Prone to Malarkey Read online

  At the reception, Mac’s always touching me in that subtle, reassuring way of his: holding my hand, or escorting me with a warm hand low on my back, gently touching my face. He leans over and whispers in my ear, “You look so beautiful tonight. I can’t wait to touch you.” It sends a shiver all the way down my spine, ending up in my groin. Then he runs his tongue up the helix of my ear and I shiver some more.

  The formalities of the wedding reception go on: first dance, cutting the cake, a bunch of other stuff. Mac gives a lovely best man’s toast, where he talks about the meaning that love gives to life and the way that families go on to create more families, and how love is like a red rose growing in a garden and we should treasure it . . . I can’t remember it all. There’s a part where he says something in Gaelic, and his Irish family stamps and cheers, and then half of them turn and look at me. The whole thing is making me very shaky, but because Mac’s eyes are on me, holding me secure, I stay.

  I don’t try to catch the bouquet, but one of Ainsley’s sisters pulls me to the front with her, and then when the flowers go up into the air, all the other girls back up two steps and it sort of lands in my hands. “This is a put-up job,” I complain.

  It’s the weirdest coincidence that the same sort of thing happens to Mac when Seanan tosses the garter.

  Later, he pulls me onto the dance floor and holds me close, while the band does all these traditional Irish songs. Now I’ve got shivers all the way through me, my nipples tight with desire and my lacy panties soaking wet, every inch of my skin alive to his touch and a shaky quiver all through my chest.

  “Let’s go upstairs,” he whispers.

  We slip out. Barely has the elevator door closed behind us when Mac’s all over me, hands inside my dress bodice and then up under the skirt, his tongue in my ear and his fingers busy inside my panties. It’s almost torture to stop kissing his neck and get out of the elevator.

  In the room, he starts stripping his clothes off before I can even get the door closed. His eyes are that warm sherry color in the low light, and he’s so beautiful I can hardly stand it. “You want me, don’t you, Jenny-girl?”

  I set the bouquet down and kick off my heels, and then I go for him. I push him up against the wall and pull his head down to mine, and his lips are so silky against mine, his tongue so warm. My skin is still alive for his touch. I unbutton his shirt the rest of the way, unfasten his pants, pull them down. It takes too long, but he’s finally naked, so beautiful, and his fingers are unzipping my dress and tugging it over my head. His eyes are intense on mine and his hand’s on his erect cock, stroking languidly.

  My lungs aren’t working right and I can’t get enough oxygen. He picks me up, unhooks my red bra with one hand, and flings me on the bed. “These,” he growls, tugging at my red lace panties, “off.” Then he leans down and pulls them off me, with his teeth.

  I moan, unable to find words for how sexy that is.

  “You’re drippin’, lass,” he says from around my ankle. He kisses the little shamrock I had tattooed there for my birthday in October, and then kisses up my leg, his fingers trailing gently over it and his tongue following, tingles everywhere his mouth goes. Then it’s between my legs, every millimeter of my pussy aching with desire. I’m already so close to orgasm just thinking about what we were going to do in this room. I thread my hands into his hair and hold him in the right spot, and he flicks rapidly at my clit with his tongue, and then I’m there suddenly, my pussy spasming on his fingers as I cry out with the wonder and pleasure of it.

  Before I’m recovered from that orgasm, his cock is inside me, engorged and hard, and my legs are up in the air with his hands on my ankles. “God, I love ye, lass, my Jennifer . . .” He trails off, and I swear his dick gets bigger, hitting that good place inside my cunt.

  “Harder,” I beg. “Please.”

  “I won’t last,” he warns me.

  “Make me come!”

  He does. I do, and it feels like the whole room is splashed with sparkles.

  We snuggle on the bed afterward, panting. I’m so happy. I press a kiss to his chest and whisper, “I love you.”

  “Ye do?” he whispers back?

  “Mm-hm.”

  “I noticed you caught the bouquet.”

  “I think that was orchestrated.”

  “Did you see I caught the garter?”

  “Also orchestrated.” I run my fingers across his chest. “You are magnificent.”

  “I know. Do you want to marry me?”

  I sit up, stunned, and stare at him. He’s smiling. “You orchestrated it.”

  “Well, and I did. So do ye want to, or not?”

  I think of all the reasons I could say no: my terrible childhood, my temper, everything.

  But I remember Billy believing in me, and I say yes. He kisses me.

  “But can we elope?” I ask.

  Mac gives me that gorgeous grin of his again. “Anything you want, lass.”

  “No malarkey?”

  “None.”

  Thank you!

  Person who read this book, you have my deepest appreciation. You make everything worthwhile, and I throw you a thousand kisses, plus virtual puppies (who will never pee in your house). I'd love a review, if you can spare two minutes of your valuable time. It will mean more to me than I could ever express. Thank you again. I'd love to connect with you! You can sign up for my newsletter here, to get breaking news, cover reveals, giveaways, and cool stuff.

  About the Author

  Carly Keene writes short steamy romance packed full of hot instalove between sexy, assertive men and the fantastic women they fall in love with. A lot of sweetness, plus a lot of steam! If you’ve ever wished that Hallmark™ movies showed what happens in the bedroom, Carly’s books are for you. No cheating or cliffhangers, just guaranteed happily-ever-afters.

  She’s a small-town girl who lives in Virginia with the love of her life and a crazy goofball dog.

  You can connect with Carly on social media at the links below, and at carlykeene.com.

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