Tempting Irish

by C. M. Seabrook

  “I never got a letter from ye.”

  “Yeah. I figured that after I spoke with Emer. I’m pretty sure Frank….” I inhale a deep breath and look out the window, clamping my lips shut, hating how he was able to coax from me the secrets I’d tried so hard to bury.

  “Frank’s the man yer mom married?”

  I nod, wishing I hadn’t mentioned the asshole’s name, because I feel the well burst inside my chest, the need to get out all the toxins I’d been holding in for so long.

  “She left him when I was fifteen. Met some truck driver from Fort Lauderdale. Dave, or Dan, I can’t remember his name. It didn’t last long. I got a call from her a year later saying she’d found her soulmate, that she was setting up a house in Colorado for us. The guy was some top cheese CEO.”

  “She left ye?” I hear the incredulity in his voice, mixed with a hint of anger.

  I shrug, like it wasn’t the thing that broke me most. “There was always some new guy. The one who would finally make her happy.” I close my eyes, suddenly feeling drained, both emotionally and physically. “Never did see Colorado.”

  I didn’t hear about the car accident until her body had been cold in the ground for weeks. I’d managed to get away from Frank by then, even though he’d tried desperately to keep me under his thumb as a way to still have some control over my mother.

  Not that it worked. She didn’t care enough about me to come back. Not for threats. Not for the surgeries I had to repair the damage to my hand. She chose love over her daughter every time.

  “Bree.” Owen’s voice filters through the haze of dreams and memories. “We’re here.”

  I blink, shifting in my seat and stretching the stiff muscles in my neck. “I fell asleep.”

  “I know.” His expression is soft, and he gives me a crooked smile. “Ye were snoring.”

  “Was I?” Embarrassment burns my cheeks.

  He chuckles and opens his door. “Come on.”

  Dense trees line the property, hiding the one floor, dark gray stucco ranch from the road and any neighboring houses.

  “Do ye know where ye are?” he asks, watching me as I get out of the car.

  I shake my head.

  “This is the old Fraser property.”

  “Really?” I glance around, recognizing nothing. But then, even an Irishman could get lost in these parts, where every hill and field looks the same.

  He pulls my bags from the back and carries them towards the door, then punches in a series of numbers in the alarm pad.

  Ivory-colored granite, dark maple wood, floor-to-ceiling windows. The place looks like it belongs in Malibu, and not in the middle of Ireland.

  “Wow.”

  “Ye approve?” His lips are dangerously close to my ear, and a delicious shiver moves down my back.

  “It definitely has rock star written all over it.” Luxury. Power. Wealth. It reeks of all those things.

  “Not sure if that’s a compliment or not.”

  I shrug. “It suits you.”

  He grunts, turning on more lights, as well as the gas fireplace in the center of the large living room.

  “Come here,” he motions me towards the sliding doors at the back of the house that lead to a wraparound balcony.

  My breath gets trapped in my throat when I step out. The house backs onto the lough that we used to swim in as kids, and the old oak tree, my tree, is only a few yards away.

  “This is why I built it here.” He leans with his forearms on the balcony, looking out. “I always loved this view.”

  “Me too.”

  We stand in silence for a few minutes. His body is close to mine, but not touching.

  “The last time I saw you, I was sitting in that tree.”

  He chuckles. “Ye used to scare the bejeezus out of me, with all yer climbing.”

  “Never fell once.”

  “Ye always were braver than all of us.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “It is.” Gray eyes study me. See me. “I think ye still are.”

  I glance away from his searching gaze, feeling like he’s peering straight into my soul.

  “I hated that my mom made me move away,” I say, looking back at the old oak. “But mostly, I hated leaving you. I know it was just a silly crush, but…”

  He captures my wrist, then roughs the pad of his thumb across the tattoo there.

  “I drew this on yer wrist that day.”

  I swallow hard and nod, his words placating some part of me. Even though the moment—the gesture—hadn’t meant the same to him, he still remembered.

  “I believed you.” Butterflies take off in a mad frenzy as he brings my wrist to his mouth and brushes his lips across the faint lines. I let out a shuddering breath. “Everything you said. About family and roots. About music connecting me to my home.”

  “I don’t know what happened to ye.” He places a palm on my cheek. “What demons ye’re hiding. But ye still belong here, Bree.”

  His head dips closer, his mouth parting, breath warm and tasting like the peppermint gum he’d been chewing earlier.

  “Emer asked me to stay,” I say, gauging his reaction.

  “I think that’s a good idea.”

  “You do?”

  “I do.” His smile falters and his lips thin, his brows pulling down. “But not because of me. Because ye need yer family.”

  My chest deflates. “Right.”

  I start to move away, but one solid arm wraps around my waist, pulling me tight against his body. “I’m not saying I don’t want to see where this goes.”

  “We both know exactly how it’ll go.” I place my palms on his chest, craving his touch, but knowing just how dangerous it’ll be, especially if I decide to stay here. “We’ll have sex.”

  “Mind-blowing sex,” he adds, one side of his lips twitching up.

  “We’ll sleep together a few times, until you get bored, or freak out because you’re feeling something for me-”

  “Ye’ve got this all figured out.”

  I nod. “Then, we’ll break it off and we’ll be all kinds of awkward with each other. It’ll put a strain on your relationship with Emer, because she’ll take my side.”

  He chuckles, “Ye think so?”

  “Girls always take each other’s sides.”

  His hands roam down my back, locking my body against his. “So, I guess we should just stay friends?”

  “I thought we weren’t friends.” Ripples of need surge through me. Damn him.

  “If we’re not friends, and we’re not sleeping together, then what are we?” He murmurs against my ear, his callused fingers finding the hem of my shirt and slipping beneath, warm against my cool skin.

  “A dream that I never want to wake up from,” I sigh, melting into him, my body ignoring the warning bells telling me I need to step away before he does more than steal my heart, before he shatters it.

  “Then, don’t wake up,” he growls against my neck as his teeth rake across the sensitive flesh.

  A disconcerted thrill speeds through me.

  “I…I thought I could have just sex with you. But…”

  He tenses slightly, his body rigid. His palms cup my jaw, as gray eyes study me, nostrils flaring, lips pursed.

  “I wouldn’t be standing here if I thought it would just be sex,” he rasps out.

  Unsteady, my heart hammers wildly, my pulse frantic, not knowing what that means, or if it even means anything.

  Gray eyes turn to pitch as he watches me, something primal in his gaze, and I shake beneath the gravity of it, sure that after tonight, I’ll never be the same.

  “Okay,” I whisper, knowing with that one word I’m accepting everything he has to give, even if his everything isn’t enough.

  A blaze of something feral strains his features, and he gives a hard nod, then presses his lips against my forehead.

  “I’ll be back in an hour,” he says, pulling away.

  “You’re leaving?”

  “I
haven’t been here for a few months. I’ve got a cellar full of wine and whisky, but that’s about it. Need to get some food.”

  “I’m not hungry,” I pout.

  He smirks and kisses me hard, then pulls away. “Ye will be when I’m done with ye.”

  Chapter 19

  Owen

  Not tearing Bree’s clothes off right there on the fucking balcony took every shred of willpower I had left. But food isn’t the only thing I didn’t have in the house. And as much as I’d love to take her bare, I’m not chancing the baby fever Aiden and Cillian have signed up for.

  Cradling the brown bags filled with enough food and condoms to last us the three days I plan on holing up here, I open the front door, then shut it with my foot.

  “Bree?” I place the bags on the counter, frowning when there’s no response.

  I know she was exhausted on the ride here, but if she’s fallen asleep, I’ll be waking her up with my face buried between her thighs. I can be a gentleman when I have to, but tonight my inner caveman is beating his chest, demanding I make her mine.

  Trouble. That’s what I’m in. Big time. I’d asked her what she wanted from me. But the truth is, I’m not sure what it is I want from her. I just know I want more. Need more. I want to break through the barricades we’ve both constructed around our hearts and let go.

  I hear the faint sound of music coming from the studio at the back of the house. With the walls insulated and the door sound-proofed, I can still hear the fluttering of fingers over keys, and the soft voice that filters through.

  Slowly, I make my way down the hall and press my palm against the door, opening it a crack.

  My chest constricts at the sight of her profile as her fingers dance, creating a deep, aching melody that sends a shiver down my spine. Her eyes are closed, her face free of the tension that often tightens her features.

  “I would chase the wind. Hell, I’d even settle down. I’d break all my rules to get out of this godforsaken town.” Her voice is a rich, throaty alto, her pitch perfect, tone smooth, despite the unique rasp that gives it an edge that most singers never achieve.

  She’d always been quick to pick up any instrument that was put in her hand, but I never knew she could sing. There’s a rawness to her. An authenticity.

  I know I’m interrupting a private moment, but I can’t walk away. The song wraps around me, gripping something deep in my soul.

  “Damn it.” Her fingers cramp into a loose fist, and she curses, banging the keys hard before starting to massage her hand.

  “Ye okay?”

  Startled, she jumps at my words, spinning on the bench. “I-I didn’t know you were home.”

  I go to her, taking her hand in mine and rubbing my thumb against her palm until I feel the spasm release.

  “How long were you standing there?”

  “Long enough to know ye’ve got some serious talent.”

  Her cheeks flush. “I can’t even get through one song without my hand seizing.”

  “I was talking about yer voice.” I press her knuckles against my lips, then shift her so that she’s sitting between my thighs, her back against my chest and the piano in front of us. “Did ye write that?”

  She trembles against me as I lift my hands to the keys and play a few notes. “Yes.”

  “It’s good.” I nuzzle her ear. “Really good. We could put some strings to it with the band, and record it.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” I cup her chin, twisting her towards me so I have access to her mouth. “Ye sing like that, the whole world will fall in love with ye.”

  Hell, I swear, I already have.

  She holds my gaze, her breath soft against my lips, begging me for a kiss, begging me for things I never expected to want. Not from this girl, not from anyone.

  “Are ye hungry yet?” I ask, needing to break the intensity that pulls between us, making me feel like at any moment something inside of me is about to snap.

  “Mmm,” She licks her lips and grins, then surprises me by wrapping her arms around my neck and spinning around so that she’s straddling me. “Starving,” she whispers against my ear. “But not for food.”

  I chuckle, pushing back the stool, and standing, lifting her with me. “Thank God.”

  Chapter 20

  Bree

  Owen’s mouth never leaves mine as he carries me out of the studio and down the hall, until my back is sinking into a mattress.

  “Ye undo me, Bree,” he says gruffly, holding his weight on his forearms.

  The intense, confused attraction I’d managed to keep somewhat under control, ruptures, heating my blood, and pooling at my core.

  Awareness swells.

  Our eyes lock.

  And I’m falling.

  Or maybe I’ve already fallen.

  I just know there’s no coming back from this.

  He pushes himself up so that he’s kneeling between my thighs and tugs his shirt over his head.

  My eyes soak him in. Every line. Every muscle.

  Wide shoulders. Coarse, rigid muscles that define his chest and arms. The dark patch of hair that disappears beneath his jeans.

  Magnificent.

  I suck in a breath as I let my eyes wander over the ink sketched across his arms, each symbol telling a story I want to know. My fingertips trail across his abs, up his chest, as I sit up to meet him. With slow, precise movements, he starts to undress me, teasing me with a grin as he flicks the button of my jeans open.

  This.

  Now.

  Us.

  It’s what I’ve been waiting for, even though I know the end will be my heart’s destruction.

  Owen’s mouth trails a line of kisses across my hip bone, then my stomach, his fingers both soft and demanding.

  My shirt and bra are discarded on the floor, and he takes a moment to study me, his fingers tightening in my hair, as he lets out a deep, guttural moan.

  “Never had a chance,” he mutters, running a palm down my lower back and pulling me tight against him, his mouth capturing my own in a blind assault of lips, tongue, and teeth.

  I gasp against his mouth, fingers gripping his shoulders, as he flips me back against the mattress, his hips rocking against mine.

  “Owen,” I beg, my breasts heavy and tingling when he palms one, and twirls his thumb around the nipple.

  Oh God.

  He smiles against my mouth, levelling me with a look that matches my own desire. I arch my hips, rubbing against the hard length of his cock behind the denim that separates us.

  My breath comes out in a rush when he pulls back, his fingers deftly removing my pants and underwear, so that I’m bare to him.

  A flood of insecurities hit me. But only for a moment, because it’s hard to be insecure when a man looks at you like he’s ready to devour every inch of your body.

  His mouth caresses the inside of my thigh and heat burns straight to my core. My hips jerk in anticipation. He grips my thighs, holding me open, and drags his tongue across my seam to my clit.

  I gasp, my fingers diving into his hair as he teases my opening with a finger.

  “Please,” I whimper, needing more than the gentle touches he’s giving me. Needing all of him.

  Owen shifts off the bed.

  Standing at the edge of the bed, he shoves his jeans and boxers down his legs, so he’s standing naked in front of me.

  His erection strains towards me, in all its glorious length, and he smirks down at me, like he knows how freaking beautiful he is.

  I soak him in. Every delectable inch. Memorizing every line of his beautiful body.

  Mine, my heart cries out.

  He crawls back onto the bed, his gaze never leaving my face, watching, studying, consuming.

  “Ye’re so damn beautiful,” he murmurs, his rich Irish brogue wrapping around me like an embrace.

  He captures my mouth again. His lips are warm, demanding, and his palms slip across my wanting flesh. Dragging a finger through my wet cent
er, I jerk towards him.

  “Fuck,” he hisses a groan, his finger plunging deep inside me, pulling a strangled cry from my throat.

  I hear the tear of plastic, feel him moving as he rolls the condom over his cock, and I shiver, an overload of sensations blazing through me, infusing every cell in my body with heat.

  “Bree,” he croons against my lips, the thick head of his cock nudging against my opening. “Ye want this?”

  More than anything.

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  He fills me with one hard thrust and I let out a small cry.

  Falling.

  Drowning.

  Flying.

  My body stretches, a slight burn of pain as I adjust to his size. But he doesn’t give me much time before he pulls out, then plunges back in, to the hilt.

  He unravels me with every touch, every thrust, every kiss. Heat blazes like an inferno across my skin.

  Waves of ecstasy.

  Pleasure coils inside me. My head swims in the bliss, my body riding the tide of revelry.

  His movements are frenzied, wild. And I match him, my hands grasping, touching, memorizing every part of him.

  He breaks our kiss, fastening his gaze on me, his gray eyes stormy with the desire that rages between us. Every caress pulls me deeper, every thrust sending me tumbling further over the edge.

  “So damn beautiful,” he rasps, his fingers fisting in my hair.

  Intensity rises between us. Desperate. Feral. I see it in his eyes. The connection. His lust, my love, wrapping us up, and making us one in this moment.

  I shatter beneath him, bursting into a million quivering pieces.

  “Owen,” I cry out, holding on to him as desperately as I want to hold on to this moment.

  “My God, Bree.” He says my name with reverence. Like it means something. Like I mean something.

  With a strangled grunt, his body goes rigid. He shakes and jerks before collapsing on top of me, gulping for air.

  We lay together, panting, and I cling to him, his forehead pressed against the side of my face.

  I don’t want to move. Can’t move. Just want to stay here forever.

  After a few minutes, he peels himself away, and shifts his legs over the side of the bed, discarding the condom, then lays back beside me, raking back the hair from his damp forehead.