by CM Seabrook
Those were her last words to me.
And so, I’m here.
Living.
Or at least trying to.
One month – no rules, no regrets. Just the damn list to guide me. That was the promise I made to her. It’s just taken me six months to get the nerve to do it.
Well, six months and a kick in the ass from life. Four years of university hadn’t prepared me for how difficult the job market would be. But I’d managed to work my way up from office coffee girl to senior assistant in two years. Until last week, when I was let go due to budget cuts.
The icing on the cake was finding my fiancé Matt in my apartment with another woman. He’d acted like it was somehow my fault for coming home early.
Bastard.
I rub the back of my neck, the lack of sleep catching up on me. I figure out the time change in my head. It’s almost six here, which means it’s close to noon at home. I’ve been awake for over thirty hours, and I’m exhausted.
I couldn’t sleep on the plane.
If my nerves weren’t enough, I ended up sandwiched between a fussy toddler, and a man who smelled like feta cheese and body odor. The combination was enough to have my stomach rolling the entire trip.
I should have gotten a hotel in Dublin and slept off my jet lag before attempting to drive across the country, but I’m on a limited budget, and Maeve’s list is long.
Thirty things in thirty days. It seems impossible.
My first stop is Knocknarea. I have no idea where it is, other than the west coast, but I plugged the directions into my phone, and I’m praying I get there soon, because I still haven’t figured out where I’m going to stay. I’ll have to sleep in my car most nights, but tonight I’d really like a hotel.
I yawn and rub my eyes, wondering if I should just pull over and sleep for a couple of hours. I don’t have the chance to decide, because a red blur comes barreling around the corner straight towards me.
Shit.
The driver doesn’t slow down, just keeps coming at me, taking up more than half the road.
I panic and crank the steering wheel to the left. But I misjudge how much room I have, and the car skids with a sickening scraping sound across the old stone fence.
Oh. My. God.
I want to squeeze my eyes shut and wait for the impact of the car.
Every muscle in my body tenses.
Instead of crashing into me, the convertible lets out a blaring honk as it passes with more room between us than I’d originally judged.
“Asshole.”
That’s when I hear it – bang. Like a gun going off around me. I feel it in the center of my chest, an explosion at the front of the car. Then the wheel is ripped from my hands as it takes on a life of its own.
I slam on the brakes, but in my hysteria, I hit the accelerator.
The car skips across the right lane, crashing through stone and brush, rattling every bone in my body as it bounces down the side of a hill through a field of sheep. I pump the break and pray that they get out of the way in time.
The car finally comes to a stop with one last jarring lurch.
This. Is. Not. Happening.
I bang my forehead on the steering wheel and scream at the top of my lungs until my throat is raw from the force of it. All the pent-up emotions I’ve been suppressing for the past six months rip through me in a tidal wave of grief.
To make matters worse, what was a blue sky only moments before has turned a threatening shade of gray. One fat raindrop hits the windshield, followed by another, until the clouds open up and the rain is so heavy I can’t see two feet in front of me.
I scream again. Louder this time. Shouting every swear word in my vocabulary, including a few that I’m pretty sure I just made up.
“Ye all right in there?”
My stomach lurches to my throat at the deep voice outside, and the rapping of knuckles against the passenger side window.
I let out a small squeal when the door opens, and the large, very wet form practically dives into the car, slamming the door behind him.
He’s dripping wet, his white V-neck t-shirt plastered across his chest and abs. Large fingers drag through dark hair that’s long at the top and shaved shorter at the sides. One glance and I know the guy is trouble. Sexy, tempting, Irish trouble. The kind of guy Maeve would have fallen for.
Wild and rough.
My breath catches when his gaze lands on me. Blue eyes hold mine, and a small frown plays at the corner of his full lips.
I try to pull in even breaths, but my pulse speeds up, and heat races across every inch of my skin.
“Are ye hurt? I heard ye screaming.” He reaches out and brushes his fingers across my forehead, causing a warm buzz to travel across my skin, straight to my core. “Did ye hit yer head?”
I must have, because that’s the only reason I can think of for the reaction I’m having to him.
He drops his hand, the muscles of his jaw clenching as he studies me.
“Yer lucky ye didn’t hit any of Davie’s sheep. The wall he might forgive ye for, but his sheep are another matter.” The musical lilt of the man’s Irish brogue makes something in my stomach flutter.
Focus, Delaney. I’m starting to think I may have a concussion or brain damage, because I can’t string a coherent thought together. Not with the way his gaze roams down my body then back to my face, eyes hungry, like I’m about to be his next meal.
Yeah, the guy is trouble all right.
“Did ye lose yer tongue?”
“What?”
“So ye can speak.” He lifts a dark eyebrow, and the corner of his mouth twitches up.
Arrogance radiates off him. He knows he’s hot, and I’m pretty sure he knows the effect he’s having on me.
I clear my throat and pull my gaze away from his face, but not before I notice the hint of a dimple in his left cheek. It’s almost hidden by his scruff, but it’s there.
“Ye all right?” he asks again. His voice is dark, deep, and it vibrates in the pit of my stomach. God, that accent should be illegal.
“Yes.” I shake my head, looking around desperately for my phone. “I just need to call a tow truck…and the rental center before it closes…or the insurance company.”
I don’t even know who I’m supposed to call. I’ve never been in a car accident before, let alone while in a foreign country. I unclip my seatbelt and turn to search under the backseat, but the minute my foot leaves the brake, the car starts to roll.
“Jaysus, woman.”
The car jerks to a stop when he pulls the emergency break up. And the way I’m positioned, the movement causes me to fall backwards, landing straight in his lap.
He grunts with the impact.
My breath catches in my throat as his palm runs up my back, steadying me. His other hand rests on my leg, and his mouth is inches from mine, the warmth of his breath tickling my cheek.
The coolness of his wet t-shirt is the only relief from the heat that scorches my skin at the contact.
“Sorry.” I squirm, trying to move away, but I’m in an impossible position.
My palms rest on his chest, and I swear I can feel his heart hammering with the same wild tempo as my own. I glance up, meeting the cool blue of his eyes.
A shock and pleasure races through my system as I fight to make sense of the impulses that battle against common sense.
For a moment, I swear the world stops moving. I’ve never been one to believe in instant connections, but something sparks between us. Then it’s gone so quickly, his eyes clouding over with apathy, that I’m left thinking I must’ve imagined it.
He releases me, and I scoot back to the driver’s seat.
Awkward silence stretches between us.
“I can’t find my phone,” I mutter, chewing on my bottom lip.
“Yer American?” He reaches between his legs and picks up the phone, handing it to me. His tone is harder now.
“From Chicago.”
He grunts. “
No wonder ye were driving in the middle of the road.”
“I wasn’t driving in the–” Shit. I realize who he must be. “Wait, you’re the jerk that ran me off the road.”
“I didn’t run ye off the road, sweetheart.” His eyes narrow. “Ye had plenty of room.”
“You were driving like a maniac. I don’t know what the speed limit is here, but I’m pretty sure you were well over it.”
He opens his mouth to respond, then shuts it. His fingers rake through his hair, and he glances out the window. Cold and aloof.
I shake my head, ignoring his sudden sullenness, and try to turn my phone on, but the screen stays black.
“Damn it.” Tilting my head against the seat, I close my eyes and scream through gritted teeth, “Can this day get any worse?”
There’s a deep huff beside me. “Come on. The rain is stopping. I’ll give ye a lift to wherever yer staying. Do ye have family here?”
A small pathetic laugh bubbles in my throat. “No.”
“No? Then what are ye doing here?” The way he says it sounds like an accusation. Like an American in Ireland is some rare occurrence.
“I…” Shaking my head, I decide not to give him any more information than necessary. Because in all honesty, right now, I’m starting to wonder why the hell I came here in the first place. “I’m just…visiting.”
“Where are ye staying?”
The words come out in a rush of frustration. “I don’t know.”
Silence.
“Then where’d ye plan on sleeping tonight?”
“Here.” I throw up my hands.
“In yer car?” I can hear the judgment in his tone.
Emotions tighten my throat, and I meet his hard gaze with my own, all of my frustration directed at him. “If you hadn’t come flying around the corner at me, I wouldn’t be in this mess.”
He ignores my accusation. “Let me get this straight. Ye came to Ireland, alone, and yer planning on living in yer car?”
“Yes.” I cross my arms over my chest and tilt my chin up.
His eyes widen just slightly, and I can’t tell if he’s impressed or horrified.
“Ye running from someone?” Another accusation. I see his right eye twitch.
“No.” Am I? In a way, I guess I am. Running from myself. From my parents. From my ex. Even from the memory of Maeve. I shake my head. “It’s complicated.”
He mumbles something incoherent under his breath, but I make out enough of it to know he thinks I’ve got a few screws loose in my head. And right now, I’m wondering if he isn’t right. Because instead of sitting here arguing with him, I should be figuring out a way to get out of this mess.
“If I can borrow your phone, I’ll call a tow truck. I’ll have the driver take me to the nearest car rental center.”
“Ye won’t be finding a rental place round here. Even if there were, it’d be closing by now.”
A small noise that sounds like a mix between a laugh and a sob escapes my lips.
What am I going to do?
Tears blur my vision, but I blink them away. Losing my cool isn’t going to help. And I’m not going to let this guy see me cry, no matter how easy it would be right now.
The man lets out an irritated breath, and roughs his palms over his face and scruff.
“Come on.” He opens his door.
“Where?”
He grunts. “Ye can come back to my place.”
My mouth drops open.
Alone with him?
Not a good idea, my brain warns.
But what are my other options?
This trip is about trying new things. The old Delaney would never get in a car with a stranger, let alone go home with one. But desperate times call for desperate measures.
When I don’t move, he adds, “Unless ye’d like to sleep here with the sheep.”
Something tells me that would be a lot less dangerous.
But not half as exciting.
Chapter 2
CILLIAN
I start up the hill, half expecting the woman to stay in her car. Half hoping, too. I don’t need this shit. Not today. I was wanting to stay off the radar for a few more days. But even if I could lose the American, I can’t ignore the damage to the fence. It won’t take long for Davie’s sheep to sniff out the escape route.
Agitated, I drive my fingers through my hair, then pull out my phone and make the call that will announce my return. Because as good of a mechanic as Tommy O’Flynn is, he’s an even better gossip. I’ve no doubt the whole town will know I’m back, five minutes after I get off the phone with him.
“Hey Tommy, it’s Cillian.”
“Cillian Gallagher.” There’s shock and a hint of reverence in his voice. “Jaysus, it’s good to hear yer voice. Ye back now?”
“Yeah. I’m over here at Davie’s, and I’ve got a bit of a problem. Damn American ran off the road. Going to need ye to tow the car. And can ye let Davie know he’ll have to come and fix his fence. She put a good sized hole in it.”
“That’s a fret.”
A small grunt behind me makes me look over my shoulder, just as the woman lets out a string of curses that would have Tommy blushing.
She’s trying to lug her enormous suitcase up the hill, and the wheels keep getting stuck in the soft earth.
I give a harsh shake of my head and blow a strained breath towards the sky.
Already, I know the woman is one thing – trouble. Beautiful, sexy, American trouble, but still trouble. It’s the last thing I need right now.
Thirty seconds home and I crash straight into it.
Guilt, and a sense of morality I didn’t know still lingered in my stone-cold heart, are the only things stopping me from leaving her here.
It’s not like I caused her to drive off the road. Not really. I drag my hand through my hair and wince. Sure, I was driving too fast, and I’d taken the corner wider than I should have. But the woman had more than enough room. It’s not my bleedin’ problem she doesn’t know how to drive. I grunt, because for tonight, it’s going to have to be.
I end the call and trek back down the hill, keeping my gaze on her face and not letting it trail down to the curves she’s hiding under a baggy hoodie and ripped jeans.
Dark hair is tossed on top of her head in a messy bun, and she wears little, if any, makeup. Not that she needs it. Her skin is that flawless, with a faint dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheeks. But it’s her eyes that unnerve me. Hazel with flecks of gold and green. But it’s more what I see when I look into them that rattles me.
Pain, anger, fear, mixed with strength, passion, and lust.
A chaos of emotions trapped behind a mask of self-inflicted rules. But I see it, something wild just waiting to be set free.
And she’s gorgeous.
I don’t know why it irritates the hell out of me. But it does.
“Give it to me,” I growl, reaching for the suitcase.
“I can do it myself.”
I grunt and let her try for another few steps, but when she loses her footing and slips back down the hill a few feet, I ignore her protests and take the bag from her.
“Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph, what do ye have in here?” It must weigh over fifty kilos.
“If it’s too heavy for you–”
I narrow my eyes at her, and she clamps her mouth shut.
When I toss her bag in the backseat of the car, I catch her watching me.
I can see the uncertainty in her eyes. Like she doesn’t know if she can trust me. It’s not a look I’m used to. Even before Wild Irish hit the charts with the single Meet Me in Sligo, I’d never been starved for a woman’s attention.
I could have had a different woman each night, but I’d played the part of the faithful fool. Unaware that the woman I cared about was fucking half of Ireland, including my own damn brother.
It gutted me. Not just the betrayal. Hers, I could get over. His, I never would. But it was what came after – more bleedin�
�� lies – that sent me into a three-month drunken tailspin.
My friends, my goddamn band members, guys who were like family to me; they sided with Owen, believing the bullshit he was spouting.
He swore on our father’s grave that he hadn’t slept with Molly, but I’d seen her in his bed, her naked body draped over his. Hard to argue with the evidence.
So, I left. Holed myself up in an apartment in Dublin for the last three months. Drinking. Fucking. Ignored everyone’s calls. Even when they threatened legal action against me after I told them to cancel our upcoming tour.
Let them sue me. Because there’s no chance in hell I’ll ever play on the same stage again as my cheating, lying, bastard of a brother.
“Get in,” I growl out, agitation making my voice gruffer than before.
Her brows draw down. “Maybe I should wait here. If you could just call a tow truck.”
“I already did.” I have to take a deep breath and grit my back teeth to stop the agitation from seeping into my words. But I’m pretty sure I still fail. “I’m not in the habit of kidnapping women, if that’s what yer afraid of.”
“That’s not…” She lets out a slow uneven sigh and closes her eyes, like she’s trying to fight back tears.
There was a time when I would have felt something other than irritation, but that part of me died with my brother’s betrayal. Now, the only thing I feel is cold, unrelenting bitterness.
“There’s nothing ye can do out here. I’ll take ye back to my place and ye can call whoever ye need to. But I’d like to get out of these wet clothes before I freeze to death.”
She gives a small nod, and thankfully doesn’t argue.
I turn on the radio, trying to fill the silence. I wince when my voice filters through the speakers. “…It’s safe in yer harbor, but that’s not what ships are for.”
“I think I’ve heard that song twenty times since I arrived here this morning. Who is it?”
I rough my hand over my beard. “Wild Irish.”
She gives a small nod. “They’re good. The song’s a bit overplayed, but I like their sound.”
The sound that vibrates in my chest is a mix between a grunt and a growl.