Chapter 5

Laine

Hannah was right about the Jimmy Frances Pub. Coming in the front doors, it appears to be an Irish pub like any other: the polished shine of the brass draught taps, the pitted wooden bar stretching along the side wall, the Celtic soundtrack playing over the speakers, and the rich scents of ale and pub fare thick in the air.

But the fun she mentioned is further back.

From where I'm sitting in the restaurant, I've been privy to watch the parade of folks shaking their money-makers to the upbeat music that's been keeping this place rocking all night.

I don't know if I have the energy to check out the dance floor tonight, but I'll be back. If not for dancing, at the very least to try more of their menu and to people-watch.

Since I got here, I've devoured my steak boxty, and am looking at the bottom of my second glass of wine—which is delicious and going down way too smoothly.

"Can I get you another?" Ginny gathers my empty plates and waits for my answer.

Normally, I wouldn't have a third if I wasn't safely tucked away at home, but I'm here to give Mom an Irish sendoff, so tonight I'm drinking for the both of us. "Sure. I'd love another. Thanks."

"Comin' up." As Ginny passes the bar, I notice a ruggedly handsome man sitting on the stool past the draught taps.

He's looking my way, and I'm instantly sucked in by piercing green eyes and ebony stubble gracing a square jawline that could've been chiseled by one of the masters.

Huzzah! Welcome to Ireland.

I realize I'm staring a moment too late, and he dips his chin and offers me a crooked smile before going back to his conversation with the bartender.

A rush of embarrassment hits. He probably gets ogled all the time by locals and tourists alike.

I catch my reflection in the glass of the picture beside me and groan inwardly. Even after sprucing up, the walk here left me looking like a drowned rat who hasn't had a shower in the last day and a half.

Oh, right. That's because I haven't.

I blame jet lag because normally when I go out, I don't look like a dumpster fire.

Do my clothes even match? Thankfully, yes.

The thought of being disheveled is both foreign and exhilarating. From the first day I started law school, I left my meager beginnings behind me and dressed the part for high-powered success.

Sleek and sophisticated, I walked the walk and talked the talk. It was a classic case of ‘fake it ‘till you make it' and when I drew the eye of Marco Moneta, got married, and started working at Billings, Moneta, & Whyte, I thought I had made it.

A knife of guilt twists in my belly, and I push it away. Why am I even thinking about this?

I came here to leave all that behind me.

Ginny delivers my glass of wine, and I frown as she sets it down in front of me.

Ah…that's what's stirring all this up.

Maybe a third glass isn't a good idea after all.

"Did I get it wrong?" Ginny stares down at the table. "You did say you wanted another, didn't ye?"

I wave away Ginny's concern and accept the drink. "I did, but this is my limit. Please cut me off."

She chuckles. "Aye, I'll do that."

Left to myself, I make a concerted effort to slowly sip at my wine, while I scroll through a couple of the local attraction brochures I found at the entrance. At the same time, I work to keep my wandering eyes from drifting to the man at the end of the bar.

Tall and athletic, he has the cuffs of his steel-blue button-up turned back on his arms to reveal an art gallery of tattoos. You can also see them peeking out from the ‘V' of exposed skin on his chest at the neck of his shirt.

His hair is dark and long enough to curl off the back of his neck and beside his ears. And by the way his shoulder and arm seams on his shirt are straining, there's no question he's physically fit.

He is devastatingly hot and even more attractive, because he obviously knows it.

And he's waaay off my radar.

I may want a little bite in my bed, but Mr. Magnetism over there would devour me.

I beat down the warmth fluttering low in my belly and frown at my wine. I should've stopped at two. It's been months since I got laid and though my girl parts are weighing in heavily toward a bad boy for a great night, it's not a good idea for several reasons.

One: Mom and I just got here.

Two: I'm not in a good headspace after Marco.

Three: I need to make better choices here, so I don't end up in the same mess all over again.

Sadly, reminding myself of the truth does nothing to dampen my sex drive.

Fine. I'll drink in his sex appeal and then unpack my battery-operated-boyfriend when I get back to the inn. Bob and I will spend some quality time together and I'll save myself a lot of morning-after embarrassment.

Hilarious. I'm imagining a morning after, and the man didn't even express an interest.

With my mind in a wine-spinning scramble, I accidentally look up and our eyes lock.

Wow. Just…wow.

Hit with all that sculpted masculinity, the air is sucked from my lungs. I've dealt with successful men for years, but this man exudes strength and unrelenting power.

The waitress cuts off my view as she steps between me and the bar. There's a tension in her expression that wasn't there before as she hits me with a nervous smile. "At the risk of putting my foot in it, you might not want to go there, girlfriend."

She holds my gaze for a moment and waits until I nod my understanding.

"Right. You're definitely right. Can I get my bill?"

"Aye, let me take these dishes to the kitchen and then I'll meet you at the bar to settle up."

"Perfect. Thanks."

While she hurries off, I twist to grab my purse and get Mom set safely inside. By the time I pull my coat on and slide my card free from my wallet, the fog of sexual promise has lifted, and my sanity has returned.

I cast a quick glance toward the end of the bar and exhale a sigh of relief to find the space empty.

Excellent. That will make getting out of here without making a fool of myself much easier.

"Enjoyed yer dinner, did ye, duck?" the burly bartender asks as I lean against the pitted surface.

"Very much, thank you. I'll definitely be back."

"Glad to hear it." He gives me a quick nod and then moves to serve someone flagging him down at the far end of the bar.

Movement close by has me smiling up to greet Ginny, but it's not her…

Mr. Magnetism stops right beside me and pegs me with a heated gaze. "Yer not rushing off on my account, are ye?"

His voice is deep and smoky, with a rasp that resonates inside me and makes me think of sex.

Amazing sex.

Honestly, with that Irish lilt, if he leaned in and said something dirty, I might orgasm right here and now.

He's put his suit jacket on, and the impact of the custom fitted Tom Ford hits more than a few of my hot buttons.

"Would you like another glass of Merlot?"

I tighten my grip on the strap of my purse and shake my head. "No, thanks. I've had enough for one night…unless the pub actually is spinning in a dreamy buzz. If so, then I'm probably fine."

He chuckles, a faint dimple denting his right cheek. "What about a coffee?"

"Too late in the day for me, thanks."

"Tea then." Shifting closer, he enters my space and I step back until my lower back is pressed against the bar rail. He angles himself to press his palms on each of my hips. His aftershave envelopes me. It smells expensive but doesn't mask the musky scent of the man entirely. "And maybe something a little sinful for dessert?"

Wow. This man knows how to use his body and with him so close, I'm about to spontaneously combust.

"Sorry to interrupt." Ginny glides along the inside of the bar and presses a bill folder toward me. "Yer all set. Will it be cash or charge?"

My Irish charmer takes a step back and I turn to face the bar. Better. I place my card on top of the folder and push it toward her. "Just throw it on there."

He reaches around me and the moment he presses his hand over mine, an electric sensation zings up my wrist and through my body.

It raises the hair on my arms and emboldens things in me I'm trying to rein in.

What the hell? How drunk am I?

I yank my hand back but I'm caged in.

His liquid green eyes have darkened with a storm I can't quite read. Why? Did he feel it too?

He clears his throat. "The lovely lady's dinner is on the house, Ginny."

I glance from him to my server and wave the offer away. "Oh, no. You don't have to do that."

"No, I don't have to—I want to. And if you ask around, you'll find I generally get what I want."

I swallow. "I don't doubt that's true."

He flashes me a devilish grin. "It's settled then. Ginny will bring a selection of tea to the office, and I'll get the chance to find out what brings you to my fair city."

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

Well, hell, what do I do now?