Tempting Irish

by C. M. Seabrook

  “I…” Her lips part on words she doesn’t say, but the intensity of her gaze leaves no question what she wants – me.

  One look and the girl has me harder than granite. So, why the hell do I feel like I need to wrap my arms around her and keep her safe?

  “Ye should sleep.”

  “Wait.” Her fingers curl around my wrist, stopping me when I start to move away.

  I glance down at the contact, then back to the wide, blue eyes that blink up at me, and my chest squeezes at the array of emotions I see there.

  Desire.

  Trepidation.

  Need.

  Innocence.

  Shit. One look and the girl completely undoes me.

  But, despite the sense of familiarity, I don’t know her. Not that that’s stopped me before from taking pleasure in a woman. But there’s something different about her. Maybe it’s the hope I see in her expression. The way she looks at me like I could be her whole fucking world.

  And it scares the shit out of me.

  The women I fuck never have any illusions that what I offer is more than just instant gratification. One night. Anything more only brings confusion and the potential of emotions getting involved.

  But Bree…

  Her tongue darts out across her bottom lip, and when I lean closer, so that I can feel her breath on my lips, she lets out a rippling sigh. “Please.”

  “Do ye know what ye’re asking, sweetheart?”

  She gives a small nod, but I see the hesitation in it.

  I cup the back of her head, tangling my fingers in the silken strands, like I’ve been imagining doing since I first saw her in the lobby.

  “I don’t do tomorrows.” My voice is a harsh rasp, intended to make her understand what I’m offering.

  “Neither do I. But I’ll take tonight.”

  And with those words, I know there’s no turning back.

  Chapter 4

  Bree

  I’ve dreamed about this. Craved his touch. But more, I wanted one night with the boy who inspired my belief in white knights and happy endings.

  Cheesy? Maybe.

  But it was a fantasy that had gotten me through some pretty shitty times.

  Why shouldn’t I take what I want?

  His hand cups the back of my neck and he leans closer, his body inches from mine. So close I can feel the heat of his body like a magnet pulling me towards him, and burning away all sense of propriety.

  I came here for this. For him. Used the last of my savings. Quit my shitty job. Boarded a three-hundred-tonne piece of metal and flew across a damn ocean just to see him again. I just didn’t think it would happen this soon. If I’m honest with myself, I didn’t really think it would happen at all.

  And especially not like this.

  One night.

  That’s all he’s willing to give.

  But, despite my own admission that it’s all I want, too, I know it’ll never be enough.

  If I let him kiss me, touch me…take me…I don’t know if I’ll survive the heartbreak of losing him a second time.

  You’re being pathetic, my brain scolds. It’s just sex. Keep your emotions out of it and take what you’ve dreamt about every night for the past ten years.

  Except that it isn’t just sex.

  It will be for him.

  But, for me, all my emotions have been wrapped up in him, or, at least, the pre-teen memory of him, for so long, it’s hard to separate the two. I know how pitiful it is, wanting someone who doesn’t want you, who doesn’t even remember your existence. But those memories – the small kindnesses he showed me before my whole world flipped on its axis – without them, I’m not sure I’d have survived the nightmare that became my life after leaving Ireland.

  Gray eyes study me, consume me, and wait for me to make a move. But trepidation holds me back, makes me hesitate from taking what he’s offering.

  His head tilts and he raises a brow at me, eyes both playful and intense, filled with wicked promise, and more patience than I expect from a man who has throngs of women worshipping at his feet.

  “Kiss me,” he demands, his rough breaths filling the air, diminishing the space between us.

  A shiver travels down my spine and pools in my core.

  I place my palm on the dark scruff of his jaw, my fingers tingling at the feel of the coarse hair. He doesn’t move as I run my thumb across his bottom lip, but I feel the small vibration of a silent growl.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I press back the self-doubt, the fear, the lack of tomorrows, and let desire rule over every other emotion.

  His fingers remain tangled in the hair at the back of my neck, and they tighten a little harder when I lean closer.

  Gaze never wavering from his, my mouth is so close I can almost taste his kiss.

  Lust knots in my stomach, vibrating in my thighs, pooling at my core.

  “One night,” I whisper, more as a reminder to myself, my tongue darting out across my own lips as I anticipate the kiss.

  A rumble vibrates in his throat as I brush my lips against his.

  I whimper at the contact, jolts of pleasure racing through me.

  Owen.

  I deepen the kiss, shifting to straddle him as my fingers curl in his hair desperately.

  His lips are soft, gentle—a contrast to his rough breath, and the way his strong hands roam down my back lifting me so that I can feel the hard length of his erection pressing against my belly through the fabric of his jeans.

  My head is spinning as I intensify the kiss. Mouth desperate, as I arch against him, liquid heat pooling in my core.

  I fight between the desire to run my hands over his bare chest, shoulders, and back, keeping my fingers locked in his hair. He makes the choice for me, flipping me on my back in the center of the bed, the movement making me lose my grip.

  His hand skirts under my tank top, palming my breast, his thumb circling my already painfully tight nipple, as he moves between my thighs.

  His intense gaze locks on me, and my belly does one of those fluttering things when I see the primal, animal-like look there. I could get lost in him, in the storm gray eyes that threaten to devour me.

  Sparks race across my skin as Owen’s fingers tease across the bare flesh at my hip. I clutch at him, digging my fingers into his back, my body aching for more.

  I know I’ll regret this.

  The lie.

  The lust.

  The caving to my own primal need.

  But, right now, I don’t care. Because this is so much more than just a childish crush. It’s a claiming of everything I lost.

  Even if it’s just for one night.

  I can’t stand the thought of losing him again, but worse is the thought of never having him.

  “Owen.” His name is a plea on my lips when his fingers slide beneath my panties, palming my hot sex.

  “My God, Bree,” he growls into my ear. “So fucking wet for me.”

  I whimper at his words, a shudder escaping me as his thumb rests against my clit.

  How many times had I dreamed about this?

  So. Much. Better.

  A haze of desire and lust surrounds us. His mouth finds one nipple, and I swear I nearly come from the way his tongue licks and swirls, before giving a soft little tug with teeth. Heated, callused palms graze my skin. Goosebumps flash across my flesh, and I swallow the thick knot that’s formed in my throat.

  Exposed.

  Vulnerable.

  Two things I hate being. But with him, right now, I wanted to be.

  Shamelessly, I arch towards him, running my hands down his back until I find the waist of his jeans.

  “Off,” I beg through a whimper.

  He chuckles, ready to comply, when his phone starts buzzing in his pocket and he mutters a curse. Pulling it out, he frowns and gives a shake of his head before turning it off and tossing it on the table beside the bed. But, a few seconds later, the room phone starts ringing.

  “Bloody fecking hell,
” Owen growls, reaching out and answering it. “What?”

  Chapter 5

  Owen

  “I need yer help.” Shane moans into the receiver.

  “I’m busy,” I growl back, frustrated because I hear the panic in his voice and I know I won’t—can’t—turn him down.

  “I’m not fucking around, man,” Shane says, his voice rising in pitch.

  “Okay.” I sit on the edge of the bed and rough a palm over my face, then glance over at Bree, who’s watching me with a reservation that wasn’t there a minute ago.

  I’m going to strangle him for this.

  But family comes first – always. Even over what I know would have been mind-blowing sex.

  “Where are ye?”

  “My room.” He lets out a long string of curses mixed with slurred ramblings, the overall theme summed up when he finally says, “I’m screwed.”

  “I’ll be there in five,” I say, hanging up.

  Bree’s face falls slightly, but she does a good job at hiding her disappointment.

  “Everything all right?”

  I stand, grabbing a shirt and pulling it over my head. “I’ve got to deal with something.”

  She starts to shift off the bed. “I’ll leave.”

  “No. Stay. I offered ye a bed. Looks like it’s all yers. For now.”

  “You’re sure?” She chews on her bottom lip.

  I nod, my balls already starting to ache as I grab my cell from the table. “I’ll be back.”

  “Owen…”

  “Yeah?” I glance over my shoulder at her, my chest squeezing at how fucking hot she looks sitting there. Cheeks flushed, hair mussed. Yeah, Shane better have a good fucking reason for calling me away.

  “Nothing.” She gives a weak smile and glances away, like she wants to say something, but can’t find the nerve. “I hope everything’s okay.”

  I nod. “Pizza’s in the living room.”

  Shane’s suite is right next to mine. He opens the door the second my fist hits it. Red-eyed and face pale, he motions me in.

  “This had better be good.”

  “It’s not good. It’s the fecking Armageddon.” He yanks at his already disheveled hair and drops to the couch in a dramatic gesture.

  “What happened?” I glance around his room, which looks even worse than mine, with empty liquor bottles littering the tables and floors, and a discarded pair of pink lace panties hanging from one of the door knobs.

  “I brought that blonde up here after ye left. My God, the woman had my balls tighter than a-”

  “The point,” I growl out.

  “The fecking condom broke.” He drops his face to his hands and moans again.

  I wince. “Shit.”

  “Felt the fucking thing snap, but it was too late. Spilled my full load inside of her.”

  “Where is she?” I glance towards the bedroom.

  “Gone. I freaked. Probably scared the hell out of her. She ran out of here, half dressed. God, what if I got her pregnant?”

  “Ye’ll deal with it.”

  “I don’t even know the girl’s name. Emma, Emily, Amelia…shit.”

  “If she’s staying here in the hotel, the concierge might know what room she’s in. Ye can take her to one of those clinics tomorrow and get her the pill.”

  “Because the media won’t be all over that,” he bites out sarcastically, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. “And even if I could, I don’t think she was staying here. She mentioned something about a hostel. I didn’t even know they had those anymore. I mean who the hell wants to share a room with a bunch of strangers?”

  In true Shane fashion, his brain is already veering off track.

  And the men worry about me being trouble.

  I shake my head at him. “The likelihood of her even being pregnant is slim. And if she is-”

  “She’ll come after me for money.”

  I breath a heavy sigh, because I know he’s right. Over the years, there’ve been more than a handful of chicks that begged me not to wear a condom, and I knew their motivation. A kid meant child support payments, or a big payout.

  “Don’t freak out until ye know for sure there’s something to freak out about.”

  “I know. But I felt it in every bone in my body the second…” He lops back on the couch and groans again. “I’m fucked.”

  “At least ye still have beer,” I say, pulling two out of his mini-fridge.

  He groans, taking it.

  “At least she was a half decent lay.” He clinks his bottle to mine before tipping it back and draining it.

  How the man doesn’t have a few dozen brats running around with his face already is beyond me.

  I stay with him for another two drinks, until he’s half-passed out and mumbling about some chick he’d been with after a show in Delaware.

  By the time I get back to my room, I know my chances with Bree are shot. I don’t even know what time it is, but I’m pretty sure it’s closer to morning than midnight.

  I’m not surprised to find the lights out.

  But the door to the bedroom is open in invitation.

  Her small frame is curled up on one side of the bed.

  Even though I know I should leave her be, there’s no way in hell I’m sleeping on the lumpy pull-out couch. My white knight has his limits.

  The mattress dips as I lay down beside her, and she stirs.

  “Everything all right?” she asks sleepily.

  “Yeah.” I lay on my back and place one arm behind my head, staring up at the moonlit ceiling.

  “Good,” she mumbles, seemingly undisturbed by me lying next to her.

  It feels…right. But then, I wonder how I’d feel if I’d been in Shane’s predicament tonight.

  Shit, he knew the woman he’d slept with as well as I know Bree, and yet there’s a chance that the woman will come back, kid in tow.

  One night, one mistake, and your whole world can be flipped upside down. And hell, if I don’t feel like my own foundations have been shaken a little tonight.

  “When do ye meet yer family?” I ask into the darkness.

  She hesitates before answering quietly. “Tomorrow. They’re staying here in the hotel.”

  Silence fills the room, and she seems to vanish somewhere inside her head, or maybe she’s fallen back to sleep.

  I glance over at her. She’s curled on her side, facing me, eyes closed, her hand resting under her cheek. In the dim light, I see the ink on her inner wrist. The tattoo is small, but I recognize the Celtic symbol immediately. The Dara knot. A fleeting memory flickers at the back of my mind, but it’s too faded to catch hold of, and exhaustion trumps my curiosity.

  I’ll ask her about it tomorrow.

  Because after tonight, one thing’s for certain, there will be a tomorrow with her.

  Chapter 6

  Bree

  I wake to a heaviness pressing down on my chest. My heart beats wildly until I remember where I am, and whose hulking arm is draped over me like dead weight.

  Owen.

  He’s lying on his stomach, and has somehow managed to position himself in the middle of the bed, arms and legs sprawled like a starfish. If I shift even one inch, I’ll be rolling onto the floor.

  I don’t want to move. I just want to continue to lay here, and breathe in his male scent, revel in the heat of his body, let my imagination roam for just a few minutes longer.

  Until I remember that he doesn’t know who I am.

  Maybe he doesn’t have to.

  I can still leave. My cousins don’t even know I’m here. I can still avoid the humiliation, the anger I know he’ll have when he realizes who I am.

  But I didn’t just come here for him. For this. Whatever the hell this was.

  My body still aches in disappointed need from his abrupt departure.

  Damn. I messed things up good, and I’ve been here for less than twenty-four hours.

  I need to run. Maybe not out of Ireland, but at least away from
the man beside me. One kiss, and he’s already got me feeling things I have no right feeling.

  Adrenaline is my drug of choice. That, and caffeine. A brisk jog always clears my head. Followed by a Starbucks double espresso with half a sugar. It’s my daily routine. Helps me start my day, see things more clearly. Not that my brain has ever been in this type of mental, desire-induced fog before.

  Removing his arm from my chest, I slink out of bed, then stand there for a moment, taking him in.

  I’m pretty sure he came to bed fully dressed, but at some point, in the middle of the night, his shirt came off. Unlike the ink that marks his arms, his back is clean of tattoos, a blank canvas of tight muscle.

  Rock god perfection.

  I sigh, then let the hundred what ifs float around in my brain for a few dangerous seconds.

  Not going to happen, I remind myself. He’s Owen Gallagher, and I’m…well, I’m me. It’s not that I’m one of those self-deprecating women who can’t see her own beauty and talents. Sure, I had a bit of an ugly duck syndrome during high school, but I got over it pretty quickly when boys started to show interest.

  I know exactly what I am. And what I’m not. And I also know when I’m clearly over my head.

  Like right now.

  But I have no one but myself to blame, since I’m the one who took the plunge.

  I unzip my suitcase, and pull out a pair of sneakers, hoodie, and shorts, then change quickly, and sneak one last glance back at Owen, who’s still fast asleep, before leaving.

  The streets of Dublin are quiet, peaceful.

  Home.

  The feel of the uneven cobblestone under my feet brings back memories of an uncomplicated life. I zig zag through the narrow walkways in the Temple Bar area, crossing Wellington Quay so that I’m jogging east along the Liffey River.

  The city is clean, the buildings a mix of old and new. So different from cookie-cutter-shaped homes I’ve become used to. The city is vibrant, even when it’s asleep. Colorful buildings, mixed with modern, unique designs that anywhere else would look out of place.

  It’s the bridges that fascinate me. Scattered every few blocks down the Liffey, each one is different. Some allow vehicles to pass across, others are just walkways, but each one is unique.