The Mighty Quinns: Riley. Kate Hoffmann
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and a T-shirt and a leather jacket hid wide shoulders. Dangerous, she thought to herself. And wild. And slightly disreputable. Not the kind of man she was usually attracted to. So why had her breath suddenly left her body? “No,” she murmured. “I—I don’t smoke.”
He groaned, shaking his head. “Oh, you’re one of those.”
“Those?”
He shook his head. “Americans. Now you’re going to tell me all about the health hazards and how secondhand smoke affects everyone and how—”
“No!” she interrupted, insulted by his assumption. This always happened to her. People assumed that as a librarian, she was fussy and prudish and hyperorganized. But this man didn’t know she was a librarian and still he was judging her.
She was on vacation. No one knew her here. She could be whoever and whatever she wanted and she didn’t want to be that person who shushed students at the library and told them they couldn’t have sex in the stacks. She wanted to be worldly and adventurous and maybe even a bit alluring. “I just don’t carry matches because I don’t smoke. And I rarely have need to start a campfire or … light some dynamite. And if you want to kill yourself, I’m not going to stand in your way.”
He stared at her for a long moment, an odd look on his face, her attempt at humor falling flat. Then he chuckled. “Sorry. I’m a little touchy. I gave up the cigs a year ago but when I find myself getting irritated or tired, I go back to old habits.” He broke the cigarette in half and tossed it to the curb.
“Isn’t that littering?” she asked.
“I prefer to call it minding my health.”
She stepped off the curb to pick up the discarded cigarette. But an instant later, he grabbed her arm and yanked her out of the way of a fast-approaching taxi. The taxi tires screeched and she screamed, slamming hard into his chest as she stumbled.
He held tight, pulling her away from the traffic, his body warm and hard with muscle. She drew a deep breath and the scent of his cologne teased at her nose. Though he was a complete stranger, she felt safe in his arms. In truth, she felt more than safe. She felt alive, every nerve in her body tingling with excitement.
“Careful now,” he said, his voice soft, his concerned gaze scanning her face. “I can’t be saving your life all the time. And it wouldn’t do to get yourself killed your first day in Ireland.”
Nan’s heart fluttered. They were close enough to kiss. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek. His gaze shifted and suddenly, she felt as if he could read her thoughts. Embarrassed, Nan pulled out of his embrace, straightening her jacket and trying to remain calm.
Though there’d been men in her life, she’d never felt such an immediate and intense reaction to any of them. But then, most of the men she dated didn’t look like this one—drop-dead gorgeous. “Thank you,” she said, forcing a smile.
“’Twas nothing any other Irishman wouldn’t do for a beautiful lady,” he teased, his brogue more exaggerated.
Nan glanced nervously down the line of cabs. Had he just called her beautiful? She’d always prided herself in an absolute objective assessment of her strengths and weaknesses, and beautiful was not a term she usually applied to her appearance. He was beautiful. She was ordinary.
“Are you looking to hire a cab?” he asked.
“Do you have a cab?” Maybe now that they’d struck up a conversation of sorts, he’d agree to take her to Ballykirk. “Is that taxi yours?” she said, pointing to a cab idling at the curb.
“No. The bloke who drives it just went inside to use the loo. I’m watching it for him, in exchange for that cig you made me toss.” He paused. “Are you looking for a ride?”
Nan nodded. “Someone was supposed to meet me here, but I think he may have left. My plane was late.”
“Husband?”
“No,” Nan said.
“Fiancé?”
“No!”
“Boyfriend, then.”
“No, just a ride.”
“Well, then, my day has just taken a turn for the better. I’d be happy to give you a ride. I was supposed to pick up some old lady and drive her to Ballykirk, but she never showed.”
Nan gasped. “That’s where I want to go! What a coinci—” She stopped, then regarded him suspiciously. “Are you Riley Quinn?”
The grin faded and he raked his hand through his hair. “Oh, shite,” he muttered. “I’ve stuck my foot in it now. You’d be Nan Galvin?”
“I would be her,” Nan said. He assumed she was an old woman? What had she ever said or done that had given him that impression? “You were supposed to wait at baggage claim with a sign.”
He held out his hands and shrugged. “I figured I’d recognize you when you came out. But you’re not old. I expected some lady with white hair and spectacles and sensible shoes.”
“Why, because I’m a librarian? That’s just silly stereotyping and I—”
“No,” he interrupted. “Well, partly. But there were … clues. You sounded old.”
“We’ve never spoken. We’ve only emailed. How could you possibly guess my age from a few emails?”
“I don’t know. You write old. And you just seemed so …”
“So what?”
“So … prissy. Not in a bad way, mind you. Your spelling was perfect and your emails were so organized and precise.”
“They were not!” In truth, they probably were. Nan prided herself on proper grammar and spelling. It was a professional responsibility that spilled into her personal life.
“You requested that I provide a premium brand of toilet tissue. And that the house be clean of all insects, spiders and bugs, living and dead. I’d call that finicky. Besides, you said you’d wanted to visit the land of your ancestors before you died, so I put two and two together and came up with … well, definitely not you.”
Nan held fast to her temper. It wouldn’t do to make this man angry now. He was her only mode of transportation. “You did say you’d meet me at baggage claim. And you weren’t there. That’s all I’m saying.”
“I got tired of waiting. I’ve been standing around here for two feckin’ hours waiting on you.”
“I was supposed to arrive three hours ago.”
“Well, I was running late. I’ve got things to do today and I’m wasting my time searching for an old lady who doesn’t exist. I have to get back to the pub.”
“I’m sorry to keep you from your late-morning drinking,” she snapped. Yes, he was sexy, but he also could be a bit of an ass.
“My family owns a pub,” Riley explained. “I work there, along with my brothers.”
“And you run a guesthouse?”
“It doesn’t take much running, but, yes, I do that, too—plus lots of other things. Like driving demanding tourists home from the airport.” He shook his head. “You could have told me you were a fine bit of stuff.”
Though she should have been insulted, Nan’s irritation suddenly vanished and she smiled reluctantly.
“‘Stuff’? What do you mean by that?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m saying,” he replied. “You’re beautiful, so don’t get your knickers in a twist if I call you on it.” Riley reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, then handed it to her. “There’s your name. Come on. Spilt milk. I’m in the car park.” He grabbed