Until Ireland

by Tl Reeve

  Until Ireland

  Happily Ever After Alpha

  TL Reeve

  Michele Ryan

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  Untitled

  Also By

  About the Authors

  Until Ireland

  Copyright © 2021 by TL Reeve and Michele Ryan

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Published by Boom Factory Publishing, LLC.

  * * *

  TL Reeve and Michele Ryan CONTRIBUTOR to the Original Works was granted permission by Aurora Rose Reynolds, ORIGINAL AUTHOR, to use the copyrighted characters and/ or worlds created by Aurora Rose Reynolds in the Original Work; all copyright protection to the characters and/ or worlds of Aurora Rose Reynolds in the Original Works are and shall continue to be retained by Aurora Rose Reynolds. You can find all of Aurora Rose Reynolds Original Works on most major retailers. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage or retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic, photocopying, mechanical or otherwise, without express permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, story lines and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events, locales or any events or occurrences are purely coincidental.

  * * *

  Cover design by r.b.a. Design

  Dedication

  Thank you, Aurora for allowing us to play in your world. It has been a blast and a wonderful experience for us both. It is something we both looking forward to doing again!

  To TL – My writing partner extraordinaire and best friend. Gotta say, it’s not often in life you run into another human being who just gets you. I’m blessed that you do! And even if I don’t always say it, I’m grateful for you every damn day! Not everyone is lucky enough to work with their best friend. I am, and I don’t take it for granted!

  To Michele – I can’t even say thank you enough for taking me up on my offer all those years ago. We have been through some stuff over the years, hospitalizations with our kids, destructive weather that left both of us in the dark, heartache, and excitement. I wouldn’t change a damn thing. I’m honored I get to work with you every day, even when I’m annoying and act like Doug. *Squirrel!* You just roll with it. Foo is what binds us. Dave is what keeps us together. (I am still convinced he looks like the drummer from Nirvana) Anyway, thank you a million times over for being my best friend.

  To the Readers – This has been our biggest secret reveal to date. If you know me, you’ve realized over the years I have a hard time keeping stuff a secret. But, the wait is FINALLY over. Thank you for always being so supportive of us. We hope you enjoy Ireland and Mack story as much as we’ve had fun writing it. As a bonus, we have also created a playlist for Until Ireland. If you’d like to give it a listen, you can find it here: Until Ireland Playlist

  Chapter One

  Mack

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  “You sure about this place?” I pulled the mirrored aviators from my face and stared up at the aged garage, phone in hand, while I questioned Gareth. The corrugated steel and cinderblock design gave off a retro ambiance. I got out of my SUV and stood before the building, taking in the space. Out of the three vehicles parked off to the side, the custom Triumph caught my eye first, then the primer’57 Chevy pickup, and finally, the Harley. The building, though small, had four bays. The two on the farthest end were occupied, along with one to the left of where I waited. The front end of a rusted ‘71 ‘Cuda faced me. “It’s a bit... It doesn’t scream luxury certified mechanic.”

  Gareth laughed. “I’m telling you, Mack, they’re good.” On the way back from the auction, I’d stopped by his shop to drop off the ’65 Aston Martin DB5 for repairs. Unfortunately, Gareth was slammed, but he’d given me the address for Banks Automotive. He continued, “I wouldn’t have sent you to them if I didn’t think they could handle the issue.”

  According to the auction house, the Aston Martin’s transmission was slipping, and the engine needed a few minor tweaks. However, the book in the glovebox showed the car had been maintained. When it came time to bid on the car, the defects allowed me to underbid what the vehicle was worth, which my client also appreciated. Nonetheless, standing outside the rundown building, I had my doubts about the shop.

  “You owe me if they fuck up my car.” Asking price for a restored DB5 started at two million and some had gone for more than six million. As it stood, after paying for the fees and to have it fixed, I’d be making two-hundred and seventy-five thousand on commission. I couldn’t allow this deal to fall through because the mechanic didn’t know what they were doing.

  Gareth blew out a breath. “Fine. Whatever they fuck up, I’ll fix for free.”

  I frowned, pulling the phone away from my ear. Was he serious? The repairs, though minor, would still cost me at least twenty grand, if not more. No way I’d take that kind of deal, especially from Gareth. The man was supporting his family.

  “Sure. You’re on,” I responded. Even if he lost the bet, I’d pay him to fix the vehicle, no matter what Gareth said. “Anyone in particular I should ask for?”

  “Nope. Go on inside. I know you’re standing there staring a hole through the place.” Someone in the background, probably his uncle, called his name. “Look, have I ever steered you wrong before?”

  No, he hadn’t. If anything, he’d always been straightforward and upfront about every part and price and how long it would take to fix a vehicle. However, I had a keen eye for appearances. It was what made me a successful restaurateur and luxury auto dealer.

  “Great.” I took a step forward and heard the clank of a tool hitting the concrete floor. “Have I told you how much I appreciate your assistance?”

  Gareth laughed again. “Don’t be a dick. Though for you it’s hard not to be.”

  I mentally flipped him off, ending the call. Asshole.

  Before heading inside, I took a look around the building and noticed the area was dirt-free. Though the lots on either side of the structure were empty, none of the overgrown grass touched the property. There weren’t any oil stains or busted engines left on the ground to rust away either. As much as I had my reservations about the business, I gave them credit where it was due. They kept the place clean.

  Well, no time like the present. I walked over to the door and opened it. No Doubt blared from the speakers, and I took a step back, surprised by the music choice. The smell of grease and oil assailed me, and a sense of calm washed over me. It transported me back to a time when I was little, sitting on my granddaddy’s knee while he took apart an old carburetor on his kitchen table. My step-grandmother would bitch about it, but he’d pat my shoulder and tell me not to pay her any mind, which pissed her off more. He muttered about the shitty quality of the parts with the newspaper laid out below the carburetor, streaked in burnt oil and grease, and surrounded by piles of bolts and gaskets meant to be replaced. The more he tinkered, the headier the scent of raw gasoline mixed with his aftershave became. The odor still lingered in my memory some thirty years later.

  I might not be a wrench turner, but I had a deep appreciation for the work my grandfather put into everything he did. It calmed the old ma
n and also gave me time to get to know him. I hadn’t realized I missed those moments until I stepped into the office of the shop.

  The music came to an end, and another girl power song filled the small area. My lip curled as Cheryl Lloyd’s voice screamed the chorus. Jesus, where did Gareth send me? Hell? The walls of the office were done in hard wood, not that cheap paneling shit either. Real, two-by-sixes varnished in a dark walnut added to the vintage look of the building. Old oil and gas signs covered the side walls while a part organizer board took up the back of the office. The outlines for hoses, belts, and tools were faded, but they gave the space a certain charm. Above the board was a shelf with old oil cans. A sigh of frustration caught my attention, stopping my perusal of the shop, and my gaze locked on the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Her red hair had been tied up under a black bandana, and short flame-colored strands brushed the back of her neck. Her skin was flawless, like fine porcelain.

  I took a step forward toward the counter and cleared my throat. “Excuse me.”

  “Fuck,” she muttered. “I know I ordered it. It should be in here. Where the fuck did it go?” She spread two different bills of lading across the desk. A narrow rectangular box sat between her legs while she counted the small parts on the desk in front of her. “They’re not all here. I swear, if Landon is messing with me, I’m going to kick his ass.” She tucked her ruby red bottom lip between her teeth. Tension snapped at my spine. My gut clenched with arousal, and I bit back a groan.

  No one had ever affected me like this.

  “Excuse me?” I said, desperate for her to look up at me while growing irritated she wasn’t paying attention.

  Her stunning green eyes locked with my gaze, and all of the spit in my mouth dried up. B-O-Fucking-O-M. I thought it was an old wives’ tale, bullshit the Maysons said when they met their significant others. Now, standing there, my heart pounding and my dick reminding me just how long it’d been since I’d gotten laid, I wondered if the Boom wasn’t just some story after all. A smudge of grease marred her cheek, but her coveralls were immaculate as were her fine boned hands. Speaking of those coveralls, they did nothing to show off her figure, which made me want to rip the offending garment from her and sneak a peek of her lithe form.

  She stared at me. “Can I help you?” She dropped her gaze back to the papers in front of her.

  I bit back a growl of impatience. “Is the owner in?” I ran my tongue over my bottom lip, grasping at the tattered edges of my control. Every inch of my body tensed. I wanted to jump over the counter and force her to focus on me.

  “Sure,” she said. Then added, “Ah ha! I knew it.” She continued to grumble under her breath as she put the pieces back into the box before adding the shipping papers. “I swear that’s the last time we use them. Strike three, they’re out.”

  “Where can I find the owner?” I prodded. I needed to off-load the Aston Martin and pay the driver. “You know, if you’re not busy or anything, I could use some help here.”

  Her gaze snapped to mine, and her ruby lips compressed. Good, maybe I’d pissed her off. “What can I do for you?” She folded her hand on the desk and fluttered her eyes. Her cool tone did nothing to tamp down the raging need to bend her over the desk and fuck the sass out of her. In the few minutes I’d been there with her, she’d crawled under my skin, turning me inside out.

  “Yeah. The owner? Where can I find him?” I’d thought I’d been pretty clear about who I needed to talk to.

  Humor shadowed by annoyance lit her brilliant green eyes. “What can I do for you?”

  I stared at her as the side door opened and a man stuck his head into the office. “Seriously, Ireland? This trash?” The guy snarled rolling his eyes. “Can’t you put something better on? Maybe something with a little more bite?”

  I had to agree with his assessment. The music was a little too bubblegum pop for me.

  “You snooze, you lose. You know the rules, Hunter. We all agreed to them.” She shrugged, returning her attention to me. “Are you sure you’re in the right place?”

  The man named Hunter glanced at me and lifted his chin in greeting. “S’up, man?”

  Ireland. The name fit her. As I continued to stare at her, consumed by the idea I’d found my Boom, indignation replaced the humor in her eyes. I brushed it off. She was probably still pissed off because of the missing parts. Instead of responding to me, she greeted the guy who stepped fully into the office.

  I automatically hated him because of his familiarity with Ireland. He had green eyes, a shade or two lighter than the woman sitting at the desk, and dusty blond hair. His arms were covered in tattoos as well as his chest from what I could see. There was a roughness there that only age brought out, and instantly I knew he owned the Harley outside. Which had me wondering, did she ride the Triumph or drive the pickup?

  “How’s it going? Are you the owner?” I asked.

  The guy chuckled. “Sure, man. How can I help?” A silent conversation passed between him and Ireland as he stepped up to the counter.

  I pointed behind me like such a fucking newb, and I groaned internally at how ridiculous I looked. I couldn’t help it. Ireland had snatched my ability to concentrate. “I have a car. It needs repairs.”

  Ireland arched one of her perfect cayenne brows in my direction. The corner of her ruby red lips lifted in a sly smirk filled with intention as she pushed away from the desk.

  This woman had me in fucking knots. I hated it yet wanted more too.

  “Show me.” She patted Hunter’s arm, and I wanted to rip the appendage from his body so she couldn’t do it again. I realized in those scant minutes I’d been there; I hated the fact Hunter and Ireland had such a strong connection. No, maybe it wasn’t hate. Jealousy, perhaps?

  I took a deep breath then berated myself for doing so. The scent of burnt grease and cherry blossoms filled my senses. My mouth watered. It should be a sin for a woman like her to smell so fucking good.

  She laughed, but there wasn’t a hint of humor in her tone. “Strike one.” She narrowed those emerald eyes at me before she sauntered out of the office, leaving me to catch up.

  “You better go,” Hunter said with a chuckle. “You don’t want to see her when she’s really pissed off.”

  When she was really pissed off? The idea of seeing her claws turned me on. Instead of rushing outside like a lap dog, I took my time, lifting my hand as I opened the door. “Appreciate your help, man.”

  When I stepped outside, Ireland was nowhere to be found. Anger rose inside of me. Deep and dark, it consumed my thoughts. One, because I didn’t take orders—I gave them—and two, because the woman was infuriating. She had the attention span of a squirrel on crack. When I asked her questions, she gave me non-starters and went back to searching for parts, like I wasn’t standing there. The rush of adrenaline seared my veins as I stormed over to the truck.

  “What the fuck?” The snappish clip of my tone had her head popping up from the rear of the vehicle. She’d climbed onto the truck where I couldn’t see her before I’d joined her. “Don’t touch the car.”

  “That’s strike two,” she said, dunking back down.

  “What happens if I get to strike three?” I prodded, glaring at her round ass and delicate back. What the fuck was she doing in a place like this?

  She stood once more, and the fire burning in her eyes only made my cock harder. Her challenging stare dared me to say another word. I didn’t have to. All I wanted to do was screw the indignation out of her against the hood of the Aston Martin while sating the beast inside of me.

  “You’re a dick,” she said, placing her hands on her hips. “I have a sense when it comes these things, and you’re pegging my dickish meter.”

  I shrugged. “I have one, so maybe I am.”

  “Pig.”

  “Oink, oink.” I grinned. “You want to tell me why you’re on this rollback with my car?”

  “You said you needed help.” She crouched back down and worked the chain off
the driver side axel. “Or are you one of those rednecks who don’t like women touching their cars?”

  Hell, I’d watch her fix this particular car naked. The minute she bent forward under the hood would be the minute I... Fuck! Get a grip. You can’t keep visualizing fucking her against the car. It’s not yours!

  “I didn’t say that. Don’t put words in my mouth.”

  “You sure act like it.” She climbed down off the truck, then pointed to the sign on the building. “What does that say?”

  I stared at her, confused by her question. “Banks Automotive.”

  She stuck out her hand. “Ireland Banks. Welcome to my shop.”

  Fucking. Hell. Superiority flashed in her eyes as a smug grin tugged her kissable mouth. I wanted to wipe the expression from her face. I needed her to crave me as much as I craved her. Undoubtingly, she was waiting for me to trip and stutter an apology for my miscalculations, but instead I took her hand and squeezed. Electricity shot up my arm and spread through my body. “Mack Redman.”

  She blinked. Her eyes went wide. “As in the Mack Redman who owns Flame?”

  I nodded. “The one and only.”

  “You’re pretty cocky still.”

  I laughed. “I am.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You should dial it back some.”

  “Why?” I held back the grin threatening to form on my lips. I was thoroughly enjoying this banter. I hadn’t met someone as refreshing as Ireland in a long time.

  “Because it makes you seem full of yourself.” She shrugged.

  “What if I am?” I inched closer to her. “I have a feeling you might like me this way.”