It was obvious from the way he slowly seduced her with his mouth that he knew exactly what he was doing. He kissed her exactly the way a woman would want to be kissed, deeply and romantically, and Nan did her best to keep up.
Riley turned her around and pressed her back against the wall of the bedroom, catching her hands and pinning them on either side of her head. Nan felt vulnerable, exposed, her desire evident in every ragged breath she took. Her heart slammed inside her chest, blood rushing through her veins and setting every nerve afire.
When he finally stepped back, she nearly collapsed onto the floor. She’d never really been kissed like that before. Was it an Irish thing? Did Irish men practice more than American men? Or had she just spent too much time with men who didn’t really know what they were doing?
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She swallowed hard. “Yes.”
He cupped her cheek in his hand. “I’m going to leave you now. I’ll see you later?”
“Yes,” she said. Strangely, one-word answers were all she could manage.
He gave her one last kiss, then strode out of the room. Nan stood numbly against the wall and listened as the car started outside. The sound of the engine faded into the distance and it was only then that she allowed herself to breathe normally.
Stumbling to the bed, she quickly sat down, clutching the quilt in her fingers as she tried to regain her composure. Oh, she’d had a lot of expectations for this vacation. But she’d never once dreamed that this would happen. She pressed her fingertips to her lips and closed her eyes, instantly recalling how incredible he was. Then with a groan, she flopped back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling.
Her mind was racing, trying to put order to her thoughts. This was how Heathcliff had kissed Cathy, how Rhett had kissed Scarlett. It was epic in its sheer sexual power. It was pure fantasy. And she wanted to experience it, again and again, until she’d had enough.
Was this why her mother had found Ireland so enchanting? Maybe Laura Daley had come to Ireland and had a wonderful romance, swept away by an Irish boy with dark hair and sexy blue eyes. And maybe they’d had to part, their desire impossible to satisfy with an ocean-and half a continent-between them.
Nan scrambled over the bed, crossing her legs in front of her, and rummaged through her carry-on. She found her camera and flipped it on, then held it at arm’s length and took a picture of herself.
The photo came up on the display screen and she studied her image. She didn’t look any different than she had when she left home yesterday. Her hair was still the same dark, short-cropped style, and her skin was still impossibly pale. Maybe she was just more attractive to Irish men than American men.
Her stomach growled and she pressed her hand to her belly. She should have been ready for a nap, ready to recover from a case of jet lag. But instead, Nan felt energized. She threw open her suitcase and pulled out her shampoo and soap. She’d take a shower, get dressed and walk down to the village for a late lunch-with Riley.
With a laugh, she jumped off the bed and stripped out of her clothes. “I love Ireland,” she murmured. “And I adore Irish men.”
2
“WHERE THE BLOODY HELL have you been?”
Riley tugged off his jacket and stepped behind the bar. He grabbed an apron from the drawer and tied it around his waist. His cousin Martin glared at him from beneath a shock of spiked magenta hair. When he wasn’t hauling Riley’s gear or setting up a show, the twenty-two-year-old had worked at the pub and managed to find something to complain about every day of the week.
It was well past the lunch rush and only a few patrons were still sitting inside the dimly lit pub. Riley had decided to take a detour after dropping Nan off at the cottage, grabbing a quick shower and shave at his flat above the pub before coming downstairs.
“I told you, I had to run up to Shannon and pick up that lady who booked the cottage.”
“Your car’s been parked out front all morning. How did you get there?”
“I took the Fiat. I needed to buy new tires for it. You made it through lunch on your own, so what’s your gripe?”
“My gripe is these three bastards sitting at the bar,” he said, pointing to the Ballykirk barflies, affectionately known as the Unholy Trinity. “They got every last penny of me tips, shiftless eedjits.”
“You know better than to gamble with them. They’re notorious cheats. And you’re far too gullible.”
This caused a vigorous protest from the elderly trio-Markus Finn, Dealy Carmichael and Johnnie O’Malley. “Oh, change the boy’s nappy there,” Dealy teased. “He’s nothing but a mewling babby, that one.”
Riley held out his hand and wiggled his fingers. “Give it up, boys. I’ve never known you to play a game of chance without fixing the odds squarely in your direction. Was it the marked cards or the loaded dice?”
They reluctantly dug into their pockets and pulled out handfuls of coins and bills. Martin scooped up his tips and shoved them back in his apron, then wagged his finger at the old men. “You’ll not be doin’ that again. I won’t fall for your tricks.”
He strode off to the kitchen in a foul temper, the three men chuckling to themselves. “We’ve got to teach the boy,” Johnnie said. “Every time you take Martin to Dublin, that band of yours robs him blind.”
“Never mind the lad,” Markus said, waving his hands. “Tell us about this lady you picked up, Riley. Dealy here has been suffering under a long, painful dry spell. Is she pretty? Or does she look like Johnnie’s bulldog?”
“Dealy won’t care,” Johnnie said. “Without his eyeglasses, he’d fall in love with a milk cow. But he does like a girl with some meat on her bones.”
“You don’t know what I like,” Dealy said. “And I don’t need you watching out for my romantic interests.”
Riley picked up a rag and wiped the wooden bar in front of them, picking up their half-finished pints of Guinness as he did. “I don’t think she’ll be interested in any of you bounders. She’s young. My age. And far too pretty for the lot of you.”
“Oh, now that makes things interesting, doesn’t it, boys?” Markus crowed. “Riley, here, has a possibility. I don’t believe he’s had a possibility for four or five months. Who was his last possibility? That sweet little blonde from Glengarriff, wasn’t it?”
“Oh, I remember her,” Dealy said. “She was lovely. Beautiful breasts.”
He was in a sad state when the entire town of Ballykirk knew the last time he’d bedded a woman. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had opportunities. Being a musician had its advantages, especially when you worked late nights at pubs filled with drunken girls. But he just hadn’t met anyone lately who interested him.
“You know, there is no law that says I have to serve you,” Riley said. “If you insist on antagonizing the help here, I’ll put you out on the street. Now finish your Guinness and get the hell out of my pub.”
“Last time I looked, this was still your da’s pub,” Markus said.
“And we were just going to have ourselves a game or two of darts,” Dealy said.
Riley sighed. The three pensioners spent most of their midday at the pub, sandwiched between fishing in the morning and endless games of dominoes outside the green grocer in the afternoon. The routine was repeated every day except Sunday, when they all went to church in the morning and spent their afternoons at family dinners with their grown children.
“If she comes in here, I expect you three to behave yourselves. There’s no need for you to be telling tales for your own amusement.”
“Well, what’s she doin’ here if she doesn’t care to socialize?” Markus asked.
“She’s here to see the sights. Her mother stayed in the village years ago and she’s come to visit some of the same places.”