Page 3 of Naughty Irish Liar

They were shiver inducing and trained on me, like a hunter would hold a gun.

Deadly andawareof my every step.

Those eyes punctured through me and didn’t waver, not for a second. Not even when a guy came up on his right-hand side and spoke closely to his ear. I watched his mouth move, bringing out words from those lush—viciouslips and still his gaze didn’t leave mine.

There shouldn’t be any reason for the way my insides jumbled up together, tying each organ to my racing heart—but you see, I was looking at the asshole I naïvely fell in love with five years ago…so I was a little out of my comfort zone.

Five long years I’d waited to look him in the eye as an equal—as a badass woman and let him know I was here for him.

Ronan MacNamara.

My everything.

My agony.

The man who had ruined me for any potential boyfriend ever working out.

The main reason I was a virgin, because no one measured up to the flamed feelings he brought out in me.

Oh, yeah, I hated him as much as I loved him, because for a long time I’d wanted to move on from the memory of Ronan. To lose him in a sea of other pretty faces, and yet he always came back. He’d permanently ruled over my heart when I’d tried to remove all trace of him.

What do you need to know about Ronan MacNamara?

He’s a tall boy. Six feet two to be exact. I know this because in my fawning crush back when I first met him, I’d asked all the important questions; age, height and favorite color. (green)

An origin to Dublin he now lived and owned three Irish bars around New York,MacNam’swas synonymous to all things Ireland and success. I couldn’t click on a lifestyle blog without seeing a glowing review for one of his pubs.

He’s not overly muscular. His body is long and ropey strong. He carried himself arrogant and confident, like he was always sure where he was going, and people best just get the fuck out of his way. Clothes always looked perfect on him. Even now in dark-wash jeans with a studded belt, a sweater rolled up his forearms, along with the scuffed worn boots he made my heart skip several beats. That was before I reached his stubbled face, full kissable lips. His haircut had changed from the last time I’d laid eyes on him. Now it was that modern nineteen forties cut, shaved around the sides and swept off to left on top. God almighty, he’d grown even sexier in the interim. His face was ridiculously handsome.

Ronan was a big deal. And not just to my former pubescent heart.

I just didn’tknowhim all that well. Not the person he was inside, I didn’t know about his thoughts or ambitions, or even his family. Only as far as my long-ago infatuation went and that was mostly softcore daydreams and spying on him through blinds when he came by my house.

But what I knew of him now?

He was a liar.

A sexy, gorgeous, no good Irish liar.

And that’s not me tarring a whole nation with the same brush. I love everything Irish, especially potatoes and Riverdance.

I just know the man I love to be a liar is all, and I firmly believe a woman deeply in love can call her man all the names under the sun if she wants to.

The flapping birds in my belly didn’t give me a respite when I forced my feet to keep moving. Fixated on the turbulent tummy motion just to save my mind from going to dark places that involved his lips and mine.

The expectation now that it was here in front of me tasted weird on my tongue.

Not unfamiliar, but new and dangerous and a tiny bit terrifying.

With no clue how the next few minutes would go, I knew only that I’d come this far and nothing short of a natural disaster was making me turn around.

My stomach was flipping and flopping and generally being a damn nuisance.

Looking at Ronan from across his pub while crowds of people milled around us, his killer blue eyes all over me like gold on a leprechaun, I shuddered inside and willed time to stand still so I could just go on staring at him.

You get nowhere in life if you didn’t take chances, my dad would say. Me chasing down a man? I’m guessing daddy didn’t mean for me to interpret it that way.

No amount of scowling asshole was going to stop me.

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