Page 82 of Tempting Irish

Chapter 25

Owen

It’s lateby the time we get back to my place, but there’s an energy coursing through my veins, permeating every part of my body, and I know there’s no way in hell I’ll be able to fallasleep.

I pull Bree towards me when I lock the front door behind us, pressing my mouth hard against hers. Taking. Demanding. But also knowing that sex won’t satisfy the need that’s twisting in mygut.

Tonight, I needmore.

“Write with me,” I murmur against herlips.

She tilts her head to the side and frowns, then lifts her hand to my chest. “Write?”

“Music. Come play with me. Let’s create somethingtogether.”

Her brows draw up slightly, a flash of something in her eyes that looks like hope. But just as quickly, it’s gone, and she shakes her head. “Can’t. Myhand.”

“I think ye use yer injury as anexcuse.”

“I can’t play. It’s not an excuse. It’sreality.”

“Ye have yer voice, and yer mind.” I tap my index finger against her forehead. “That’s all yeneed.”

“You don’tunderstand.”

“I do. More than ye know.” I’d used my headaches as an excuse not only for being a jackass, but also to stop writing. It wasn’t until a couple days ago, until Bree, that I’d actually found my voice again. “Ye know what else Ithink?”

She sighs. “No. But I have a feeling you’re going to tellme.”

“I think ye’rescared.”

“Of what?” She tries to push me away, but I take her hand and pull her down the hall towards thestudio.

“That ye might begood.”

“That’sstupid.”

“I agree.” I motion towards thepiano.

She rolls her eyes and sits down on the bench, her armscrossed.

Stubborn.I see a glimpse of the child she once was. Always pressing her luck. Takingchances.

I sit down across from her and pick up a guitar, adjusting it as I watchher.

She sighs. “What do you want to writeabout?”

I strum a few notes, watching her. “You.”

“Me?” One eyebrowarches.

“I want to hear the song inside ye. The one that’s begging to getout.”

She grumbles something under herbreath.

“Close yer eyes,Bree.”

“I’mnot-”

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