Page 21 of Taming Irish

“I’m worried aboutyou.”

“And I’m not like you. I don’t need a guy to make mehappy.”

“Wow.” She pouts at me through thescreen.

It’s my turn to apologize. “I didn’t mean it likethat.”

“I know what you meant. And I’m not telling you to jump into another long-term relationship. Just go have somefun.”

“Sex.”

She laughs. “Yes. I mean have you Googled Irish men? Holy hell, they’re freaking gorgeous. I mean, look at that guy fromOutlander-”

“He’s Scottish. Actually, I think he’s really British,but-”

“Okay, then Jamie Dornan. The Fifty Shadesguy.”

I’ll admit he’s hot. “Pretty sure he’s from NorthernIreland.”

“I thought that’s where youare.”

“No. I’m in the northofIreland.”

She stares at meblankly.

“Totally different country. Googleit.”

She shakes her head. “Whatever, he’s still Irish. And you’re stillsingle.”

“Andnever dating an actor again, thank you verymuch.”

“How about a musician? I can see if Colleen can set you upwith-”

“Don’t even think aboutit.”

The look that she gives me tells me she has no intention of listening tome.

“I mean it, Quinn. I don’t need you meddling. I’mfine.”

She gives a heavy sigh. “Allright.”

“It’s late here. And I’m still not used to the timechange.”

“I get it, you’ve had enough of my pestering. I need to start getting ready for my date tonight anyways. Some of us actually enjoy having a sociallife.”

“Love you, Q,” I say, before signingoff.

As soon as I shut my laptop, a bout of loneliness creeps into my chest. For the first time since I’ve been here, it hits me how far from home I reallyam.

Standing, I place a log on the fire, then go into the kitchen and pull out the bottle of Chardonnay I bought when I went to the store with Nora, sitting down with my Kindle and begin to flip through my extensive to-be-read list, before settling on an erotic shortstory.

It’s not my typical read. I usually prefer the classics, or even a good mystery. Maybe it’s all the sex talk with Quinn, but my curiosity as well as my body are piqued by the steamyblurb.

Three large glasses of Chardonnay in and a second novella read, I find myself glancing every few minutes at my phone, thinking about Shane. Or rather, fantasizing about him. Those large hands, cocky smile, the way his green eyes roamed hungrily down my body. It wasn’t difficult seeing his face as I read through the sexy parts of both books, wishing I could be as free and uninhibited as Quinn and the heroines in thestories.

I don’t even know the man’s last name. But there’s no denying the chemistry that sparked betweenus.

Call him, my brain screams, which is usually so rational, echoed by ahell yesfrom my body, which hasn’t been quite so inhibited lately. Or, at least not since that sexy, giant of a man woke it up a few days ago from what seemed like an eternalsleep.

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