Page 41 of Wild Irish

I sit on the edge of the pier wall and watch her from the distance as she stands at the edge of the ocean, feet buried in the sand, staring out towards the setting sun.

Her long, dark hair whips around her shoulders, and she’s wearing my old leather jacket over her sundress. I pull out my phone and take a picture, wanting to capture the moment, and the day, to have some small piece of her, even if it’s just a picture on my phone.

She’s just a woman, asshole, my brain growls out over the emotions that stir in my chest. A woman who’ll be gone soon. Fuck, we don’t even live on the same continent.

I’m confusing lust with something more, that’s all it is.

“You’re going to miss it,” she says over her shoulder, the oranges and purples of the sky illuminating her face.

So goddamn beautiful.

I pull off my boots, and roll my jeans above my ankles, then hop from the wall.

She leans back against my chest when I come up behind her and wrap my arms around her waist.

“I’ve never seen a sunset over the ocean before. It’s incredible.”

I tighten my grip, and bury my face in her hair, inhaling her scent.

Mine.

She exhales softly as the last of the sun dips below the horizon. “I wish…”

“What de ye wish, love?”

She turns in my arms, then wraps her hands around my neck. “I wish I could stay here longer.”

“How long do ye think ye’ll stay?” I can’t control the tightness in my chest.

“Once I get the car thing straightened out...” Her gaze drops to my chest, brows drawn down. “I’ll go home after that.”

That’s what I was afraid of.

“Then ye better enjoy what little time ye have left.” I tilt her chin up and grin down at her. “Forget the list. I’ll show ye the best of Ireland.”

“I think you already have.” Her fingers trace the outline of my scruff, and a small smile tugs at her lips.

Damn, the emotions that she makes me feel.

I kiss her hard, devouring her like a starving man. Needing to replace the ache in my chest with something far less dangerous. Desire.

She makes me forget the world around us. Makes me forget why I don’t trust people, why I keep my emotions safely hidden behind a wall of cynicism.

A deep chuckle rumbles behind me before a familiar voice calls out my name, “Cillian Gallagher.”

Pressing my forehead against Delaney’s, I exhale and try to gather what’s left of my sanity, before turning to the group that’s walking toward us.

Patrick Murphy, the lead singer of O’Mulligans, grins as he approaches.

“Now, there’s trouble.” I take his hand and he pulls me to his chest, slapping my back.

“What’s the craic?”

“Feck all, and yourself?”

“Doin’ fine.” His gaze goes to Delaney, and his eyes widen in appreciation. “And ye are?”

“Delaney. It’s nice to meet you.” She allows him to take her hand, but he holds it a little longer than necessary, and I feel a growl rumbling in my throat.

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