by Laura Burton
All of this was pointless and bordering on ridiculous.
Day two of her big protest, and she’d already kissed one man and nearly killed another.
And Gran, who’d been so worried about her cottage, had trotted off giggling like a schoolgirl because Conor King had flashed his baby blues at her.
What was the point in it all?
“I’ll pack up your stuff, Martin,” Jenna said despondently.
“But the protest. They’re coming tomorrow to break ground.”
Jenna sighed and looked back up at her castle, formidable and ruggedly beautiful in the moonlight.
It was over.
It hadn’t even started. Not really.
She and Martin weren’t exactly a formidable team as it was. But she was one woman. What could she do?
Nobody had even made good on their offer of a few sheep.
She could feel Conor King’s eyes boring into her from the other side of the car, but she refused to meet them.
“I want to thank you for your efforts, Martin. I really do appreciate them. But it’s like you said, there wasn’t much hope to begin with. And I just don’t think I can do this anymore.”
Without waiting for him to answer, and definitely not wanting to wait for Conor King to lord it over her, she turned and hurried back up the hill.
So, that was it. It was over.
And as much as she wanted to run away and hide, she knew she couldn’t decamp in the middle of the night, so she’d be stuck here until tomorrow morning.
It was highly unlikely that Conor King would come back now, since he’d gotten what he wanted.
So, she’d just make sure she was up early enough to be packed and gone before he arrived in the morning with his crew of destruction.
For want of anything better to do, Jenna had a root around Gran’s basket.
It was mostly more snacks and plenty of bottled water. But then her hand fell on a hip flask.
Jenna pulled it out and studied it in the moonlight.
It was her grandad’s.
She smiled as she unscrewed the top to take a whiff.
Just as she’d suspected.
His poitín. It was potent stuff. Potent enough to make her eyes water from just a sniff.
With nothing else to do, she raised the flask, saluted the castle and took a hefty swig.
Conor pulled the car to a stop beside Jenna’s and cut the engine.
He’d taken Martin to the local pub, Rafferty’s, because he had no idea who or where Dr. Fitzgerald was.
As it happened, the man had been in the pub and had immediately opened his practice to take care of Martin.
“A sprain to be sure,” the doctor had said. “Nothing that a few painkillers and a good rest won’t fix.”
Conor had waited while the doctor saw to Martin and then listened to the man swinging between lecturing him on the environment and on Jenna McCarthy while he escorted him to his hotel room.
By the time Conor left he felt like he should have dumped the man in the foyer.
But sitting here in his rental car in the dark, he knew it wasn’t Martin’s criticisms that were bothering him.
It was Jenna’s face as she’d told her admirer that she was giving up.
He’d won.
She was leaving him to break ground on the castle. To get his hotel. To build his villas, and spa, and golf course.
Why wasn’t he happy about it? Why wasn’t he relieved to have this matter nicely sewn up so he could be on his way?
He’d already instructed the architects and designers to re-plan the build, so it didn’t impact too much on Eileen McCarthy’s cottage. He’d sent the email while he’d been sitting there pretending not to listen to the criminally boring Martin try to impress Jenna.
It would cost him two of his intended twelve villas, but something had happened to him during his short time here. He was softening in a way his brothers would mock him mercilessly about.
He didn’t want to ruin the old lady’s peaceful life here.
Not that he’d admit that to Jenna.
He looked up at the castle now, remembering Jenna’s stories, the way she’d laughed talking about her first kiss. The way she’d felt in his arms…
His phone pinged, dragging his attention back to the here and now, and he looked down to see that it was a message from Anita.
He hadn’t even thought about her since he’d gotten here.
He should probably feel guilty about that.
Conor, where are you? Your PA said you were coming back two days ago. A few of us are heading to St. Tropez. Call me.
A smile tugged at his lips as he imagined what Anita would say if she could see him sleeping in a tent near the crumbling pile of rock he’d bought because a madwoman was trying to ruin his business venture.
And speaking of the madwoman —
Still with that feeling of discomfort and even guilt, Conor climbed the hill to where they were camped.
He’d figured that she’d still be here since he’d driven by her place on Main Street and the windows had been dark.
He reached the tents, and she was there as expected.
What was unexpected was the sight of her swigging from an old-fashioned hip flask and swaying from side to side, with one arm over her head, an 80s power ballad blaring from her iPhone.
She was beautiful, even like this.
And from the looks of things – drunk.
“Jenna.”
She spun around to face him, holding her hands out to steady herself as she stumbled.
“Woah. Careful,” she said then frowned at him. “What are you doing back here?”
“I’m camping here. Why are you still here?”
“I couldn’t pack in the dark. And I wanted to spend one last night at the castle.”
Her eyes glittered suspiciously, and he was terrified she’d cry.
But she sniffed, shrugged her shoulders, and took another gulp from her flask, wincing as she swallowed whatever was in it.
“What’s that?” He nodded toward it.
“This is grandad’s poitín. He loved it and he loved the castle, too. So, it’s a good way to say goodbye.”
His stomach twisted with that weird guilt.
“Why don’t we sit down?” he coaxed.
She didn’t look in any fit state to be stumbling around the place.
“Oh no.” She wagged a finger at him. “I know your game. I’m not coming anywhere near you.”
“Why not?” he asked, not knowing whether he should feel insulted or not.
“B-because you – you’re too dangerous. All tall and blonde and gorgeous. I’m not falling for it again.”
Ok. She was definitely drunk.
It would be completely unethical to continue a conversation like this with her when she might not even remember what she was saying tomorrow.
Unethical but an opportunity he wasn’t sure he wanted to pass up.
“Are you getting a little crush on me, Jenna?” He grinned.
She snorted.
“A crush! I’m not my granny, Mr. King,” she scoffed, which was disturbing and confusing. “But I can’t trust myself around you. You make me feel all funny in my tummy.”
That had to be one of the most innocent but strangely endearing things Conor had heard in years.
“I wanted to talk to you.” He stepped closer. And then he shocked himself and probably her, too, by suddenly blurting out something he didn’t even know he was going to say. “I’m giving you your week. I’m not going to start work on the castle tomorrow.”
She stared at him, her jaw open for so long he started to worry.
“Really?” she eventually whispered.
“Apparently so,” he said wryly.
He didn’t know what he expected.
But it wasn’t for her to throw herself into his arms and plant a kiss on his mouth.
Chapter 13
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Jenna knew that she mi
ght regret a lot about tonight.
Like telling him how he made her feel.
Or, for example, assaulting him right now.
But the inebriated part of her was in no mood to listen to the sensible part.
She had her week. She’d done it!
And she just knew that she could convince him not to ruin the castle. Not to ruin the quiet isolation of the tiny village of Dunkilly.
In a week, she could easily convince him that this small corner of the world should remain untouched.
It took a few seconds but as she stood there with her arms wrapped around Conor’s neck, she began to realise that he wasn’t kissing her back.
In fact, he seemed to be struggling to prise her hands apart so he could remove them from his person.
Jenna opened her eyes to be met with his own, wide open and staring at her. Not closed in consuming passion, which was what she would have preferred, truth be told.
And while she was realising things, she also realised that he was obviously very much not interested in kissing her again.
“Ohmigod.” She stumbled back from him, shame and the sting of rejection washing over her.
She should have said “I’m sorry.” She meant to say, “Don’t mind me, I am not, in fact, a sexual predator.”
But she was well on her way to being drunk, so what she actually did was make the situation worse.
“You don’t want me,” she blurted.
She was making a holy show of herself. Somewhere in the non-alcohol hazed part of her mind, Jenna knew that.
“No, Jenna. That couldn’t be further from the truth. But I won’t do this until you’re sober and know what you’re doing.”
“Fine,” she spat. “That’s just fine. You have a pleasant evening, Mr. King.”
And before she could embarrass herself further, she turned and stomped away, ignoring his calls.
She knew she couldn’t drive in her condition.
And even if she could, she’d left her keys, along with everything else, back at the tent where he was still calling her.
Also, she just realised, she was running in the wrong direction anyway.
Muttering to herself, she just kept going. Even when the heavens opened and the rain fell in big, fat drops on her head, she kept moving.
She knew Dunkilly like the back of her hand so as long as she didn’t walk off a cliff, she’d be grand.
Although, thinking of her current humiliation, that was a pretty tempting prospect.
The sound of Conor calling after her faded until she heard nothing but her own heavy breathing and the crash of the sea somewhere in the distance.
The castle had disappeared from view, and all that was left was an abundance of fields.
In the dark and with a fussy head, she was starting to feel a bit confused about where she was.
She really could have done with a torch or her phone.
Plus, she was starting to sober up, and a headache was already sneaking up on her.
Feeling very sorry for herself, Jenna climbed over the fence in front of her.
Chances were she’d wandered onto a farm belonging to one of Gran’s neighbours, so she’d just have to find the farmhouse and –
Jenna froze at the sound of a very long, very loud moo behind her.
“Oh, no,” she whispered.
Cows!
Turning her head slowly, she saw at least a dozen set of glowing eyes blinking at her.
Jenna’s heart hammered.
Of all the fields in all the world, she had to walk into theirs.
Another moo had her backing up until she felt the fence at her back.
This was not good. Not. Good.
Cows scared the crap out of her. Always had done.
People mocked her but, in her opinion, a healthy dose of fear was the only thing standing between her and death by cow.
Yet another moo started a mini stampede, and Jenna nearly had a heart attack right there and then.
She scrambled onto the fence made slippery by the lashing rain, and pulled her feet out of the danger zone.
All around her she could sense the bovine killers just waiting to attack.
Jenna dropped her chin onto her knees, feeling more miserable than she could ever remember being.
She should be celebrating the castle’s stay of execution
Instead, all she could think about was how it meant that she’d have a week of Conor King’s company, knowing the whole time that she’d thrown herself at him and been pushed away.
Of all the situations Conor had thought he’d find himself in on this trip to Ireland, chasing a drunk woman through fields at night and in the rain wasn’t one of them.
He moved the torch around, hoping for a glimpse of her but so far, he hadn’t had any luck.
And that wasn’t good. Not just because he was worried about the state he could find her in, but because it gave him way too much time with his own thoughts.
He’d already put a call in to his construction crew and lawyers telling them that they weren’t going ahead with the project tomorrow.
Ordinarily, he wouldn’t bother people on a Sunday night, but these were exceptional circumstances.
Also exceptional was the fact that he hadn’t just told them to wait for the week he’d given Jenna. No, he had told them to hold off indefinitely.
He didn’t even know why.
And he’d have to come up with a reason soon because the rest of the board, as in his family, would want to know what the holdup was.
And Conor didn’t know what he could say because he didn’t even know himself why he’d done it.
Swinging the torch left to right, he strained his eyes for a glimpse of Jenna.
This had been the most utterly crazy weekend of his life.
And it was all because of her.
Just like the headache he currently had was because of her.
And the lust that he couldn’t do a thing about was because of her.
He had to laugh at her thinking he didn’t want her.
If only she knew just how much he wanted her.
It might even scare her as much as it terrified him.
A sound suddenly caught his attention, and he drew to a stop to listen.
There!
Not the mooing.
The squealing.
Conor set off in the direction of the very feminine squeak, his torch lighting the way.
Another moo.
Another squeal.
And there she was.
He couldn’t contain his grin as he shone the torch on her where she sat huddled at the top of a fence soaking wet and looking like she was in fear for her life.
At his approach, she turned her head to face him, as did her herd of tormentors.
“How is it that you grew up here and you’re afraid of cows?” he asked by way of greeting.
“Because I know them,” she snapped. “And I know they’re not as innocent as they look.”
From where he was standing, they looked plenty innocent. Most of them had already begun to ignore him and Jenna and had just gone back to munching on the grass below them.
“Alright, down you come.”
Jenna looked at him like he was the crazy one.
“Um, no. I’m not leaving until they do,” she said, her eyes flicking from him to her four-legged neighbours.
Conor wondered if he should be finding stuff like this cute.
But he didn’t have time to worry about it now. Not when she was clearly going to be stubborn about this.
Flicking off the torch, he plunged them into near total darkness.
“What are you doing?” she hissed. “They could launch a stealth attack in the dark.”
Rolling his eyes at her hysterics, he walked over and without saying a word, lifted her easily into his arms.
She gasped and wrapped her arms around his neck in a death grip.
“You ready to come back and talk to me like an adult?” he asked.
>
She stuck her tongue out.
That would be a no, then.
Chapter 14
“Don’t mind the mess. I haven’t exactly had time to tidy up this week.”
Jenna had no idea why she felt nervous about having Conor in her apartment for the first time, but she did.
For the last five days, since their disastrous night of camping, she’d thrown herself into selling him on leaving the castle as it was.
“The beauty of Dunkilly is that it’s not a tourist hotspot,” she’d said the next morning when she’d agreed to sit and ‘talk to him like an adult’ as he’d said.
When they’d returned, she’d scrambled into her tent, miserable and mortified.
And the next morning with her head pounding and her stomach churning, she’d come out sheepishly waiting for him to tease her.
But he hadn’t.
In fact, he’d been wonderful. He had coffee and doughnuts waiting, along with water and painkillers for her head.
And he’d already packed up his equipment and Martin’s.
True to his word, there wasn’t a digger or lawyer in sight. It was just the two of them.
He hadn’t mentioned the night before, so she hadn’t either.
Instead, they’d sat and talked. Like adults.
“If you build a big, fancy resort here, it will lose all of the charm that makes it so special,” she’d said.
So he’d agreed to let her show him that specialness. Show him why it should remain unspoilt.
“If you haven’t fallen in love with it exactly as it is in one week, I’ll stay out of your way and won’t make any more trouble for you,” she’d promised.
“Good,” he’d answered with a smile that made her stomach flip-flop. “Because I’m not sure how much more trouble from you I could handle.”
Jenna had ignored the jibe but had kept her word.
All week she’d introduced him to the people living in the village and its surrounds. She’d taken him to one of Gran’s illicit poker nights where he’d surprised her by fitting right in and graciously accepting it when the regulars ganged up to fleece him.
When he was suitably out of pocket, they’d let up on him and Jenna had rescued him, inviting him back to her place for a coffee.