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Teagan

I really need to learn Spanish.

I should ask Rowan to teach me, but I don’t trust the wanker to teach me the correct translations. I’d probably end up telling Layla she looks like a gargoyle rather than how beautiful she is. Ro would think that’s the funniest gag ever.

After we leave the cafe, Layla drives us to Airlie Gardens, teasing me the entire time about my lack of Spanish language skills. I love every second of it. Her bashful side is endearing, but when her feisty side comes out to play, I can’t get enough of it. My goal for the day is to see just how much fire she has.

We exit the car, and I cross my arms over my chest, glaring playfully at her. “Remind me to give you absolute hell for not being able to speak Irish when we go to Ireland.”

“Who said I’m going to Ireland with you?” Layla quips, giving me a sardonic look over the top of her car.

“I did. Just now. You’re not a very good listener.”

We meet at the front bumper and walk side by side through the garden entrance. I’ve never been to Airlie Gardens, but I’m excited to explore with Layla today.

“I don’t remember you asking if I wanted to go with you, O’Brien. What if I’d rather go with Ro?” She raises an eyebrow.

I know she’s just slagging me, but the thought of her going to Ireland with anyone other than me has me feeling like a caveman. Woman mine.

“ Pffft. The last person you’d want to go to Ireland with is Rowan Gallagher. He’s from Galway.”

“What’s wrong with Galway?” Layla asks.

I shake my head dramatically. “Oh, it’s beautiful, to be sure, but it’s full of nothing but sexually devious culchies too busy smoking cannabis and drinking Buckfast. If you don’t get out while you’re young, you’re there for the rest of your life.” I shrug. “A mate told me, it’s where ambition goes to die.”

“Ouch, that was a little harsh, don’t you think?”

“Nah, you should hear what they say about Kilkenny,” I tell her. “Actually, now that I think about it, Rowan should be from Kilkenny with his red hair and affinity for alcohol.”

Layla snorts in amusement. “Are you from Kilkenny?”

“Thomastown, which is in County Kilkenny. I grew up only twenty minutes from Eamon, actually. But we didn’t meet until we got to the States. We probably drank in the same pubs and didn’t even know it.”

Layla starts digging in her purse as soon as we approach the ticket booth, and I’m not about to have that. Especially since she paid for my ticket to the play. I place a hand over hers to stop her.

“I’ve got it.”

Her head snaps up, a look of indignation on her face. “No, you don’t. I invited you, so it’s my treat.”

“Wrong. You used that excuse with the play. And you also bought our drinks. So, with all due respect, Lovely, it’s my turn.”

Layla looks at me with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. She isn’t wearing that seductive red lipstick, which is a blessing in disguise. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything other than her mouth.

That mouth. The things I want to do with that mouth…

“It’s not up for debate, Layla.”

“Fine.” She sighs heavily. “I concede. This time.”

“That’s a good lass.” I didn’t mean for my voice to go lower the way it just did.

After paying for the tickets, we set off along the path. The day is sunny, but there’s a chill in the air, and I didn’t bring a jacket. This is typical Irish weather, minus the rain. We walk quietly for a few minutes, soaking up the sights of the seasonal gardens and artwork scattered throughout the grounds. I can see why this is a popular place. It’s gorgeous, even in late November.

“Do you come here a lot, then?” I ask as we near the infamous Airlie Oak—the massive tree covered with Spanish moss.

“I’ve been a couple of times. Never in the fall, though,” Layla answers. “My favorite part is the Bottle Chapel, especially on sunny days like today. It’s magical!”

Passing a rather large rose bush full of huge red blooms, Layla stops to gently cup one in her hand before leaning forward to smell it. The lyrics from an Irish love song pop into my head, and without second thought, I start singing softly.

Hmm, take me back again,

Take me back one more time,

Spanish rose.

Layla’s eyes flick to mine, and her cheeks flood with the sweetest blush I’ve ever seen. I don’t get embarrassed easily, but she sure does.

The way you pulled the gate

Behind you when you said, ‘It ain’t too late .

Come on, let’s swing the town and

have a ball tonight.’

Giving her an impish grin, I continue, pressing a hand to my chest as I serenade her.

In slumber you did sleep.

The window I did creep

And touch your raven hair and sang

that song again to you.

“Oh my god, stop!” Layla begs, covering her face with her hands and peeking through her fingers at me.

“But I’m only halfway through the song! You’re not saying I’m a poor singer are you, love?”

“No! Not at all! It’s just… Ugh. I don’t even know. Overwhelming?”

She sounds nervous, so I gently grip her elbow, bringing her to a stop in front of the Bottle Chapel. It really is stunning. A small structure sculpted entirely out of recycled glass bottles of every color cemented together. With the sunlight hitting it, the glass twinkles like a treasure trove of rare gems and jewels. Turning her toward me, I pull her hands from her face, keeping them both in my grasp.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to embarrass you. Okay, that’s a lie,” I amend. “I love to see you blush.”

Layla glares at me. “Taking pleasure in my suffering? That’s rude.”

I chuckle and release just one of her hands but keep a hold on the other, intertwining my fingers with hers.

“C’mon,” I say, pulling her with me toward the chapel. “Show me this Bottle Chapel of yours. I want to see what all the fuss is about.”

We amble along the spiral pathway until we’re standing at the entrance. The open-air chapel sits in the middle of a raised platform with flowers planted along one side. That side is shaped like a large butterfly, with blue glass bottles outlining the shape of the upper wings, while green and clear bottles fill the interior. Each wing has a ring of amber bottles mimicking eyes. The lower wings are predominantly blue, with the occasional red glass scattered throughout. The opposite side is only a partial wall, but no less intricate in its design. The back wall is a set of bronze, branch-like fairy wings, stretched wide. The entrance is a solid wall with an arched doorway framed by two glass bottle trees and a blue glass bottle sky. It isn’t large, by any means, but still remarkable.

“Wow,” I say, releasing a slow whistle. “This really is spectacular.”

Layla nods in agreement as she leads us through the doorway. In the center of the chapel sits a bronze sculpted tree with bronze birds littered among the branches. Along the back wall, below the wings, is a mosaic-topped bench.

“It was built in honor of Minnie Evans, an artist that used to man the ticket booth,” Layla explains, looking up into the bronze branches. “Her artwork was inspired by dreams and visions. One of those visions came to her when she was forty-three years old and told her to ‘paint or die’. So she painted.”

I watch her carefully. She looks almost wistful as if she envies the life of the artist.

“Are you an artist, Layla?”

She scoffs. “No. Not at all. Why?”

With a shrug, I say, “Just curious. You seem invested, is all.”

“I just love that she pursued what she loved. She had a vision and went after it. It didn’t matter what anyone else had to say about it. She chased what brought her life.”

This gives me pause. Someone, somewhere, told this gorgeous creature she had to do something other than what she loved. What I wouldn’t give to make her dreams come true.

Hands still clasped, I take a step closer to her, bringing us face to face. “Tell me, Lovely. If you could do anything with your future, what would you do? If you had endless resources and people cheering you on, what would your vision be?”

Layla looks away from me. “It’s a pipe dream, Teagan.”

Raising my free hand, I gently grasp her chin between my finger and thumb, returning her eyes to mine.

“Hey, listen to me,” I say seriously. “Your dreams matter. No matter how unattainable they may seem at the moment. If you truly want something, don’t let anyone hold you back. Now,” I pause, ensuring I have her undivided attention. “What’s your dream, Layla?”

Her eyes pool with unshed tears and I could die right here. The last thing I want to do is make her cry. Layla inhales deeply, then releases her breath. It washes over my face and I do something foolish. Moving my fingers from her chin, I cup her cheek, leaning in to kiss her. It’s a gentle press of my lips to hers. I don’t demand more. This is not the time or place to ask for more than what I’ve taken. Just as I’m beginning to pull away, Layla abruptly clutches the front of my shirt and hauls my mouth back to hers. I grunt in surprise, but I don’t waste a single second winding my fingers in her silky hair and grabbing her hip to pull her flush against me. Angling her head, I run my tongue along the seam of her lips and she parts them immediately. I coax her mouth open further, letting our tongues brush tentatively before I begin exploring her mouth fully. I’ve been aching for her mouth, and I’m not disappointed. Those lips are soft and pillowy, delicious and sweet.

She moans and arches into me, causing my cock to twitch behind my zipper and reminding me that we’re in a public place. I slow the kiss gradually, eventually pulling away, and meeting her wide eyes. Her flawless skin has taken on a ruddy hue and those fecking lips are swollen in the sexiest way. We stare at each other until the sound of someone clearing their throat sounds from nearby. Whipping our heads toward the doorway, we find a middle-aged woman with a bleach-blonde inverted bob glaring at us.

“This is a family-friendly establishment. Not a brothel,” she snaps at us.

Layla lets out a sharp bark of laughter, but I stare daggers at this imposing woman. What the fuck? A brothel?

“Excuse me?” I demand. “Did you just equate our kiss to an establishment where one might acquire a prostitute?”

The lady crosses her arms over her chest and sniffs in our direction. “People bring their children here.”

Looking around dramatically, I take in the utter lack of children present before narrowing my eyes. “Aye, that they do, but they aren’t here now. And you stood there watching us, for how long ? Seems like if you were that disgusted, you could have easily turned around and walked away.”

Layla buries her face in my chest to hide her giggling. Instinctively, I wind my arms around her waist and hold her close.

“That is not the point. You should be ashamed of yourselves for behaving so indecently in a public place.”

“Indecent? You think that was indecent? Clearly you’ve never been properly kissed,” I fire off, then pause. “Oh. That explains it then.”

“I beg your pardon?” she asks incredulously, her face turning beet red.

“Teagan…” Layla warns in an amused whisper.

I glance down only to be caught in those deep brown eyes. God, I want to kiss her again and never stop.

“Let’s just keep walking,” she says. “Don’t fight with The Karen . It’s not worth it.”

Karen? Does she know this woman?

I nod once and turn back to Karen. “ Well, as much fun as this has been, I think it’s time for us to find somewhere more private to carry on our indecent behavior. Have a lovely day, Karen.”

Layla bursts out laughing and quickly slaps a hand over her mouth before grabbing my arm to drag me away from the chapel, leaving Karen there gaping like a fish.