Page 11 of Tempting Irish

“Ye can thank me by telling me yername.”

“My name?” There’s no doubt now that he doesn’t knowme.

“Yedohave one, don’tye?”

“I…”

Dark eyebrows raise inexpectation.

“Bree,” I whisper, holding my breath. Giving him the name I’ve been going by since I moved to the States. One less thing for the kids at school to tease me about. Because I found out very quickly that Beatrice wasn’t an ordinary American name. And the best thing you can be at a new school isordinary.

“Bree,” he repeats, taking my hand and pressing my knuckles against his lips. “I’m OwenGallagher.”

“I know who youare.”

He grins like he expected asmuch.

Half the world knows who he is now. But no matter how famous he got – the magazine covers, and TV interviews, the songs that topped the charts – he’d always be the boy that consumed my dreams. The boy who’d made me believe in white knights and fairytales. The boy who gave me hope when I hadnone.

The boy who broke his promise, and broke myheart.

He tilts his head and leans against the door frame, hands in the pockets of his ripped jeans, gray eyes studying me with a curiosity that has me wondering if there isn’t a part of him that remembers. That I meant even a fraction to him as he did tome.

His mouth opens like he’s going to respond, but instead, his expression changes to the broody, intense look he’s often photographed with. “Ye should have that shower. Ye look like ye’re frozen to thebone.”

I am, but I also don’t want him toleave.

“Thanks.”

He nods. “I’ll leave ye to it,then.”

I don’t realize I’m holding my breath, until the bedroom door shuts behind him, and I let it out in one long whoosh. Because I know that if he asks me, if I’m given the choice, there’s only one way this night will end. With Owen between my thighs, and my heart once again claimed by the only man who ever heldit.

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