Page 3 of Taming Irish

How pathetic isthat?

My pulse, which is already racing at a perilous speed, quickens then stops when I glanceup.

I finally take a good look at the stranger whose arms I’m currently wrapped in. The face that stares back at me is a dangerous combination of arrogance and warmth, strewn across rough, masculinefeatures.

Like I already assumed, he’s gorgeous. But not the clean-cut, all-American good looks that Chad boasted. No, this guy is good looking without even trying. All rough edges, dark, with a cocky, lopsided grin that promisestrouble.

And trouble is the last thing I’m looking for rightnow.

Releasing one of my arms, the man drags a palm across the dark scruff that coats his jaw, and my gaze follows the movement as his fingers rake back the hair that’s fallen over his forehead, exposing a silvery scar that cuts through one brow towards hishairline.

“I…” Words get stuck in mythroat.

“Ye what?” Sage eyes, rimmed with a darker green, twinkle with humor as they study me, and a grin pulls at the corner of his fulllips.

Lips that beg to bekissed.

I feel myself leaning intohim.

Shit.

What am Idoing?

“Sorry,” I mutter, dropping my gaze quickly, but when the plane jerks again, my hands instinctively reach out, palms flat on his stomach, to steady myself. I can feel the hard ridges of his abs through his shirt, the way they bunch and tense beneath mytouch.

Oh my God. The man isripped.

He reeks of sex. His voice. His easy, relaxed movements. Even his scent – rich, earthy, and masculine. And I have no doubt he’d be good at it. Hell, after the drought I’ve been in, he’d probably be mind-blowing.

I lift my gaze to his, knowing I’ll regret it. And I do, when I see the look in hiseyes.

Dark.

Intoxicating.

Promising pleasure – and the resultingheartbreak.

I know men like him.I marriedone.

He’s danger and trouble and all the wonderfully wild and perilous things I should know better to stay awayfrom.

He chuckles low, then leans down and says softly in my ear, “Ye ought to be getting back to yer seat. Captain’sorders.”

I tremble as the musical lilt of his voice races across my skin, sending goosebumps skittering across myflesh.

“I would if you let me go,” I say stiffly, struggling to put my defenses backup.

He chuckles again and leans closer so his breath is warm against my ear. “It’s ye who’s still holdingon.”

I glance down at my hands that are currently fisted in his shirt.I let go abruptly, heat rising up my neck into my cheeks. Spinning around, I don’t look back, despite the warm laughter that follows me all the way to myseat.

Once my buckle is securely fastened, I close my eyes and breathe through the anxiety that has my throatconstricting.

“Damn planes,” I mumble. “Damnmen.”

I feel movement in the chair beside me. “Do ye always talk toyerself?”

Even before I open my eyes I know thatTroublehas followedme.

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