Page 1 of Taming Irish

Chapter 1

Makena

Turbulence makesthe plane jolt and the lump in my throat expand. Squeezing my eyes shut, I breathe in deeply, trying not to think about the thousands of feet that separate the tin can I’m flying in from the Atlantic Oceanbelow.

Breathe,Makena.

I take in a lungful ofair.

The plane is relatively empty, and the few passengers that are scattered around the cabin are either sleeping or immersed in the tiny screens in front ofthem.

We’ve only been in the air for a few hours, which means it’ll be at least another four before we land inDublin.

I hate flying. Always avoided it every chance I could. Sure, I’ve read all the literature, heard the same speech multiple times about how it’s the safest way to travel. But nothing, not even the three stiff vodka and sodas I had before the plane took off, have eased the mounting pressure inside myskull.

It’s not just the flight I’m stressed about. It’s my whole damn life.More specifically,the relatively rash decision to do a house swap with a woman I’ve never met, and move to Ireland for sixmonths.

A small groan rises in my throat, and more anxiety tightens mychest.

I’m really doingthis.

The contracts are signed, and there’s no going backnow.

My cousin, Quinn, was the one who convinced me to do it. She’s always been the adventurous one, a little bit crazy and whole lot wild, just like her brothers. I always wondered if them sharing the last name Savage had influenced their behavior. God knows my cousins are as different from me as a Habanero pepper and apotato.

And I’m thepotato.

It’s hard growing up as a Fraser in a small town full of Savages. I never really found my place. Never fit in. At least, not until I met Chad. Then, I wasn’t just plain, boring old Makena. I was more.I was his. We had it all. The whole cliché. Prom King and Queen. Voted most likely to get married and live happily everafter.

Bullshit.

My chest tightens like it always does when I let my mind wander to the man who stole my heart, then shredded it into a thousand tiny, irreparablepieces.

He’s the reason I finally made the decision to leave Port Clover. To get as far away from him and his new, very pregnant wife as possible, as well as all the other prying, overly sympathetic eyes, always eager to share every tidbit of gossip they couldfind.

My stomach does another set of somersaults when the plane jolts again, but no one else seems to be disturbed, and the seatbelt sign remainsoff.

You’re being paranoid, Makena, my brain reprimands, repeating the words that Chad used to say whenever he’d come home late, smelling of women’s cheap perfume. But I hadn’t been paranoid. I’d been right. And I’d learned a valuablelesson.

Men can’t be trusted.Any of them. And promises will always bebroken.

A deep, masculine laugh, followed by a woman’s giggling, pulls my gaze towards the half wall that separates business class fromeconomy.

The sound, and everything it implies, does something to me. It stirs a need in my belly that I haven’t felt in years, and at the same time raises all mydefenses.

It’s not that I’ve sworn off men completely. Although you wouldn’t know it from my non-existent love life. But I have sworn off relationships, which has put a real damper on my sex life. Because much to my cousin Quinn’s dismay, I just haven’t been able to do the whole meaningless sexthing.

Not that sex was ever great with Chad. But he’s the only man I’ve ever been with, and there’s something terrifying about being with someone else. It’s not that I’m a prude like Quinn seems to think.What I am is acoward.

More laughter drifts down theaisle.

The cabin lights have been turned low, and in the shadows, I make out the hulking frame of a man’s back as he whispers something into the stewardess’ ear. Even in the dim light, I can see the way the pretty blonde’s eyes roll appreciatively down his chest, then back up to his face, her fingers lingering on the dark ink that covers his forearm when she toucheshim.

The two of them are about ten feet away from me, and though they barely touch, the way he leans in, suggestively, I feel like a voyeur in a game that will most likely end with the two of them slipping into one of the lavatories and joining the mile-highclub.

The man’s voice, deep and melodic, carries across the cabin, but I can’t make out his words. He lets out another low, rumbling laugh. A sound that goes straight to mycore.

Damn.

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