Page 48 of Taming Irish

Shane chuckles. “Give me sex, alcohol, and music, and I’m the happiest fucker in theworld.”

I shake my head, holding back my own laughter at the man’s candidness. “And that is exactly why I need toleave.”

He shrugs. “We can trek back up the hill, but it’s dark. Might as well stay here for the night and I can take ye back in themorning.”

“You want to sleephere?”

“I want to do a lot more thansleep.”

“I toldyou-”

His lips are on mine before I have time to protest, my body melting into his, already stirring with the pleasure I know he can giveme.

And I’m falling back into his arms. Into his embrace. His kiss. His touch. I give into him. Give him every piece of me, as he breaks through all the inhibitions and reservations I’ve hidden behind my entirelife.

Just sex, I try to warn myself.This isn’treal.

I know the truth, but it doesn’t change the shocking bursts of pleasure that burn and flame within me at his touch. I lose track of how many times his name becomes a wailing moan on my lips. And I’m grateful that there’s no one near us to hear my wild, unabashed cries ofpleasure.

Hours later, curled in a stranger’s arms, in a small shack-like cabin in the middle of a foreign country, for the first time in years,maybe ever, I feel like I’mhome.

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