Page 7 of Tempting Irish
Fumbling with her wallet, she pulls out a piece of paper. “Five, zero, T,two-”
The concierge tilts his chin up at her, looking through narrow slits, and says without even a hint of apology, “That reservation is fortomorrow.”
“I booked it for theeleventh-”
“Which is tomorrow.” He says each word slowly, with more than a touch ofdisdain.
My immediate reaction is to intervene. It’s after midnight, so it’s technically the eleventh. But I’m still holding out hope for the re-stock on my mini-fridge.
“Your room will be ready after twotomorrowafternoon.”
“And what am I supposed to do until then?” There’s a hint of panic in her voicenow.
The man just blinks at her,apathetic.
“Look.” She places her forearms on counter. “I just spent seven hours on a plane, and another hour trying to get a damn taxi, which, after everything, ended up dropping me off at the wrong hotel. I walked another two blocks in the rain, and all I want is a damn bed and ashower-”
“If you’d like to store yourbags-”
The woman lets out an exasperated breath that sounds more like a strangled cry. “I don’t want to store my bags. I want a room.Please.”
“Miss.” Frustration creeps into the man’s tone, and he rolls his eyes at her. “If I had a room to give you, Iwould.”
Even I don’t believehim.
“Fine.” She throws her hands up. “I guess I’ll just walk the streets. But if I get mugged or murdered, it’s going to be all yourfault.”
The man’s face remains deadpan. “You’re more than welcome to sit in our lounge. Breakfast will available in fivehours.”
“Thanks,” she mutters, grabbing her purse, then leaning down to pick up herluggage.
She must not have been aware that I was standing behind her, because she spins around quickly, all her frustration evident in the movement, and collides straight intome.
I catch her elbow to steadyher.
“I’m sorry. I-” She blinks up at me, her mouth parted on the words she was going tosay.
The woman is beautiful. Her face is void of the heavy make-up most women wear. Her skin pale next to the dark strands that have escaped her messy ponytail. Bright blue eyes framed with thick, black lashes blink up atme.
There’s something familiar about her. Something I can’t place. And for the first time in weeks, my cock reacts to something other than my ownhand.
The man behind the counter coughs. “Is there something I can help you with, Mr.Gallagher?”
Red creeps into the woman’s cheeks and she glances away, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. Obviously either recognizing my face or my name, because I can see the star-struck look in her eyes. But somehow, with her, it’s different. Appealing, rather than a turn-off.
“Mr. Gallagher?” the conciergerepeats.
“No,” I huff out, not looking away from the beauty in front of me, even when she takes a step back. Liquor is the last thing on my mindnow.
“Rough night?” I ask, raising an eyebrow, studying the soft lines of her jaw, then dropping my gaze to take in the rest of herperfections.
“I just need a bed. Sleep,” she mumbles, not glancing away when I raise my eyes and catch herstaring.
A heated moment passes between us, and I can barely catch half of the emotions that flicker across herexpression.
The woman intrigues me, pulls at something inside ofme.
Yeah, yer dick, jackass, my brain warns. Despite the girl-next-door vibe she’s giving off, and the innocence in the startling blue of her eyes, trouble emanates from her. Not the kind of bad girl trouble I used to enjoy, but a sense that she’s got more baggage than just the luggage she’sholding.
