Page 13 of Tempting Irish

Rubbing the back of my neck, I cough. “Thought I’d order apizza.”

I meet her gaze, the ache in my balls only intensifying when I see the matched desire in her eyes. I place a hand on the doorframe and watch her gaze go to my bicep, then roam across my chest, down my abs, resting for a split second on the bulge between my legs, before she quickly looks away, tongue darting out across her plump lowerlip.

We stand there for a moment, the heat between us more intense than I’ve felt in a longtime.

I don’t know what it is about the woman. Sure, she’s hot. A raw mix of innocence and strength. But there’s something about the way she looks at me that stirs more than justarousal.

Take her, my cockbegs.

A year ago, I wouldn’t have thought twice. I’d have had her laid out on the mattress, my face buried between her legs, until she was crying out, pleading for my cock. But something in the back of my head warns me the girl is more than just a quicklay.

I can’t explain the protectiveness that stirs in my chest. It’s a stark contrast to the primal urge to possess every beautiful inch of herbody.

It isn’t until I hear her small moan, feel the heat of her breath on my lips, that I realize how close I’ve gotten to her. Her mouth parts in expectation, her breath hitching, heat radiating off her body in waves, temptingme.

“What do ye want, sweetheart?” I rasp, praying she’ll answer with a simpleYou.

Shedoesn’t.

Her eyes widen, and she sucks in a trembling breath, as a hint of fear washes over herexpression.

Shit.I pull back, straightening my shoulders, and breaking the connection. Fucking white knight winningagain.

“On yer pizza.” I pull my cell from my back pocket, and start to dial my favorite Dublin pizzeria. “What do yewant?”

“Oh.” Her tongue darts across her bottom lip. “Anything…exceptmushrooms.”

Her nose scrunches up slightly when she says the last word. I don’t know why, but I make a mental note of theaversion.

I relay the order to the guy on the other end of the receiver, watching Bree as she moves to her luggage and flips through it. I think about grabbing a shirt while I’m in here, but the way her eyes keep drifting to my chest when she thinks I’m not paying attention, I decide againstit.

“Should be here in thirty minutes,” I tell her when I finish thecall.

She gives a smallnod.

When her gaze locks on the ink that covers my left arm in a sleeve, I ask, “Ye haveany?”

“What?” She blinks up atme.

“Tattoos.”

There’s a slight hesitation before she answers quietly. “One.”

My curiosity begs me to push, not only because I want to see the ink she seems almost ashamed of, but because I want to know it’s meaning, what caused the sadness I’d seen in her eyes before she turnedaway.

Her thumb rubs at her other wrist, drawing my gaze down to the coin-sized, faded markthere.

I’m not close enough to see what it is, but it looks like some sort ofsymbol.

I nod at her. “Does it have meaning toye?”

“I thought it did. But I was young. Stupid.” I swear, there’s a hint of accusation in her eyes, like whatever put the emotion there is somehow myfault.

“We all have one ofthose.”

She keeps rubbing the spot, and speaks with a stoicism that contrasts with the emotion in her eyes. “I did it myself when I wasthirteen.”

“Yerself?” I take a step toward her, more curious than ever to see it, but she drawsback.

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