Page 92 of An Irish Summer

He leaned back, pulling me on top of him without missing a beat. I pressed my lips to the sharp hinge of his jaw, relishing the way he pushed into me, harder from this angle. I felt each thrust all the way through to my chest, and when I sat up and let my head fall back, I saw stars. He raked his hands up my stomach, settling them firmly on my rib cage before pulling meback to him. The pressure inside me continued to build with each low groan, until I was on the edge of losing all control.

His breath quickened as my legs started to shake, his fingers pressed hard enough into my hips to leave a bruise, and I wanted us to finish just as badly as I didn’t. The night was passing in slow motion, and it still didn’t feel long enough.

“God, Chelsea,” he groaned at the exact moment a cry escaped my lips. I tried to keep my eyes open if only to watch the way his rolled back, but it wasn’t long before I followed him into the dark.

I wasn’t sure how long it was before our breathing slowed and we returned to Earth.

Eventually I pulled his shirt on and settled against him. With my head on his chest, I traced the eucalyptus leaves I’d been staring at all summer. I finally had answers. I knew how Collin’s skin felt under my fingers, how he looked without clothes, what he sounded like in bed. And I knew I couldn’t forget any of it if I wanted to. But at that moment, I couldn’t imagine ever wanting to.

“What’s this one?” I asked, running my fingers over a harp just below his ribs.

“That the harp there, is it?” His eyes were closed, and I was grateful I could stare undisturbed. I nodded against his chest, and he continued. “Another fairy story,” he said, and I could hear his smile. “About the Harp of Dagda.”

“Go on,” I said.

“Dagda was one of the gods,” he began. “Protected his tribe, like. And he had a harp that played only for him. The music made people feel things, you know? Transformed them. Until there was a proper battle with another tribe, and they got a hold of the harp. But eventually Dadga did what he had to do,got it back, and played them to sleep, returning to his tribe having won the battle and guaranteed their freedom.”

“And the meaning of the tattoo?” I asked.

“Aye, telling the story is the easy part,” he said. “The tattoo is just, ah, like a reminder to be more like Dadga. To protect people. To transform them, if I can.”

I sat up on my elbows to look at him. “You don’t sound as confident when you talk about yourself as you do when you tell the stories.”

“Of course not,” he said, finally opening his eyes. “The stories are easy. Nothing personal, just a bit of Irish folklore. Everyone can interpret them however they wish. Telling my own stories isn’t quite the same.”

“Do all the tattoos have a meaning like that?”

“Most,” he said. “The Irish are symbolic people.”

“So I’m learning.”

“And I’m chuffed, Chels. I really am. I’d have hated if you’d spent this entire summer here and not embraced the country at all. It really is a beautiful place.”

“It is,” I agreed, dropping my head back to his chest and nestling back in the crook of his arm, “but I think I love the people more.”

I could feel his smile against the top of my head. “Maybe you Americans aren’t so bad either.”

We drifted to sleep around sunrise, unable to hold off any longer. No matter how hard we tried to fight it, the morning was bound to come eventually.

Chapter 18

I was at the reception desk a few days after my night with Collin when my phone rang. I’d been floating in a heady cloud since then, vaguely disconnected from reality, so the professional tone on the other end of the line came as a shock.

“Good morning. This is Bridgette Gantz, hiring manager at Hotel Blue, calling for Ms. Chelsea Gold, please.”

“This is she,” I said, sitting bolt upright in the chair and trying to make sense of what I was hearing.

“Ms. Gold, hi.” Her deep voice sounded like honey through the phone. “I’m glad I caught you. Do you have a minute?”

“I, uh, yes,” I said, turning on the answering machine and stepping outside. “I do. Thanks so much for calling.” I steeled myself for a rejection. It had been ages since I’d applied for the senior events planner job, and, surely, she was calling to inform me they’d given it to someone else.

“The pleasure is all mine. I want to apologize for the delay in our reaching back out to you regarding the senior events planner position. We had to put our hiring process on hold for some unforeseen renovations, but I hope you’re still interested.”

“I am, very much so,” I assured her automatically, before I could consider the weight of my words. The new plan was onlypursuing jobs I really wanted, wasn’t it? And hadn’t this beenthejob?

“Excellent,” she said, her relief audible. “When will you be back in the country? Given the innately personal nature of our business, we generally do not conduct virtual interviews. We’d love to have you in for an interview on Friday, if at all possible.”

Friday. Three days from today. Three days earlier than I’d planned to leave.

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