Page 46 of Tempting Irish

He sits down on the couch and picks up his guitar, strumming his fingers over the strings while finishing the last of hisbeer.

“Do ye still play?” Setting the beer on the table in front of him, he starts to pick out a fewchords.

“No.”

Nimbly, his fingers play over the strings, creating a melody I haven’t heardbefore.

“What about the piano? Ye were always good atthat.”

When I don’t answer, he looks up at me, while still playing and I lift my shoulders and let themdrop.

“When I’mable.”

He tilts his head, his gazequestioning.

“I had an injury.” I lift my right hand. “It left me with some nerve damage andarthritis.”

“What kind of injury?” His gazenarrows.

I pick up the beer and uncap it. “Why so manyquestions?”

“Why so manysecrets?”

I take a deep sip. “It’s not a secret. I just don’t like talking aboutit.”

“Seems like there’s a lot ye don’t like talkingabout.”

“Do you pry this much witheveryone?”

“No.” He stops playing, and frowns atme.

“Right. You’re just worried I’m here to cause trouble for youall.”

He puts the guitar down and stands. “I don’t think those are yerintentions.”

“How kind of you,” I say, not trying to hide the sarcasm that drips from myvoice.

“But I get the feeling trouble findsyewherever yego.”

He’s not wrong. “And you want me to stay away…from Emer, from you, from myfamily.” I throw the last word out, knowing it’ll hit anerve.

His jaw clenches and he’s silent a moment. “No. Ye belong here.” He moves towards me. “I just want to know more so I can protect ye when the troublecomes.”

“I don’t needprotection.”

“I think ye do.” He reaches out and brushes his knuckles across my cheek, down the curves of my neck. Energy sparks at the light contact, and my heart leaps in mythroat.

A flutter of uncontrolled nerves stirs in my belly, and I bite my bottom lip to contain myreaction.

His eyes, his body; they tell me he wants me. But every word out of his mouth contradicts what I think Iknow.

The man confusesme.

Maybe I’m so desperate for him that I’m deluding myself, believing his touch is something it’snot.

“What are you doing?” I saybreathlessly.

He drops his hand, a frown pulling at the edges of his lips as he takes a step back, dragging his fingers through his hair and breathing outroughly.

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