roguish face looks pained. “We can’t do this.”

I pause a beat trying to discern why he hit the brakes on a sure thing.

“Gallagher, I was kidding about the size of your dick. I’m confident I won’t be unsatisfied.”

He scrubs a free hand over his eyes and down, stroking his beard. “It’s not that. I just…I don’t want you…”

A cold rage fills my veins. He doesn’t want me?

“Wow. If that,” I gesture towards his still hard cock, “is what you look like when you don’t want me, I can’t even imagine what you’d look like if you did want me.”

“No…fuck,” he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That’s not what I was saying. You didn’t let me—”

“Oh, I think I let you do enough.” I dart around him to leave the bathroom, but he steps in front of me, blocking the way.

“Alicia, would you stop for one fucking minute and listen to me?”

I glare at him and cross my arms over my chest.

“We’re drunk. And in the jacks. It’s a recipe for regret, yeah? I don’t want you waking up tomorrow wishing you’d never met the likes of me.”

At this point, I’m completely mortified and want nothing more than to slink away and lick my wounded pride.

“Whatever, Gallagher. You and your excuses can fuck right off. Now,” I seethe, “get out of my way and let me leave.”

“Li,” he starts.

“Don’t. Just move.”

He sighs heavily and steps aside. I shoulder-check him as I storm out of the bathroom and head for the exit, vowing to never let my guard down with Rowan Gallagher again.