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.
“You don’t agree?”
“They’re overrated,” I mutter, keeping my eyes on the road, and turning the song off.
Silence fills the car, and I’m grateful when she doesn’t try to fix it.
It’s only when I pull to a stop in front of my house that I glance over at her.
Eyes closed, mouth slightly parted, she’s fast asleep, a piece of lined paper clutched in her hand like it’s a lifeline.
Even though I know I shouldn’t, I take the time to study her.
My cock’s been aching since the second I opened her car door and saw that sweet little mouth of hers parted in an O, her eyes wide when they travelled down my chest, then back up to my face. The way her tongue darted out over her bottom lip, practically begging for my kiss.
If I was b
ack in Dublin, or on tour, I wouldn’t hesitate to let her have a taste. But I’ve got enough to worry about now that I’m back. And judging by how I found her, she comes with her own set of baggage.
Best to just play the good Samaritan, then send her on her way.
She stirs in her sleep and the paper falls from her hand.
Curiosity has me picking it up and unfolding it.
It’s a list.
An odd list.
I chuckle, shaking my head. Kiss a stranger…Skinny dip in the ocean…Cliff dive…
I swallow hard at number twenty-two…Have a mind-blowing orgasm. My cock hardens at the thought of giving it to her and I have to adjust myself.
Hell, having her in my house might be harder than I thought.
Chapter 3
Delaney
Warmth spreads across my skin, starting at my hand, travelling up my arm, then down my chest, straight to my most intimate parts. I moan softly, wanting more, but it leaves me almost instantly, followed by a deep, growl-like voice, “We’re here.”
I startle awake, blinking rapidly as I try to get my bearings.
The guy is watching me, a frown tugging at his lips. My gaze immediately goes to them, which only makes his frown deepen.
He gets out of the car, then pulls my luggage from the back and starts carting it to the small stone cottage. It looks archaic, the walls covered in some kind of ivy, the roof green with moss. The windows and doors look new, and with a bit of gardening it would actually be charming.
But right now, it looks more like the scene from Misery.
Still exhausted, my body trembling with fatigue, I get out of the car, anxiety pitting in my stomach.
What do I even know about this guy? Nothing.
He glances over his shoulder, then stops walking when he sees me still standing by the car. “What?”
“I was just thinking, I don’t really know anything about you.”
With his back to me, I can’t see his face, but by his tone, I’m pretty sure he just rolled his eyes. “What do ye want to know?”
“Your name would be good.”
He turns and gives me a bland stare. “Cillian.”
Cillian. Of course, the man has a sexy Irish name. Kill-e-an. I almost say it aloud to feel it roll off my tongue.
“Cillian what?”
He exhales loudly. “Gallagher.”
“Do you have family around here?”
His eyes narrow. “A brother.”
I nod. That’s a good sign.
“Anything else, or do ye want to stay out here talking all night?”
I shiver as a cool gust of wind whips around me, as if making his point. I nod and start walking towards him.
He grunts, something he seems to do a lot of, then turns back to the door, opening it.
“My name’s Delaney, in case you were wondering.”
“Delaney?” There’s a spark of curiosity when he glances back at me. “Ye’ve got Irish in ye then?”
“My grandmother was born here. Delaney was her maiden name.”
Ignoring me, he sets my luggage in the center of the foyer, then walks down the narrow hall. I follow him, not knowing what else to do.
The house isn’t big, but it’s clean, and despite the medieval-looking stonework on the outside of the building, everything inside is modern. But it looks like he hasn’t been here in a while, and it’s almost as cold inside as it was outside.
I rub my hands over my arms.
“I’ll start a fire.” He adjusts something on the thermostat. “It’ll take a bit for the furnace to kick on.”
“Were you on vacation?” I follow him into the kitchen.
“There won’t be any food.” He tosses his keys and phone on the counter, then opens the fridge. As predicted, it’s empty. Slamming it shut, he lets out an uneven breath.
I can’t tell if the man is mad at me or just mad at life in general. I’m leaning more towards the second one. I’ve seen hints of a softer side, but mostly he’s just snarly.
He disappears down the hall, and returns a few minutes later wearing a dark hoodie and a new pair of jeans.
“I’ll go to the grocery store.” He grabs his keys again.
“You’re leaving me here?”
“Ye need food. And I definitely need a drink.” He rakes his fingers through his hair, causing it to flop to the other side. Ye can stay in my room tonight–”
“Your room? I think you misunderstood–”
“I’ll take the couch.”
“Oh.” Disappointment settles in my chest, and I reprimand myself for it.
He’s a stranger, Delaney. Even so, my panties are wet just from the thought of sharing his bed. Well, that and the deep brogue that rolls from his tongue every time he speaks.
When he brushes past me, I swear every nerve in my body begins to vibrate.
I follow him towards the living room, where he throws a few logs into the fireplace, then crouches to start it. The crackle of flames as it bites into the wood fills the silence, and soon there’s a steady heat coming from the pit.
Cillian stands. Over six feet of lean, hard muscle looms over me. “I left my phone on the counter. Ye can make yer calls. Let yer family know ye’re okay.”
My family. They don’t even know I’m in Ireland. Not that they’d care. My parents are still too caught up in their grief to worry about me.
“Thank you.”
He gives a brisk nod, his expression stoic. Then he pulls out a crumpled paper from his back pocket. I recognize it immediately – the list.
Shit. Even though I know it isn’t there, my hands go to my pockets. How did he get it?
“I think ye lost this.”
Did he read it?
Heat burns my cheeks when I take it from him.
“I…” Licking my lips, I glance away, unable to meet his heated gaze.
What is he thinking?
I can’t read the man, and it’s infuriating.
“I’ll be back soon. Make yerself comfortable. I turned the water heater on, but it’ll take some time for it to heat up. So, unless ye want a cold shower–”
“I’ll be fine.”
He studies me for a long moment before giving a brisk nod, then turning and walking out the door.
I stand there, puzzling over the man.
Cillian Gallagher. Even his name is sexy. He’s got the whole dark, brooding, mysterious vibe going on. Plus, he knows he’s sexy, which is sexy in itself.
I clutch Maeve’s list in my hand. There are more than a couple of items on it I wouldn’t mind crossing off with him.
But right now, I need to figure out what I’m going to do about the car.
Going back to the kitchen, I pick up his phone. I left my rental agreement with the insurance papers in the glove compartment.
Damn it. I probably should have contacted them immediately, but I wasn’t thinking straight. When Cillian gets back, I’ll ask him to call the tow company to get the numbers.
Let yer family know ye’re okay.
I pick up the phone, expecting to find a passcode. But it’s unlocked.
My fingers hover over the numbers. I think about calling my mom, but the last thing she needs is more stress. With Maeve having always been so sick, I’ve tried my best to never give them a reason to worry about me.
And now…
Everything I’ve done in the past twenty-four hours defies who I am. The rules I set in place. Rigid and safe; that’s how I lived, how I ordered my life. Even Matt, with his perfect smile and perfect job, fit into my perfect life.
At least, I thought he did.
“He’s bland. Boring,” Maeve had said. “What you need is wild and dangerous.”
Wild and dangerous. Two words that couldn’t define Cillian more. Maybe Maeve was right, perhaps a tiny taste of danger is exactly what I need. I’ve tried safe, and look where that got me.
Even if it ends in him rejecting me, it’s not like I’ll ever see the man aga
in after tonight.
I bite my lip, tempted to flip through his contacts and pictures. I want to know more. I debate it for a few seconds until the phone starts vibrating in my hand, causing me to jump, and my heart is racing like I’m a naughty child caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
God, I must be on edge.
I cough on a laugh when I see the name that pops up on the screen.
Bloody Fecking Bastard
“Clearly, I’m not the only person he has a problem with,” I mutter, putting the phone down and wondering who Bloody Fecking Bastard is.
I walk around the house, trying to get a better sense of the man. But the place is bare of mementos or pictures. The only thing that gives me any clue about him is the guitar beside the couch.
Yawning, I go to the bedroom. More bare walls. I open his closet. T-shirts and jeans make up the majority of his wardrobe. There’s an old guitar case hidden in the back, the first real clue of who he is.
If I was at home, I’d Google him. Or at least stalk his Facebook page, if he has one. He doesn’t seem like the type to spend much time on social media.
Not knowing what else to do, and completely exhausted, I lay down on the bed, burying my face in the pillow. It smells like him. Or at least what I think he smells like. Something wild and Irish. Woody and masculine, with a hint of a spicy cologne.
I’m going to do this.
Him.
Tonight.
Cross off number four on my list – kiss a stranger.
Then see where it goes from there.
But first, I need to close my eyes.
Just for a second.
Chapter 4
Cillian
Groceries and booze aren’t the only reason I needed to get out of the house. I had to get away from those curious hazel eyes. Eyes that beg me for something I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to handle.
Delaney.
I’ve always been good at reading people, but I’ve never met anyone like her…like there’s a war going on inside that pretty little head. Pain fighting against hope. Reservation against an untapped wildness.
Wild Irish Page 2