Her Irish Rogue

Her door was slightly ajar and he knocked softly. “Miss O’Connor?”

There was no answer. Will peeked inside and found the room empty. He placed the suitcases next to the bed, and turned back to the door. As he did, he glanced into the bathroom and his breath caught in his throat. The door was open just far enough for him to see her lying in the tub.

He froze, unwilling to invade her privacy. But then Will realized she was sound asleep, her arms draped over the sides, her head resting on the edge of the old clawfoot tub as water still poured out of the faucet.

Her pale hair was brushed away from her face and he found himself transfixed by the simple beauty of her profile, her upturned nose, her lush lips. He noticed a tiny sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks. His gaze drifted down, to the soft flesh of her breasts, rosy from the rising water in the tub.

Desire warmed his blood and he fought the impulse to step closer. Innkeepers had certain standards they kept to and spying on a female guest while she was in her bath went way beyond acceptable behavior. But then, what if Sorcha was right? What if this woman was meant to be his anyway?

She stirred slightly, then sighed, her lips parting as she sank a bit deeper into the bath. Will backed up and grabbed the suitcases, setting them closer to the door. When he reached the hallway, he drew a deep breath and leaned back against the wall. If the tub overflowed, he’d have a reason to return, but for now, he’d keep to the hall.

The image of her naked body whirled in his head and he felt himself growing hard at the thought of touching her. Will groaned in frustration. Sure, it had been a while. And there had been the occasional fantasy about a sexy female guest, a beautiful woman with no inhibitions intent on seducing him, the inn quiet and empty, as it was now. But he had never once considered making the fantasy real.

Perhaps she’d only stay for one night. Or perhaps her boyfriend or fiancé or husband would be joining her tomorrow. Besides, he didn’t believe Sorcha Mulroony had even an ounce of mystical power. He’d be polite and accommodating and hospitable to Claire O’Connor. Nothing more.

THE BATH WAS LUKEWARM by the time Claire crawled out. She wrapped herself in a thick cotton towel, then walked into the bedroom. Her suitcases had been placed next to the door, and for a moment, she wondered how the innkeeper had slipped into her room without her noticing.

An image of the man flashed in her mind and Claire recalled her reaction when she first looked into his eyes. There were obviously handsome men scattered all over the world, but somehow, the fates had blessed the Isle of Trall with a truly beautiful specimen. But why was one of Ireland’s most eligible bachelors living here?

She smiled as she sat down on the edge of the bed, wrapping the towel more tightly around her. Back at her job, she’d stared at thousands of images—male models, everyday guys, celebrities—trying to figure out what it was that made one man merely attractive and another devastatingly sexy.

Will Donovan belonged in the latter category. He possessed features that were in perfect balance. He wasn’t pretty, he was gorgeous. And it wasn’t the straight nose or the expressive mouth or the eyes that were an odd mix of green and gold. It was the way he wore his looks, so casually, as if he weren’t aware of the effect they had on women.

He hadn’t shaved in two or three days and it looked as if he preferred his fingers to a comb when it came to fixing his hair. Everything about him was comfortably rumpled, as if he’d just rolled out of bed, even the lazy way he looked at her with half-hooded eyes.

Claire retrieved a bottle of scented lotion from her suitcase and rested her foot on the edge of the bed as she rubbed some of the product over her legs. With any other man, she might not have given him a second thought. After all, it had been just one day since her relationship with Eric had ended. And she’d come to Ireland to save that relationship.

She was in a foreign country, so of course she’d find a guy like Will Donovan…interesting. Maybe even a bit exotic. That accent, the sound of her name on his lips, the way his gaze drifted between her mouth and her eyes. Lusting after another man now would be a waste of precious time. As long as she was here in Ireland, she’d do what she came to do—save her relationship with Eric. After all, she and Eric were meant for each other.

Claire had known from the moment she’d met him. All her life, she had waited for the perfect man. She’d even made a list of all the attributes she sought in a husband and Eric had fulfilled every last one of them.

Careful planning and detailed lists had been Claire’s specialty since she was a young girl. A shrink would probably tell her that it was simply a way of coping with a chaotic childhood. She’d grown up in a tiny three-bedroom house, with five older brothers, and parents who did little to control the boys. It was noisy and messy and she was almost always ignored when competing against their boisterous antics.

So Claire often escaped to her grandmother’s house, where it was quiet and pretty, and she could talk about important matters, like all the things she was going to do with her life. Her grandmother had encouraged her to write it all down in a little journal. “Only when you write it down will it become true,” she had said. Later, as each of her dreams were fulfilled, Claire would tick them off in the journal.

Claire tossed the lotion on the bed and grabbed her bags. As she unpacked, she neatly arranged her clothes in the antique dresser against the far wall. She found her birth control pills in a side pocket and popped one out of the package and into her mouth. She and Eric would be together again. She had to believe that.

As she passed the leaded glass windows that lined one wall, a draft chilled her, goose bumps prickling her arms. She found a match on the mantel and lit the crumpled paper beneath the oddly shaped logs. Warmth from the fire began to seep into her skin and a sharp scent hung in the air. But at the same time, the room started to fill with smoke. Claire realized she hadn’t opened the flue and scrambled to find a knob or a lever.

It wasn’t on the outside of the fireplace and she couldn’t see it on the inside through the smoke. She ran to the window and threw it open, then tore off her towel and began to fan the smoke out the window.

The smoke continued to pour out of the fireplace and Claire realized she’d have to smother the fire to make it stop. She beat at the flames with the damp towel and the fire was nearly out when the smoke alarm went off.

Frantically, she searched the room for the alarm, hoping to disable it before Will Donovan responded. But a moment later, he burst into the smoky room, a fire extinguisher in his hand. Claire screamed and held the scorched towel up to her naked body.

“What the hell is going on?” In three easy strides, he reached the fireplace and smothered the remainder of the fire with foam from the extinguisher. He turned to her, a look of concern etched on his face. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Claire said. “I just—why would someone lay out a fire and not open the flue?”

He stared at her, his gaze raking over her body. Claire clutched the towel more tightly to her chest, fumbling as she wrapped one end around her hip.

“Why would someone put match to peat without checking the flue first?” he asked.

“It’s—it’s freezing in here,” she countered.

“The window is open.” He walked across the room and closed it, Claire scampering to stand against the wall. Will grabbed the bedspread from the bed and held it out in front of him. Hesitantly, Claire stepped forward and he wrapped it around her body, enveloping her in a soft cocoon.

“I suppose I’m going to have to give you another room,” he murmured as he gently rubbed her arms. “You can’t sleep in here.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, risking a glance up at him. Tears of frustration pushed at the corners of her eyes. She was tired, she was cold, her life had become a huge mess and all she really wanted to do was crawl into bed and cry for the next day or two. He had no idea what it was taking to hold herself together.

He looked down and their gazes met—and locked. Claire opened her mouth to speak, to apologize for her emotional state, but then couldn’t remember what she’d intended to say. She heard him draw in a sharp breath as his gaze fell to her lips. She knew what was about to happen and simply waited, unwilling to stop him.

“You’re sure you’re all right,” he whispered, leaning closer.

“Fine,” she replied in a strangled voice.

Claire’s heart slammed in her chest and she closed her eyes and tried to maintain her composure. But Will took her action as his cue and a moment later, his mouth covered hers. It wasn’t the typical first kiss, clumsy and a bit tentative. Instead, he kissed her as if he’d been doing it for years, possessing her mouth as if it had always belonged to him, his tongue teasing at hers, challenging her to respond.

The kiss seemed to go on forever, growing deeper and more passionate as it continued. She couldn’t remember ever being kissed like this, with such reckless abandon and unfettered intensity. Claire felt his hands slide from her shoulders to her hips, the quilt slipping down between their bodies.

A tiny moan slipped from her throat as she pressed her hips into his, fumbling to maintain some semblance of modesty. His hands came back to her face, cupping her cheeks in his palms. She didn’t want it to end, the pleasure surging up inside of her, the crazy sensations coursing through her body. But at the same time, Claire knew that kissing a near stranger while wearing just a bedspread was probably a mistake.

When he finally drew away, she gulped down a deep breath and opened her eyes. She found Will staring at her, a perplexed expression wrinkling his brow. “Jaysus,” he murmured. He stepped back and raked his hand through his hair. “What the hell.”

Claire swallowed hard, clutching the bedspread to her body. “Wh-why did you do that?”

“I don’t know,” he replied. “I just—” Will cursed softly. “I don’t know. Did you not want me to do that? Because, I got the feeling you did. Was I wrong?”

“No,” Claire replied. “I mean, yes. I was just surprised, that’s all. It was…unexpected.”

“But welcomed? Please, tell me it was welcomed.”

Claire thought about her answer for a moment. Should she tell the truth? “Yes,” she finally said. “At the least it wasn’t unwelcome.”

“Good.” A smile twitched at his lips. “I guess I’ll leave you to get dressed.” Will glanced around the room. “You’re not going to start any more fires are you, Miss O’Connor?”

She shook her head. “Not right now. And you don’t have to call me Miss O’Connor. I mean, considering you just…well, you know. Call me Claire.”

“All right. Claire?”

“Yes, Claire,” she said.

“Save the fires for later, Claire,” he said, nodding. “If you’re hungry, I have supper downstairs. And after that, I’ll find you another room. A warmer room.” He wrinkled his nose. “And one that doesn’t smell of smoke.”

“Thank you,” Claire said.

He stepped back, but not before reaching up and brushing a strand of hair from her eyes. When the door closed behind him, she sank down on the edge of the bed. Smoke still clouded the room and for a heartbeat, she wondered if she’d imagined what had happened between them, if it had all been part of some bizarre, jet-lag-induced fantasy.

She touched her lips and found them damp. This was a disturbing turn of events. How was she supposed to react? She didn’t feel indignant or insulted. Nor did she feel guilty or ashamed. In truth, there was a nice, warm sensation deep inside of her, something she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

There was definitely an attraction between them. What woman wouldn’t be attracted? Will Donovan was undeniably handsome. And very different from… well, from Eric.

Her relationship with Eric hadn’t been entirely perfect. In truth, lately it had become ordinary, not that she’d realized it until this very moment. It had been months since he’d made her heart skip a beat or her breath come in tiny gasps, months since he’d kissed her with that type of passion. And now this stranger, this Irishman, had accomplished both in a matter of minutes.

And there were things about Eric that had begun to bug her—his vanity, for one. His selfishness. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d made love where she’d been completely and utterly satisfied. Will Donovan was probably the kind of man who’d leave a woman pleasantly, thoroughly exhausted.

Claire jumped up from the bed and rummaged through her suitcases, searching for something nice to wear. She hadn’t planned on experiencing this particular element on her trip, so she’d brought along comfortable clothes—jeans, T-shirts and sweaters. She decided on a pair of black pencil-leg jeans and a translucent white silk blouse. To add a hint of interest, she’d wear a black bra beneath. She retrieved her hair dryer and the converter plug she’d brought along, then headed to the bathroom to get ready.

A half hour later, her hair was dry and her lipstick was on. Claire gave herself one last critical look in the mirror, then sighed as she stared at her reflection. What was she expecting? This was crazy! Did she plan to seduce this man over dinner? Grabbing a tissue, she wiped off her lipstick and tied her pale hair back with a silk scarf. “You’re in love with Eric,” she reminded herself. “And he still loves you. He just doesn’t realize it.”

The inn was quiet as she walked down the stairs. A fire crackled in the front parlor hearth and she walked through the spacious rooms, searching for the dining room. But when she found it, it was dark and empty.

“I thought we could eat in the kitchen. It’s nice and warm in there.”

Claire glanced up to see a shadowy form standing in the doorway, broad-shouldered, a hip braced against the doorjamb. Her heart fluttered and she cursed inwardly at the unbidden response. All right, there was definitely a spark. But that didn’t mean she had to fan it into a raging inferno. She smoothed her hands over her blouse and forced a smile. “Of course. And thank you.”

“For what?” he asked.

“For making me dinner.”

“You haven’t tasted my cooking,” he replied with a low chuckle. He held open the door to the butler’s pantry and Claire walked through the cabinet-lined room to the kitchen.

Unlike the rest of the house, the kitchen was sleek and modern, with granite countertops and stainless-steel appliances. But an old stone hearth burned brightly with a peat fire, the scent familiar to her now. She walked over to it and held her hands out. “Why am I so cold? The winters in Chicago are brutal, but I don’t feel the cold like I do here.”

“We live on the ocean. It’s damp,” Will explained. “That’s why it feels colder. There’s no getting away from it.” Will pulled a stool out from beneath the huge worktable that dominated the center of the kitchen. He nodded his head. “Have a seat.”

Claire perched on the stool and watched Will as he moved around the room. She was glad to see that he wasn’t going to too much trouble, choosing to make sandwiches. “Do you always cook for your guests?” she asked.

Will shook his head. “Never. When we have guests, our cook and housekeeper, Katie Kelly, comes in and does breakfast. Beyond that we don’t serve meals.”

She cupped her chin in her hand. “So why are you doing it now?”

He glanced up at her, sending her a devastatingly charming smile. “After what you’ve been through today, I figured you’d need it. And your only other alternative is the Jolly Farmer and that’s noisy and smoky and filled with blokes who haven’t seen a woman as flah as you in a very long time.”

“Flah?”

“Beautiful,” he said.

Claire felt a blush warm her cheeks. It was such an offhand compliment that she wasn’t sure how to take it. Did he really think she was beautiful or was he simply humoring a guest?

“So, what brings you to Trall?” he asked.

She hesitated before she answered, unwilling to tell him the truth about her quest. Perhaps, if he’d been a woman, she’d unload her entire sad story. But he wasn’t a woman. He was an incredibly attractive man. “Family history,” Claire quickly replied. “My grandmother, Orla O’Connor, visited the island a long time ago. She told me about it and so I thought I’d see it for myself.”

“There’s not much to see,” Will said. “There are some shops in the village and there’s a stone circle on the west side of the island. Most people come here for the Druid spring, though.”

“My grandmother told me about that.” She glanced up to find him staring at her. He held her gaze for a long moment, then turned back to his meal preparations.

“Beyond the stone circle, it’s Trall’s only claim to fame.”

“I thought you were famous,” Claire said. She let her eyes drift down, from his broad shoulders to his narrow waist, and then lower. Though his jeans were slightly baggy, she could see he had a nice butt. “At least, that’s what Captain Billy told me.”

“No,” Will said, glancing over his shoulder. “That’s just a load of rubbish. As for the spring, it’s a silly legend that brings tourists to the island, so no one disputes it.”

“But everyone knows about it.”

“I suppose,” Will said. “Everyone benefits from perpetuating the legend, I guess. There aren’t that many of us left on the island so we welcome the visitors. Just over five hundred now. We’re kind of like one big family. Sometimes a wee bit dysfunctional, but a family nonetheless.” He set a plate with a ham sandwich in front of her and followed it with a mug of steaming soup, then went to the refrigerator and grabbed a couple of beers. “You drink Guinness? I have wine, too. Or bottled water?”

“Beer is fine,” Claire said.

He opened a bottle and set it down in front of her, then opened his and took a long drink. He had beautiful hands. Claire had always found that she could tell a lot about a man by his hands. His fingers were long and tapered, the kind of hands that might touch a woman with expert effect, dancing over her body until she cried out in—

“You said you were from Chicago?”

Claire swallowed hard. “Y-yes,” she said.

“The Windy City?”

“Ummm. Have you ever been to Chicago?”

“I have,” Will said. “I remember the lake. A big lake. So big you couldn’t see the other side even from the top of that tall building.”

“The Sears Tower. That’s Lake Michigan,” Claire said, munching on the ham sandwich. “What were you doing in Chicago?”

“Business,” he murmured. Will studied the label on his beer bottle, scratching at it with his thumbnail. Claire found herself watching his hands again, her pulse quickening. “A very exciting place, that.”

She cleared her throat, determined to steer the conversation in a different direction. “Tell me more about the spring,” she said.

“The water is said to be blessed by the Druids, although there’s only one Druid on the island and I have cause to doubt her credentials. They say if two people drink from the same cup, they’ll share eternal love.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “Couples usually come here before they go see a marriage counselor, hoping to find answers to their problems. And honeymooners like to come, too.”

“And do you know where this spring is?” Claire asked.

“There are springs all over the island.” He gave her a sly look. “It doesn’t exist. It’s just a legend. We Irish love our legends.”

She took a sip of her beer. “But if it doesn’t exist, then why do people keep coming?”

“If you had a chance at eternal love, wouldn’t you go after it?” He laughed softly. “That was a rhetorical question.”

“So no one really knows where it is?”

“Oh, I’m sure some might think they’ve found it. But I’ve never seen proof that any of the water on this island does more than quench a man’s thirst.”

He smiled and Claire felt her stomach flutter. This island was already working its magic upon her. She felt alive and uninhibited, as if anything were possible. She wanted to jump out of her chair and kiss Will Donovan again. Her fingers ached to touch his rumpled hair and her body craved his warmth. There was just too much about him that she found attractive.

“How’s the sandwich?” he asked.

“It’s very good,” she said. “Everything here is… good.” And Claire had a very distinct feeling that it would get even better before the night was over.

2

SHE WAS BEAUTIFUL. Perhaps the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. Will watched her as she took a sip of her wine, then snuggled back into the pillows on the opposite end of the sofa.

After dinner, they’d moved to the front parlor where Will had opened a bottle of cabernet and stoked the fire in the hearth. Though business had slowed down once the warmer days of summer had ended, for once, Will was grateful not to have other guests to tend to. Right now, he wanted to focus all of his attention on Claire.

She was different than any woman he’d ever met. Since all the publicity that followed his appointment as one of Ireland’s most eligible, it had been difficult to meet women who were really interested in him and not his money. In fact, all the energy spent trying to discern a woman’s true motives had made dating a chore.

He had managed one serious relationship, with a beautiful woman whom he thought he might marry. But the moment she found out Will was planning to sell his business and move back to Trall, she tossed him over for a hard-partying football player.

To Claire, he was just a guy who ran an inn—and he liked that. “How long do you plan to stay?” he asked.

She took another sip of her wine and sighed sleepily. “A day or two. I want to see something of the island.”

“You’ll be comfortable here.”

She met his gaze. “Yes, I think I will.” Covering her mouth, Claire stifled a yawn then sent him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I can’t seem to keep my eyes open. I have no idea what time it is back home, but I know I’ve been awake for too long. I should get some sleep.”

Will wasn’t anxious for their evening to end, but he was curious to see how it would end. Would they indulge in another kiss? He stood and held out his hand. “Come on, then. I’ll help you move your things into another room.”

She placed her fingers in his hand and he pulled her to her feet. She swayed slightly, from exhaustion or the wine, he wasn’t sure. Will reached out to steady her and she leaned against him, her face pressed into his chest. “You’re warm,” she murmured. “Maybe I ought to put you in my room for the night and forget about a fire.”

“I am warm,” he replied. And growing warmer by the second. This physical contact between them was enough to stir his desire as evidenced by the blood racing to his groin.

Will wrapped his arms around her and gently rubbed her back. Her breathing grew soft and slow and he realized she was falling asleep in his arms. When her knees finally gave way, he reached down and scooped her off her feet.

Her eyes flew open and she cried out in surprise. “What are you doing?”

“I’m taking you up to your room,” Will said, starting for the stairs. “You’re nearly asleep and I’m not sure you can make it under your own power.”

With a sigh, she settled into his grasp. “I think the service in this hotel is really wonderful,” Claire said, resting her head against his shoulder. “I’m going to recommend it to all my friends.”

Will took her to a room on the opposite end of the hall, kicking open the door with his foot. He’d placed a small space heater in the corner and had lit a fire in the fireplace and when they walked inside, the room was cozy. He hoped she wouldn’t notice and that she’d repeat her invitation for him to stay and keep her warm.

He set her down next to the bed, her arms still wrapped around his neck. And when she turned her face up to his, he did what he’d wanted to do all evening. Will covered her mouth with his, savoring the taste of her. She responded without hesitation, her tongue meeting his, silently offering more than just a kiss.