Page 12 of Tempting Irish

Chapter 3

Owen

Fuck,if I don’t sometimes hate the white-knight complex that seems to guide my every action. And hell, if I don’t want to storm back in that room and show her just howgoodI canbe.

Lately it’s taken a shitload of booze to get me even close to in the mood. But right now, I’m sober as fuck, and I’m pretty sure the friction from my pants alone is enough to have me spilling my seed like a hormonal teenager. Especially when I hear the damn shower start, knowing the pretty little brunette with the soul-crushing blue eyes – and just the right curves to have a man begging for one taste – is naked, andwet, one roomaway.

But there was something in her expression when I looked past the initial lust that warmed her cheeks and had her breath catching every time she glanced my way that had warning bells blaring in myhead.

Reservation.

Hesitation.

A touch offear.

Not the typical response I get fromwomen.

Shit.

My cock strains painfully against my jeans, and I wince, adjusting myself, the migraine from earlier starting toreturn.

I’m beginning to regret not requesting the mousy little concierge to bring me up a re-stock on my mini-fridge, because I doubt I’ll be sleeping muchtonight.

I pull out a pill bottle from my pocket and flip the lid, popping the last two Tylenol in my mouth, and washing them down with the remainder of a half empty Heineken I find among the empty bottles. The warm beer makes me grimace, and my stomach grumbles, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten dinner tonight. Not unless beer and whisky were considered a foodgroup.

A glance in the mirror that’s hung behind the television makes me wince. I rough a hand over the long scruff on my jaw, catching my own bloodshot eyes staring back at me, the dark circles that betray a year of sleepless, alcohol riddennights.

Blaming the rock star life is easy. But I’ve been in this spiral since well before the band took off. And I know if I don’t change something quick, it won’t be long before I hit rockbottom.

And I know the impact will hurt like hell. And not just me. Everyone that cares about me, too. That thought alone has me wanting to pull my head out of myass.

Maybe what I need is avacation.

A chuckle vibrates in my throat at the thought. Because at close to thirty years old, I’ve never taken a damn vacation in my life. Not even as a kid. Sure, there were promises. My mother loved telling Cillian and I stories about all the places we’d visit. Places she’d take us if my father ever got off his lazy ass and made some decentmoney.

I wonder if the man she ran off with ever took her to those places. In a way, I hope she found some kind of happiness, even though she left our family with a gaping hole right at its center. Unlike Cillian, I don’t have any long-standing issues from her abandonment. She was selfish, without a motherly bone in her body, but I’m not jaded enough to think all women are thesame.

But that doesn’t mean I’m willing to roll the dice and lay my chips down on onewoman.

One night. That’s all I ever promise. I know it sounds cold and callous, but the women I bring to my bed know upfront there won’t be any flowers and serenading. I leave that shit to Aiden, andCillian.

I pull off my hoodie and the damp t-shirt underneath it, cursing when I realize my clothes are in the bedroom. Any other girl and I’d be in that hot shower with her. I’m still not sure what the hell stoppedme.

My stomach growls again. Food. That’s what I need to get my mind off the only other thing I want toeat.

When I hear the water turn off, I knock on thedoor.

She doesn’t answer right away, but when the door finally opens, I’m pretty sure all the blood that’s in my head rushes south onceagain.

Bloody hell, the girl isgorgeous.

Blue eyes blink up at me as she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. I can tell she’s trying not to let her gaze drop to my bare chest, because I can see the hint of pink that warms hercheeks.

I’m not as prudent. I let my gaze travel down to the tight, black tank top that’s stretched across her breasts, and stifle a groan when I see her nipples pebble beneath the material. Fuck, she’s not wearing a bra. And I wonder if she’s wearing panties under the satin pajama pants that hug her hips andthighs.

The scent of shampoo fills my nostrils. Dark, damp hair…a tangle of invitation for my fingers to curl into, to tug back, as I drag my teeth across herneck.

“Owen?” My name is a breathlessquestion.

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