Page 61 of Rory: His to Discipline

“I can try, Winston,” she answered as she picked up their trash and pitched it into a nearby can. “But you’re pretty refined to be escorting a foul-mouthed girl like me,” she drawled sarcastically.

“Just shut up, Bridget,” he ordered growling, “before I find something else for you to do with that nasty little mouth.” Taking her hand, he began to pull her into the crowd of shoppers making their way through the area.

“Oh, a sexual threat, how unlike you, Winston,” she said grinning.

“That’s not what I meant,” he insisted. “I was thinking more along the lines of you using those lips, begging me for mercy as I spank your bottom.”

Bridget stopped right in the middle of the crowded throng. It didn’t matter to her one iota if people got angry pushing their way around her as she stared at the tall man beside her. Something had just fallen out of his mouth that stunned her. Something she never wanted to hear from any man in her life, especially the one next to her.

Del stared right back, noting the surprise and suspicion clearly visible on her face. The small hand in his firm grip trembled and she pulled it away and took his arm.

“Winston, for your benefit, I’m going to assume that you’re joking,” Bridget stated as calmly as she could. It would not do to have him think she was intimidated by his threat. Obviously, he had spent too much time with her brothers, and Nick. She’d been so caught up in helping with Tess and Rory’s wedding that she hadn’t paid much attention to what Winston was doing at those wonderful Sunday dinners at her house.

Winston had been a guest each week since Thanksgiving, and she was genuinely glad her family liked him. The more time she spent with him, the more certain she was that he was the one. Yes, he was tall and stronger than he looked, but there wasn’t a Neanderthal bone in his body. Winston responded with words when he was angry or annoyed. He was not the kind of man to take his hand to a woman, even her butt. Physically, Winston was kind, thoughtful and gentle. It was only his wit that was sharp and biting. Relaxing, she began moving again, navigating the crowds like a pro.

“Assume anything you like, Bridget,” he answered softly. She never heard him.

* * *

By the time they finished their shopping, Del was so overloaded with bags and boxes he could barely see where he was going. Bridget steered him to the exit carrying a few bags herself. All in all, she was very pleased. Winston had turned out to be an excellent shopper, never complaining about the amount of time she spent looking at shoes or hunting for bargains.

Del managed to purchase a few things himself, although he didn’t pick up anything for Bridget as she was constantly by his side. After filling his trunk with presents, he took her to a small Italian restaurant before dropping her off at home and helping her in with her purchases.

Bridget enjoyed herself and the forbidden subject never came up, reinforcing her opinion that it was just an empty threat probably brought on by the occasional over exposure to testosterone.

They made plans to see a movie the day after Christmas as she walked him to the door. Pulling her into his arms, he kissed her goodnight, never releasing her until her Da cleared his throat on his way upstairs. By the time he let her go he had to steady her shoulders, her knees were so weak.

Not unaffected himself, he pulled his coat closed in the front, hiding his reaction to her charms as best he could. Smiling, she closed the big front door and leaned against it until she recalled his offhand remark at the mall.

Although she still thought it wasn’t something she would ever have to worry about with Winston, she made up her mind that she would have a long conversation with him, carefully explaining that she could never love a man who would resort to imposing his will on a woman in that fashion.

Don’t you already love him, a tiny little voice inside her heart whispered? Yes, I guess I do, Bridget thought, but he has never laid a hand on me.

And if he does, what then?

He won’t, she insisted convinced she was right. Winston was nothing like her brothers.

Chapter Twenty

December 23rd promised to be an extremely busy day for the entire O’Malley clan. Between preparations for the wedding and the holiday, everyone was a little stressed and a touch short-tempered. The weather didn’t help as it was snowing and blowing, well on its way to being a white Christmas.

Patrick wiped down the bar for the umpteenth time, watching the clock for closing time. Molly went home early at his insistence. First the roads were slippery, and second there was so much to get done before tomorrow night.

Usually, they spent Christmas Eve wrapping gifts and snuggled up together on the couch when they finished, but this year everything had to be done before the wedding. He knew Molly would want to go to the Midnight Mass at Church and that would give them precious little time to finish any last-minute preparations.

He had to laugh thinking about his wife. Molly could tell you basically anything about anybody, but she could never remember where she had hidden all the gifts she bought. It was nothing for Patrick to find gifts in July which Molly hid and forgot about.

The pub was busy, mostly regulars who would come out as long as they were still breathing, and on any other night he would have sat and talked with a few of them, but tonight he just wanted to make it to closing time. He was tired, having worked extra shifts this week to give his staff time off for shopping, parties and other related events. At eleven o’clock he poured a cup of coffee, thankful he only had three more hours to go.

Patrick heard them before he saw them. A band of snow covered tipsy people singing Christmas songs and laughing as they staggered through the doorway. Stomping snow off their feet and brushing each other off, they turned to the bar. Several elves, three reindeer, Santa and either a helper or Mrs. Claus, he couldn’t be sure, spread out along the bar. Patrick tried to assess if anyone was sober. He didn’t serve drunks.

“Welcome to The Rose and Thistle,” the littlest one shouted. “This is my brother, Patrick.”

“Bridget, what the devil are you doing here?” Patrick asked, taking in her outfit in shock.

“I’m celebrating the season,” she answered giggling. “These fine people are my co-workers at the North Pole and I would buy them all a drink, if you would loan me the money,” she hiccupped. “I went a little overboard on gifts this year, but you’re gonna love what I bought you.”

Patrick was furious and stumped. If he refused to serve them, Bridget might very well leave with them. Legally he couldn’t stop her and it could turn into a nasty brawl if any of them put up a fight. It wasn’t that he couldn’t take them, but it would be very bad for business. Plastering a smile on his face, he made a suggestion.