Taming Irish

by Seabrook, C. M.

  “Can I buy you a drink?”

  “I was just leaving.” I give him a small smile as I slide off the stool.

  Large fingers wrap around my wrist and he leans in, close enough that I can smell the whisky on his breath. He slurs, “I thought your friend was coming back.”

  From the corner of my vision, I see the beady-eyed man shift in his seat.

  “Remove your hand.” My voice sounds more confident than I feel.

  “You look familiar.” His grip tightens and he squints at me. Then, a grin spreads across his face, and he tugs me closer. With how crowded the bar is, no one seems to notice. With his free hand, he takes his phone out of his pocket and snaps a picture of me. “You’re that crazy bitch that was stalking Chad Hollister.”

  “Let me go.” My voice is shaky now.

  When he takes another picture, I grab his phone and toss it on the floor, crushing my heel into it. It shatters. It’s probably not my smartest move, because now we have a small audience.

  “Bitch,” he slurs, pushing my back painfully against the bar. “You’ll pay for that.”

  “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll release her.” The beady-eyed man towers over the blond guy, murder in his eyes. “Now.”

  Even I suck in a breath at how intimidating he is, and my wrist is instantly freed.

  I don’t bother with a thank you. I just take off, darting through the crowd and into the nearest restroom.

  What just happened?

  Taking a few deep breaths, I splash cold water on my face and glance at my reflection in the mirror. I’m never going to get away from the stigma Chad branded me with when he let those reporters write those stories about me.

  And now, I’m probably going to have this guy sue me for vandalism.

  A groan bubbles in my throat.

  I need to get out of here.

  But as soon as I exit the restroom and start towards the exit, I feel rather than see the hulking form that follows close behind me. The beady-eyed man is there, his gaze dark and intimidating.

  I make it outside, desperately searching for a taxi, but there aren’t any. The shadow has followed me. There are a few people walking by, but I can’t help the fear that chokes me.

  “What?” I scream, turning on him. “What do you want? My picture? A story?” I throw my hands up, and the man looks shocked by my outburst. “Why won’t you people just leave me alone?”

  Large arms wrap around me, pulling me back against a solid wall of muscle.

  I let out a small shriek.

  “Easy, love,” a deep, familiar brogue says against my ear. “It’s me.”

  I turn in his arms, looking up into the sage eyes that frown down at me.

  “Shane,” I say breathlessly.

  “Are ye all right?”

  “That…that man…” The beady-eyed guy is still watching us, along with a handful of strangers that stopped to watch the Makena Fraser Freak-Out Show.

  “Joey’s harmless.”

  I frown up at him. “You know him?”

  “He works for me.”

  “For you?”

  He sighs and he starts to lead me towards the Ferrari that’s parked, still idling a few feet from us. “Let’s get ye back to the hotel.”

  I dig my heels in. “Not until you explain how you knew I was here, and who that-” I point at the beady-eyed guy. “-is.”

  “Emer texted me and told me she’d left ye at the pub. Which I wasn’t very happy about. Ye shouldn’t be flouncing around Dublin by yerself.”

  “I wasn’t flouncing-” I shake my head at him. “You’re changing the subject.”

  “The man was keeping an eye on ye.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I was worried…” He drags his fingers through his hair and mutters a curse.

  While I’m not thrilled with him having someone following me, the fact that he was worried about me says something. “Still…”

  Shane sighs again. “There’s something we need to talk about.”

  And with his words, I feel all my walls building back up at breakneck speed. Because nothing ever good comes from the statement, We need to talk.

  Chapter 22

  Shane

  I don’t take Makena back to my apartment because I’m still not sure how the person who left the letter got in, or if they’ll be back. I already have Joey working on having all the locks changed, but you can never be too cautious when dealing with crazy.

  Instead of my apartment, I take her back to the Shelbourne where she and Emer were staying. I was pissed when Emer called and said she’d left Makena at the Brazen Head alone. That part of the city isn’t dangerous, other than the occasional drunk tourist that can’t tell their head from their ass, but the thought of anything happening to her fills my entire body with dread.

  Makena is quiet the entire ride there, and even after I give the valet the keys and make our way up in the elevator, she hasn’t said a word. I don’t say anything, either, because I’m not sure how the hell I’m going to break it to her that there’s some stalker out there who may or may not be having my kid.

  At the suite door, I wait until Makena opens it with her key card, then follow her inside.

  “Okay,” she says, jutting her chin up at me and squaring her shoulders like she’s preparing herself for the worst. “Go on.”

  Sometimes I wonder if the woman knows how strong she really is. I’ll admit that over the past couple of days I did a little research on the man who used to be her husband. Read the fucking bullshit he said about her. And I understand why she came here. Why she needed to get away.

  And here I am, practically shoving her right back in the hot seat. Because if any of this shit about me gets out, the media will be all over my personal life, with Makena being right in the spotlight.

  Let her go, my brain warns. Before she gets dragged through the mud again. This time, because of you.

  But the thought of losing her…

  Shit.

  I rub the back of my neck. “I don’t want to hurt ye, love.”

  She sucks in a quivering breath. “So, this is it?”

  Fuck that.

  “No,” I growl out, removing the distance between us and crushing my lips against hers.

  She lets out a small whimper, her body melting into mine. “Shane.”

  I can’t let her go.

  The woman is mine.

  It’s a primal acknowledgment that’s deeper than any physical or emotional response.

  I tug at the hem of her dress, pulling it up over her hips, then cup her pussy, sliding a finger beneath her panties. She’s already wet, and I groan against her mouth. One flick of her clit and I feel her knees buckling, her body trembling, melting into me. I love that I can do that to her. How responsive she is to me.

  “Shane,” she whimpers, her hands tangling in my hair.

  I lift her up, wrapping her legs around my waist and carrying her to the bedroom, my mouth never leaving hers.

  When I sit her on the edge of the bed, her fingers go to my belt and she’s undressing me with the same desperate hunger in her gaze that I feel. I toss my shirt aside, pulling a condom out of my wallet.

  Makena slides my pants and briefs over my hips, and my cock springs free. She looks up at me and smiles, before taking the engorged head in her mouth and swirling her tongue across it. It’s been a couple days, and as she takes me deeper, I can feel my self-control unraveling.

  I groan, loving the feel of her mouth, but needing the connection of being buried inside her.

  “Easy, love,” I say, tugging her hair gently until she releases me. “I won’t last long, if ye keep doing that.”

  I lift her up, helping her out of her dress, and removing her bra and panties. Then, she lays out on the bed.

  Gorgeous.

  I could spend hours, days…hell, a lifetime, worshipping her body.

  The need for her. All of her. It makes me senseless. Hunger is my driving force.


  “What are ye doing to me?” I roll the condom over my aching cock, then crawl above her. “Ye undo me, Makena.”

  She reaches up and pulls my mouth down to hers, kissing me hard, like she’s trying to convince herself that my words are true.

  And when I take her this time, it’s more than sex. It’s a goddamn religious experience.

  I thrust inside of her, hard, fast, and she trembles around me, crying out in euphoria, and I come hard.

  And then I feel it.

  There’s a slight snap, a change in sensation. And I know I’m doubly fucked.

  Chapter 23

  Makena

  “Shit,” Shane curses, pulling out quickly and practically jumping off the bed.

  I go still.

  “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He continues to curse, his back to me, but I can tell he’s rolling the condom off. He tosses it in the garbage can beside the bed, dragging his hands back through his hair and cupping the back of his head as he paces.

  “Did I…” I sit up, tugging the blanket to my chest. “Do something wrong?”

  He glances over at me, and I see the etched fear tugging at his features. “Please tell me ye’re on the pill.”

  “No.”

  He curses again, then says roughly, “The condom broke.”

  “Oh.” I don’t know what else to say. Trying to ease the tension, I say lightly, but not without a small ping of concern, “Should I be worried about an STD?”

  “Fuck no,” he spits out. “I’m clean.” His nostrils flare. “I get checked out regularly. Plus, before ye, it’d been months since I was with anyone-” He shakes his head, muttering harshly. “Fucking defective condoms. I should sue the goddamn company.”

  He’s still naked. His muscles ripple and tense as he keeps pacing.

  “Shane, it’s fine-”

  He narrows his gaze on me, suspicion filling it. “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “If you’re worried about me getting pregnant, you don’t have to be. I can’t…” My voice breaks, and I swallow hard. “I can’t have children.”

  Silence.

  “Ye’re sure?” The muscles in his jaw clench and he starts to pace again.

  I laugh bitterly. “Three years of trying and two specialists confirmed it.”

  He stops and looks down at me. But instead of the relief I expect to see, there’s something I can’t read in his expression. He holds my gaze for a long, tense moment. And for the first time since I realized that I’d never be able to have kids of my own, I’m actually grateful, because the man standing in front of me is definitely not daddy material.

  Shaking his head, he runs his palms roughly over his face, and mutters, “I’m sorry.”

  Twisting the blankets around me, I shift off the bed and move to gather my clothes.

  “Makena.” He says my name gruffly, but I don’t turn around.

  “Where’s my bra?” I say more to myself, crouching and checking under the bed. A swarm of emotion buzzes inside of me, but mostly I just feel empty. Something sharp cuts into my palm when I reach under the bed. “Damn it.” I pull my hand back, muttering another curse when I see the small cut that’s already starting to bleed.

  “Let me see.”

  “I’m fine.”

  He captures my arm and pulls me up, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me towards his hard, naked body, then takes my wrist to examine my hand. “You need to wash it out-”

  “I said I’m fine.” I pull my wrist back, moving around him and starting towards the bathroom.

  Shane sighs behind me. “I shouldn’t have overreacted the way I did. It’s just...”

  “Trust me. I understand. Getting knocked up by a stranger isn’t something I’d be happy about either.”

  “I’m not a stranger.” The words are more of a growl. He’s still standing in front of me, naked. His muscles tense and bunch as he cups the back of his head and looks up at the ceiling. “Ye don’t get it. There are a lot of women who would jump at the chance of having my kid-”

  “Trust me, I’m not one of them,” I lie, pulling out a pair of jeans from my overnight bag and shoving them on. I understand his initial reaction. I’m not even mad about it. Because, in all fairness, I don’t have a right to be.

  “Makena-”

  A cellphone rings, but neither of us move to get it.

  “I need to tell ye something,” he says, his jaw clenching and bunching. I swear I see something akin to fear in his eyes. He roughs a hand over his jaw, then rubs his neck. “There’s…there’s this woman…”

  My stomach sinks.

  “It’s fine.” Tears burn the back of my eyes. “I get it. I’m not upset. I’m just…tired.”

  Tired of fighting a losing battle. He’s not mine. Never will be. All this has ever been about is sex. But I’d let that stupid sliver of hope expand until I was blinded by what was right in front of my nose. A man who would never be more than just a chapter in my life.

  The phone starts ringing again, and Shane curses.

  “You should get that.” I walk toward the window, glancing down at the streets of Dublin.

  He’s behind me, the heat of his body warm against my back, and I can see his reflection in the window, the strain in his face. I don’t doubt he hates this. There’s not a cruel bone in the man’s body. But he is what he is. A man who’ll never be satisfied. Not with me.

  His voice is rough, when he says, “I need to tell you-”

  “No.” I turn toward him, ignoring his nakedness, and how easily he wears it. “You don’t. And honestly, I don’t want to hear what you have to say. We both knew this wouldn’t last.” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “This has to be some kind of record for you.”

  His lips thin and his nostrils flare. I know I shouldn’t have said it, even though it’s the truth.

  The phone starts ringing again.

  I walk past him and find the ringing phone in his jean pockets, then hand it to him. “Maybe it’s her.”

  He frowns at me, then looks down at the phone in his hands. “It’s Cillian. I should take it.”

  I nod, then turn away as he answers.

  “Yeah?” From the corner of my eye, I see him grab his pants and start to put them on. “Okay. I’ll be there in a couple of hours.”

  He’s going to leave. This time, for good.

  “Delaney’s having the baby.”

  Despite the tightness in my chest, a small smile pulls at my lips. “Now?”

  “We have to go.”

  We.

  “It’s not my place.”

  Pulling his shirt over his head, he walks toward me. “I want ye there. And she would, too.”

  I chew on my bottom lip. “Why?”

  His palms cup my face and he presses his forehead against mine, eyes closed, and lets out a long, uneven breath.

  “I know what ye think of me. And ye’re not wrong.” He pulls back slightly, staring down at me, his green eyes warring with some internal battle that I can’t figure out. “I don’t want to be that man anymore.”

  “Shane-”

  “Ye deserve better.” His thumb trails across my bottom lip. “I want to be better. For ye.”

  Hope mixes with confusion, and I take a shaky breath.

  His fingers tangle in my hair, not tight enough to hurt, but enough that I feel like he’s afraid if he lets go, I’ll disappear.

  “But I’ve fucked up a lot in my life. I don’t want my mistakes to hurt ye.”

  There’s this woman. His words come back at me, biting like ice into my flesh. We never made any commitment to be exclusive, but the image of Shane with another woman hurts more than finding out Chad had been cheating on me for years.

  “You were with someone else.” My voice comes out monotonous, because already I’ve pulled a shield around my heart.

  Don’t let it hurt.

  Don’t let him break you.

  “What?” He pulls back slightly, his eyes darting across my fa
ce with a look of horror tightening his features. “No. Jeezus, Makena. I wouldn’t do that to ye.”

  “Then what?”

  “I’ve been getting letters. They’ve been coming for a few months now. I’m not sure who they’re from. But…” He drags his hands over his face. “The woman claims she’s carrying my kid.”

  “Oh.” I take a small step back, and I see the hurt in his eyes as I do.

  “I didn’t want to say anything until I knew for certain that the kid is mine.”

  “And do you?”

  He shakes his head, then runs his hand through his hair, causing it to stand on end. “I don’t even know who the woman is.”

  I snort in disgust.

  “I deserve that,” he says, taking a step toward me, making me inch backwards.

  “Why are you telling me now?”

  “I got another letter. Whoever is writing them knows about ye, and I’m worried she might try to use our relationship…”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know. Like I said, the woman hasn’t identified herself.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “I’m not sure what she wants. But I assume it’s money.”

  “But she hasn’t asked for anything yet?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have an idea who she is?”

  “Yes.” He paces, then sits down on the edge of the bed. “A few months back, I was with someone. It was just one night. But I felt the condom break. The woman took off right after. I tried to track her down, but she wasn’t staying in the hotel.”

  “And you don’t remember her name?”

  He buries his head in his hands. “No.”

  “Do your friends know?”

  “I haven’t told anyone except ye and the people who have been trying to find her.”

  Silence stretches between us.

  The initial stir of jealousy of another woman having his child is dulled only by the fact that he trusted me enough to share his secret with me. And it’s a doozy. One that should have me running in the opposite direction.

  Because, if this gets out, he’ll be thrown front and center into a media frenzy. And if I’m anywhere near him when it happens, I have no doubt I’ll be dragged right into it.