The Mighty Quinns: Riley. Kate Hoffmann
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you then. Unless you’d like to come down and have lunch. Your rent includes a meal a day. The pub serves lunch and dinner, but I could probably find you breakfast as well.”
She circled around the bed, her hand running along the contours of the iron bed. “I think I’ll unpack first. And then maybe take a nap.”
“A kip,” he said. “That’s what we call it here.”
“A kip,” she said.
Riley chuckled. “There you go. Well, when you’re ready, just follow the road down to the village and you’ll find us at the end of the street right near the water. The Speckled Hound.”
“All right. And later we’ll have our driving lesson?”
“We will.”
They stood, staring at each other silently for a long moment. Nan held her breath, wondering what was going through his mind. Was he thinking about kissing her again? And if he did, would she be able to keep herself from kissing him back? She waited, hoping he’d try. When he stepped toward her, she released her breath in a soft sigh.
“About what happened earlier …?” he murmured.
She nodded. “Uh-huh.”
“I probably shouldn’t have done that. I was just having some fun.”
“You’ve kissed a lot of girls just for fun?”
He nodded slowly, his gaze still fixed on hers. “Yeah, I have.”
“You’re very good at it.”
He chuckled softly. “I get my share of practice.”
“And is there a girl—a special girl—that you kiss more often than other girls?” Nan asked. “Maybe one that you’re going to be kissing for the rest of your life?”
Riley chuckled. “No. There was, but …”
His voice trailed off, leaving her curious. “But?”
“She took off a few years ago. She wanted a wee bit more out of life than a part-time barkeep and a singer with a mediocre voice could give her. She lives in Galway now with her husband.”
“Then you’re free to kiss anyone you want.”
“That I am,” Riley said. He took another step closer. “Would that be an invitation?”
Nan drew a deep breath. She wanted to scream her answer. Yes! Kiss me again, throw me down on the bed, rip off my clothes. “I’m not sure. If it was, would you accept it?”
“Well, why don’t we just give it a try?” He reached out and smoothed his hands around her waist, then drew her closer. His mouth came down on hers, softly at first. And then his tongue traced a path along the edge of her lips and Nan opened her mouth, her tongue meeting his. She was already familiar with his taste, but she wasn’t expecting the rush of desire that coursed through her.
Suddenly, the kiss wasn’t enough. She wanted him to touch her, to pull her body against his, to overwhelm her with his own need. She splayed her fingers against his chest, his body all hard muscle beneath her touch.
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,