Tempting Irish

by C. M. Seabrook

  I arch against him, tugging at his shirt, needing to remove all barriers between us.

  Large hands snake under my shirt, pulling it off and tossing it to the floor. He unhooks my bra, sliding it off, then leans back to take me in.

  My breasts tingle under his observation, nipples hardening, aching.

  I’ve never felt so beautiful in my entire life as I do beneath his hungry gaze.

  Intensity billows between us, and he fists his hands in my hair, his gray eyes fastened on me. “I see ye, Bree. I see all of ye. Don’t hide from me.”

  I whimper, his words filling a place inside me I didn’t even know was empty.

  He pulls out a condom from his pocket, something he seems to always have on hand, and tears it open with his teeth, as I fight against the material of his jeans, pulling them down over his hips so that his erection springs free.

  I suck in a breath, my fingers gliding over the silky skin, then sink to my knees in front of him.

  “Bree-” he growls out my name, his voice a rasp, fingers fisting in my hair as I swirl my tongue over the swollen head of his cock. “Jeezus.”

  I take as much of his length into my mouth as I can, feeling his muscles tremble. His eyes are steel, watching me with the dizzying lust that burns through me like a wildfire out of control.

  “Come here,” he demands, lifting me. He rolls the condom over his cock, then grips my ass, hoisting me up.

  I tremble, bracing myself for the pleasure as he rocks into me.

  For a moment, he goes still, his forehead pressed to mine.

  The connection between us is more than just sex. I can feel it. His emotions spin and swirl, mixing with my own.

  I suck in a dizzying breath. Our mouths, bodies, and hearts collide. My pulse beats wild and erratic.

  Wanting.

  Needing.

  This.

  Us.

  Forever.

  Stupid girl, my brain reprimands. But I don’t care. Not right now, when my body and soul are flying, soaring through a haze of euphoria.

  He devours me.

  Consumes me.

  Fills me.

  “My God, Bree. Ye undo me,” he groans against my lips as he thrusts inside me, burying himself to the hilt.

  A choked sob of pleasure releases from the deepest part of my soul, and I come undone.

  His body shakes with his own release as we sink to the floor.

  Spent.

  Shattered.

  And I know that whatever happens next, I’ll never be the same again.

  Chapter 23

  Owen

  The Crow’s Head is packed when I lead Bree into the dimly lit pub. I would have much rather spent our last night before going back to Dublin in bed, but I have business to deal with here.

  I hate that we have to go back. And I wouldn’t, if it wasn’t for Emer and Aiden’s reproduced wedding. I wouldn’t go anywhere for a long time if it meant having Bree in my bed every night, and waking up to her every morning.

  “We won’t stay long,” I say, leaning down and placing a hand possessively on her waist when I see curious gazes turn our way.

  “It’s fine. This place is amazing.” She smiles up at me, and my heart twists in my chest, because I wasn’t kidding when I told her yesterday that I see her. I do. Every beautiful, broken piece of her. And I don’t want to let her go.

  “Jeezus, Mary, and Joseph,” a deep brogue yells from across the bar. “If it isn’t Owen fecking Gallagher. Thought ye arseholes were still on tour.”

  Patrick Murphy half hugs me and slaps my back when he approaches.

  “Patrick,” I growl out, bringing my palm down on his own back with equal force, making him laugh.

  I don’t believe for a second that he doesn’t know our tour is over. There’s always been a healthy dose of competition between Wild Irish and his band, O’Mulligan. I know he follows us, just like I follow him. That, and the fact that we’d sold out the entire Aviva Stadium.

  All of Ireland knows we’re home.

  “Tour finished in Dublin last week.” I tilt my chin at him, a smirk pulling at my lips.

  “Ah, right.” He winks, confirming what I already knew. “I may have heard something about it.” Not one to miss a pretty face, his gaze dances over Bree, and he raises an eyebrow. “And who do we have here?”

  I place my palm on her hip and pull her towards me. “Bree Walsh, this is Patrick Murphy, lead singer of O’Mulligan.”

  “Hi,” she says shyly, a touch of awe creeping into her voice, which irks me. “I love O’Mulligan. Have all your albums.”

  “Really?” Patrick pushes his way between us and wraps an arm around her shoulder, then starts to lead her to a table in front of the stage. “You’re in luck. Because we’re playing tonight.”

  Ignoring the knot of jealousy that forms in my throat as I watch him touch her, I grunt, “That’s actually why I came here.”

  Patrick raises a brow at me, while pulling out a chair for Bree to sit down.

  “Now that Wild Irish is done touring, Shane and I have been mulling over the idea of starting our own label.”

  “Ambitious,” Patrick says, sitting beside Bree and motioning the bartender to bring drinks.

  “With O’Mulligan and Wild Irish together, it could really be something.”

  Patrick leans back in his chair, one arm resting behind it. “Have ye got any other talent signed up?”

  A grin tugs at my lips, and I glance over at Bree. “Haven’t signed her yet, but I’m working on it.”

  Bree stares at me for a moment as if she doesn’t realize I’m talking about her, then her eyes widen and her mouth parts. “I…”

  “Ye must be pretty special to have caught this arsehole’s eye,” Patrick leans towards Bree, one brow cocked, interest and curiosity flashing in his eyes.

  Bree’s cheeks turn a shade of red. “I…I’m not…”

  “Ye sing?” Patrick asks.

  She nods. “A little.”

  “She’s being modest,” I say, which earns me a frazzled look from Bree. “She can write, too.”

  “Now ye really have me intrigued.” Patrick pushes his chair back and takes her hand, pulling her up. “Let’s hear ye.”

  “What? No. I can’t.” Bree looks to me, horror in her eyes, but Patrick has her up on the stage, before she can protest more.

  He picks up his guitar, then says something in her ear, which makes her give a tentative nod, before taking the mic he hands her.

  “How are ye all doing tonight?” Patrick says into his stand-up mic. “We’ve got something special for ye. This pretty lady here has agreed to sing for us. Please give her a warm Irish welcome.”

  The room erupts in cheers, and Bree pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and sucks in a visible breath as Patrick starts to strum out the first few chords of an old Irish ballad.

  I can feel the tension rolling off her as she starts to sing, and I hear the nerves in her voice, but even so, she enraptures the room with a soft rasp during the first verse. By the time she hits the chorus, there isn’t a soul in the pub whose gaze isn’t locked on her in awe, Patrick being one of them. I see the appreciation in his gaze, and I know I wasn’t wrong about her. She has something special.

  Just one more reason I don’t want to let her go.

  My cell vibrates, and when I pull it out of my pocket, my manager’s number pops up on the screen.

  Standing, I move towards the back of the pub and answer the call.

  “I have the information you asked for,” Kevin says.

  “And?” I glance back at the stage. Bree is smiling now, clearly enjoying herself as Patrick joins her for the last chorus.

  “Want to tell me why you’re interested?” Concern rolls through the phone.

  “Not really.”

  He sighs. “All right. Well, your girl is pretty clean.”

  My girl. I swallow past the knot in my throat.

  “No debt. But she doesn’t have a penny to
her name. If you’re worried she’s after your money-”

  “Don’t care about that.”

  Another sigh. “She’s moved around a bit. Held a bunch of waitressing jobs. Couldn’t find much in terms of relationships. Seems to be a bit of a loner. No criminal records. Not even a speeding ticket…”

  I hear the but in his voice.

  “Tell me.”

  “Doesn’t look like you’re the only one looking into her. There’s a law firm in Michigan that’s been trying to track her down for months.”

  “Do ye know what they want?”

  “No.”

  “Find out.”

  “Is the girl going to be trouble for you?”

  I glance back at the stage.

  “Yeah. But not the way I initially thought.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means, I want ye to do everything in yer power to make sure whoever is looking into her isn’t going to be a problem.”

  I end the call and make my way back to the table, just as Patrick is helping Bree from the stage.

  “That was fun. Thank you,” Bree says, her face flushed.

  “Ye weren’t kidding,” Patrick says. “Yer girl has serious talent.”

  My girl. There it is again. Is she mine? Hell, every fiber in my being wants her to be.

  I nod. “She does.”

  “Ye better sign her fast before someone else comes along.” I hear the hidden meaning in his words, and I know he’s not just talking about her music career.

  “I plan on it.”

  Chapter 24

  Bree

  Being on stage, performing in front of all those people, was exhilarating. I’m still vibrating with the adrenaline rush as Owen and I make the long drive back to his place.

  “I wish we could stay in Sligo for a few days,” I say, smiling as I take in the last of the sunrise falling behind the hills. I’d forgotten how beautiful the west coast is.

  “We can come back after the wedding.” He doesn’t look at me when he says it, but I hear the promise in his words.

  My heart rate speeds up a bit.

  Does he want me to stay?

  Even if he does, I can’t. Shouldn’t.

  “My flight leaves on Monday.” I say the words quickly, hating that I have to leave already.

  He’s silent, but I see his jaw clench, his knuckles whitening around the steering wheel.

  “I wasn’t joking when I said I want to sign ye. Ye’ve got a lot of talent, Bree.”

  Is that what this is about?

  I shrug and look out the window into the darkness, thinking about his offer.

  Could I do it? Sing. Write songs. Perform.

  It’s what I always dreamed about.

  But what about Frank and this damn lawyer that’s after me? I need to keep my head down. Stay low. And pray that whatever the man wants, he’ll eventually lose patience and give up.

  Or, maybe I should just face my fears and confront him.

  “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think it’s for me.”

  “Ye already told me it’s what ye want. What ye’ve been dreaming about. What’s stopping ye?”

  “Nothing,” I lie. “I just don’t want that life.”

  He raises a brow at me. “And what life is that?”

  “Being in the spotlight. Always worrying about…”

  “Worrying about what?”

  “What people think of you.”

  He grunts. “Ye learn not to care.”

  “Have you?” I challenge. “You’re the one that was worried I’d bring trouble to your image.”

  “I was protecting my family, not my name.”

  I don’t know why, but frustration swells in my chest. “Right.”

  He gives me a side glance, frowning, but he doesn’t say anything. We drive in silence for a long time, both caught up in our own thoughts.

  I pull out my phone when it buzzes with a message from Emer.

  Hope you’re having fun with Owen. Signed with a winky face.

  I tap a message back. Enjoying Ireland.

  Immediately, it buzzes again. Good. Maybe you’ll stay.

  A mix between a smile and a frown tugs at the corners of my lips, because I want to. Want to believe in everything that’s happened the last few days.

  Maybe, I text back. Maybe if I’d made a million different choices. Maybe if I didn’t have a jackass stepfather who’d made it his life’s mission to make mine a living hell. Maybe if I wasn’t in love with the man sitting next to me.

  “Everything okay?” Owen asks.

  My chest tightens. “Yeah.”

  He surprises me by reaching out and taking my hand, threading his fingers through mine.

  Maybe, my heart beats wildly. Maybe I really can come home.

  Chapter 25

  Owen

  It’s late by the time we get back to my place, but there’s an energy coursing through my veins, permeating every part of my body, and I know there’s no way in hell I’ll be able to fall asleep.

  I pull Bree towards me when I lock the front door behind us, pressing my mouth hard against hers. Taking. Demanding. But also knowing that sex won’t satisfy the need that’s twisting in my gut.

  Tonight, I need more.

  “Write with me,” I murmur against her lips.

  She tilts her head to the side and frowns, then lifts her hand to my chest. “Write?”

  “Music. Come play with me. Let’s create something together.”

  Her brows draw up slightly, a flash of something in her eyes that looks like hope. But just as quickly, it’s gone, and she shakes her head. “Can’t. My hand.”

  “I think ye use yer injury as an excuse.”

  “I can’t play. It’s not an excuse. It’s reality.”

  “Ye have yer voice, and yer mind.” I tap my index finger against her forehead. “That’s all ye need.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “I do. More than ye know.” I’d used my headaches as an excuse not only for being a jackass, but also to stop writing. It wasn’t until a couple days ago, until Bree, that I’d actually found my voice again. “Ye know what else I think?”

  She sighs. “No. But I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”

  “I think ye’re scared.”

  “Of what?” She tries to push me away, but I take her hand and pull her down the hall towards the studio.

  “That ye might be good.”

  “That’s stupid.”

  “I agree.” I motion towards the piano.

  She rolls her eyes and sits down on the bench, her arms crossed.

  Stubborn. I see a glimpse of the child she once was. Always pressing her luck. Taking chances.

  I sit down across from her and pick up a guitar, adjusting it as I watch her.

  She sighs. “What do you want to write about?”

  I strum a few notes, watching her. “You.”

  “Me?” One eyebrow arches.

  “I want to hear the song inside ye. The one that’s begging to get out.”

  She grumbles something under her breath.

  “Close yer eyes, Bree.”

  “I’m not-”

  “Close yer eyes,” I say again.

  She glares at me, before obeying. “Fine. They’re closed.”

  “Good.” I chuckle. “Now, go to the spot inside ye, the place that’s raw, vulnerable. Feel it. See it. Hear it.” I play a few chords softly, waiting as I watch some of the tension ease from her features. “What do ye want to say, Bree?”

  She lets out a low breath. “I don’t know…I can’t-”

  “Don’t worry if the words don’t make sense. Just let them flow. Let the emotion carry ye.”

  Her brows draw down, but her eyes remain closed. “Owen-”

  “Let go.”

  She sucks in a breath, and starts to sing. The first few words are soft, almost inaudible, but as she finds her voice, the words fill the small room, vibr
ating off the walls and hitting me square in the chest.

  “…memories fade and branches break, but home still calls my name…”

  I change the chords to accompany the melody she pulls from the deepest part of her, slowing the pace to match hers.

  “…can’t go back to broken promises…can’t believe in new dreams…unless you’re there to catch me when I fall…”

  A tear slips across her cheek, but she doesn’t brush it away.

  I let my own words mix with hers. “Tell me it’s worth waiting for…”

  She blinks, her lips trembling, but her voice doesn’t falter. “Not sure what I’m fighting for…”

  “Hold ye up. Won’t let ye fall…”

  “Branches break...”

  “New trees grow…”

  More tears stream down her cheeks and she chokes out the last few words. “I’m coming home…”

  Raw.

  Haunting.

  The song, even after the last chord has been struck, and the last note sung, moves inside of me.

  We sit in silence for a moment, before I put my guitar down and scoop her into my lap, then seal my mouth over hers.

  “That was…”

  No words.

  A smile edges at the corners of her mouth.

  God, the woman has undone me.

  It’s terrifying to realize how much I actually care about her, how much she matters to me.

  I’m not ready to give her up.

  Not yet.

  Maybe never.

  Chapter 26

  Bree

  Dublin.

  I love the city, but being back here only reminds me that I only have a few days left before I have to go home.

  The drive back was ominously silent, both of us lost in our own thoughts. I like that Owen lets me stay in my head at times. That he doesn’t force conversation. But I could tell that when he woke up this morning, something was bothering him.

  I just don’t know what.

  After he carried my bags up to his suite at the hotel, he’d left almost immediately, saying he’d see me at the church.