Her Irish Rogue
Kate Hoffmann
Sassy heroines and irresistible heroes embark on sizzling sexual adventures as they play the game of modern love and lust. Expect fast paced reads with plenty of steamy encounters.The luck of the Irish?Claire O’Connor had it all – until she lost her job and boyfriend in the same day! She thought her holiday in the Irish isle of Trawl, famous for its romantic charms, might provide some inspiration to help her win back her ex. She didn’t count on meeting gorgeous innkeeper Will Donovan! Now she’s tempted to abandon her old life and indulge in all the sensual delights this irresistible Irishman has to offer.Yet when Will reveals a sexy secret behind Claire’s deepening attraction to him, she begins to wonder if it’s just lust…or something much more.
She felt wild, unrestrained…primal.
The night was all about instinct…and pleasure. The sounds of the ceremony seemed to fade into the distance as a haze of desire surrounded them both. Although the light wind reminded Claire they were outside, the stones and the darkness concealed them. They were alone. And Claire’s need for Will, for his touch, his taste, had taken control.
This time, though, she wanted him inside her. “Make love to me,” she murmured. “Now. Please, Will. I need you.”
Moments later he was filling her completely. She arched against him, driving him even deeper, feeling a delicious sense of power…of rightness. Neither one of them seemed to be able to hold back. Will drove into her, again and again. Claire cried out with pleasure, but the sounds were swallowed by the night and the noise of the crowd.
It was the most passionate sex she’d ever experienced.
And if the rest of her nights were like this, she was never going home…
KATE HOFFMANN’s
first book was published in 1993. Since then she’s written over fifty more titles, including the popular MIGHTY QUINN series. Her books, known for their mix of humour and sensuality, have appeared in the Sensual and Blaze® lines. Kate lives in a small town in Wisconsin, with her cats and her computer. Besides writing, she works with school students in theatre and musical activities. She also enjoys golf, movies, music of all kinds and genealogy research.
Dear Reader,
As you can see by the title of this book, I’m back in Ireland again! After writing the MIGHTY QUINN books, I just can’t seem to leave the “auld sod” behind. And this from a girl who has only a few drops of Irish blood in her (from my fifth great-grandfather, Patrick Doolin).
Her Irish Rogue was a chance to indulge in a bit of Irish magic. While visiting Ireland a few years back, I found the land and the people entirely captivating, so it wasn’t difficult to imagine my hero, Will Donovan, as a sexy innkeeper living on an island off the coast of County Kerry. When a mid-western girl arrives on the island, Will gets a chance to live out a fantasy. And that’s what a holiday love affair ought to be – pure fantasy.
I hope you enjoy this holiday in Ireland. And who knows? Maybe I’ll be going back soon to find a few more Quinn cousins.
Happy reading,
Kate Hoffmann
HER IRISH ROGUE
BY
KATE HOFFMANN
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
1
THE BOAT SKIMMED over the choppy gray water, sending a gentle spray into the air to land on Claire O’Connor’s face. She brushed a damp strand of hair from her eyes, then fixed her gaze on the small island in the distance, a hazy bump on the horizon.
The Isle of Trall. She’d left Chicago twenty-four hours earlier and now that she was nearing her destination, Claire realized she’d come on a fool’s errand. “I must be crazy,” she murmured.
“What’s that, lass?”
Claire glanced over at Billy Boyle, the captain of the mail boat, and forced a smile. “Nothing,” she murmured.
“If ye step inside, you won’t be gettin’ so damp.”
“That’s all right,” Claire said. Perhaps the cold and damp were exactly what she needed to shake a little sense into herself. So much had happened in the past two days she’d hardly had a chance to think clearly. She’d lost her boyfriend, her job and her apartment all in one six-hour period. As a result, she’d begun a quest to get them all back in one crazy act of desperation, an act that brought her to a tiny island off the western coast of Ireland.
“We don’t see too many single passengers makin’ the trip to Trall,” Captain Billy said. “Mostly couples. It’s a romantic destination, ye know. Not really a place for people to visit on their own.”
Her grandmother, Orla O’Connor, had told her of the island, and of the legend, but Claire wanted to hear it again, from someone who had more than just fifty-year-old evidence of its existence. “Why is that?” she asked.
“They come hoping to find the Druid spring. It’s in all the tour books. It’s said that if a couple drinks the water, they will be bound together for life. Eternal love and all that. You ask me, I think it’s bollocks.”
“Do you know where this spring is?” she asked.
Captain Billy shook his head. “I’m the one who should have been lookin’. I’ve had meself three wives and not one of them is still warmin’ me bed.”
Claire turned her attention back to the island. She’d been under the assumption that the location of the spring would be posted on every roadside in Trall, with huge signs and arrows pointing the way, and maybe even a modern visitors center. Her grandmother had said nothing about having to search for it! “Is there anyone who knows where it is?”
Captain Billy considered her question for a long moment, then shrugged. “I’d suppose Sorcha Mulroony would know. She’s a Druid princess or… priestess, I think she calls herself. Me, I think she’s a bit barmy. But she fancies herself the keeper of all the island’s magic. You could ask her, but she charges a steep price for her services.”
“Her services?”
“Soothsaying, curses, spells, she does it all. I bought a curse from her last year. Cost me fifty euros, it did. There was a tosser from Dingle who was tryin’ to get the contract for the mail boat by cuttin’ my price. Sorcha cursed his boat and it sank in the harbor the very next day.”
“Did you ever think maybe she just poked a hole in the side of his boat and that’s why it sank?”
Billy thought about the possibility as if it had never occurred to him before. Then he shrugged. “I don’t care what she did. That bloke isn’t haulin’ mail to Trall, is he now?”
“I suppose he isn’t,” she said with a smile. Claire wrapped her corduroy jacket more tightly around her, watching as the island grew larger and larger on the horizon. “Can you recommend a place to stay on Trall?”
“There’s a lovely inn to the north of town. The Ivybrook out on Cove Road. This time of year, there should be rooms available. Will Donovan runs it. His family has been on the island for generations. He’s a celebrity of sorts, he is.”
“Famous? For what?”
“Oh, we don’t gossip about our neighbors on Trall.” Billy frowned. “But maybe this isn’t gossip, more in the line of news. A few years back, he was named one of Ireland’s most eligible bachelors. Got his picture in a fancy magazine for it.”
“Interesting,” Claire said.
“His great-grandfather was the first to run the inn. T’was an old manor house at one time. A summer home for some posh Brit. Will left the island for university and we thought we’d seen the last of ’im. Then three years ago, he comes back to Trall to run the inn. His folks, Mick and Maeve Donovan, wanted to be closer to their daughter and their grandkids, so they were off to Dublin. Island life seems to suit Will. That’s not gossip, it’s fact.”
“I probably should have called ahead for a reservation.”
“I haven’t brought any tourists out to the island in the past three days,” the captain said. “So I don’t think ye’ll have a problem. There’ll be more folks coming in for the Samhain celebration later this week.”
“Oh, I’ll be gone by then,” Claire said. “I’m just staying a night, maybe two.”
“If ye don’t find Will at the inn, there’s a key under the flowerpot next to the door. Just let yourself in.”
“Why would he lock the door if everyone knows where the key is?”
“’Cause of Dickie O’Malley. He’s got a farm south of town and he’s got no hot runnin’ water. So he wanders into town looking for a place to take a bath. Dickie is a dirty bugger and he always leaves a mess. Uses every clean towel in the place. He also drinks every last drop of whiskey before he leaves. I guess you could say it’s his callin’ card. That’s not gossip, lass, it’s just fact.”
They passed the rest of the trip in silence, Claire sitting at the stern of the boat, trying to make out details of the island as they approached. Suddenly, her reasons for coming to Trall seemed so silly. She’d come to find a magic spring that would make her boyfriend love her again.
The sequence of events leading to this moment had been burned indelibly into her brain. She’d risen just yesterday morning, thinking it was a day like any other. Eric had left for the office early and rather than ride in with him, Claire had decided to sleep a little longer and take the train. It was only moments after she got up that she found the note, a fluorescent green sticky stuck to the bathroom mirror. It’s over. I’m sorry. Goodbye.
Eric had been pensive and moody for the past month, but Claire had assumed he was leading up to a proposal of marriage, not a breakup, especially after she’d found the credit card receipt for a $9,000 purchase at one of Chicago’s finest jewelers.
She’d dressed for work, determined to speak to him the moment she arrived at the office. They’d worked at the same advertising agency for four years and had been together for two and a half. He couldn’t be serious about breaking up, she’d told herself.
But when she’d arrived at work, she’d found the agency in complete chaos. A company meeting had been called early that morning to inform the staff that the agency had just been bought out by a larger firm. Half the employees would be without jobs. She was promptly called into the creative director’s office and told she was officially unemployed. It was only then she’d learned Eric had tendered his resignation the day before and was already gone, his office empty of his personal effects, his whereabouts unknown.
As if things couldn’t get worse, when she returned home a few hours later, she found an overnight envelope propped up against her apartment door. Inside was a notice that her building was being converted to condos and she was welcome to buy at a price an unemployed advertising art director could never afford.
Claire had always been so careful in planning her life, from finding the right man to getting a job at the best agency in town to living in a beautiful apartment in a trendy Chicago neighborhood. She watched her diet, choosing organic foods from the grocery store, and she worked out religiously, four times a week at her health club. She even did volunteer work once a week with an after-school program. How could her life possibly have gone so bad in such a short time?
“When it rains, it pours,” her grandmother had told her as Claire had sat numbly on her sofa. And then, Orla O’Connor had given her granddaughter a simple solution. Win back the man in your life first. The rest will fall into place. When Claire had asked how, Orla had a ready answer. A trip to Ireland, to the Isle of Trall, would solve all her problems.
“And here I am,” she murmured. On a boat to Trall.
Captain Billy steered into a calm harbor and deftly maneuvered the boat up to an empty dock. When it bumped against the wood pilings, he jumped off and secured the lines, then helped Claire onto the dock. A moment later, her luggage was sitting at her feet.
“The mail boat leaves at noon, Monday to Friday. You can catch a ride back with me or take the car ferry. That makes three trips a day, every day.”
“Which way is the inn?” Claire asked.
“’Bout a mile down the road,” Billy said, pointing off to the north. He glanced up at the sky. “You’d better hurry along. It looks like we’re due for a spot of rain.”
“Isn’t there a taxi?”
This time he glanced at his watch. “Well, there usually is, if guests are expected, but you weren’t expected, now, were you? Dougal Fraser runs the island’s taxi service, but it’s nearly 4:00 p.m. I suspect he’s already well into his second pint at the pub. That’s it just over there. The Jolly Farmer, it’s called.”
“Could you give me a ride to the inn?”
The captain shook his head. “Oh, no. That would be puttin’ a toe onto Dougal’s turf and he wouldn’t take kindly to me doin’ that. We have our own little rules here on the island and stealin’ a man’s livin’ is one that we never break. Besides, I keep my car on the mainland. No need for it here. There’s nowhere to go on this island.”
“And if he’s not there? Am I expected to walk a mile with my suitcases?”
“Oh, I’m sure someone will come along and offer you a ride, then. Just wave them down and tell them where you’re going.”
Claire watched as Billy grabbed a sack from the boat and hefted it over his shoulder. “Come along, I’ll show you the way.” They walked to the end of the dock and Billy pointed to a small white-washed building on the corner of the cobblestone street. “Walk right in there and ask for Dougal. Hurry along now, before ye get wet.”
The light rain had turned to a steady downpour as Claire reached the door of the pub. She wiped the water from her eyes and walked inside. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimly lit interior, but when they did, she saw the bartender and two patrons staring at her with curious gazes.
“I’m looking for Dougal Fraser?” Claire said.
WILL DONOVAN tossed another sod of peat onto the hearth in the spacious parlor of the inn, then stared into the flames. The peat flamed, sending a welcome rush of warmth into the chilly room.
“Fetch me another whiskey,” Sorcha murmured, staring at him through a tumble of coppery-red hair.
He glanced over his shoulder to see her holding out the crystal tumbler, snuggled into her usual spot on the sofa. Her lips curved into a smile he knew all too well, one she’d used on any number of men to great success, weaving her spell about them until they were defenseless against her charms. Will had fallen prey the summer he’d returned to the island three years ago, indulging in a brief but passionate affair with Sorcha.
But in the end, after six tempestuous months, they realized they’d made much better friends than lovers. Until just last year, Sorcha had still been convinced he was the only man for her. So she had used every Druid power she possessed to make his life miserable. In fact, he still carried one or two of her curses. “Why should I fetch you a whiskey?” he asked, relaxing into an overstuffed chair across from the sofa.
“You’re the host here. I’m the guest.”
“And you invited yourself to supper,” Will reminded her.
“Please, fetch me a whiskey,” Sorcha whined. “Or I’ll put a feckin’ curse on you, Will Donovan.”
Will crossed the room and grabbed her glass, then strolled over to the small table that held the decanter. He poured a small measure into the tumbler and returned to the sofa. But when Sorcha held out her hand, he pulled the whiskey back. “I’ll give you this drink if you do me a small kindness in return.”
Sorcha sat up on her heels, brushing her hair out of her pale eyes. “This sounds interesting. What’s wrong? Has it been a while since you’ve had some?”
He wagged his finger at her. “We’re not going to go there, Sorcha,” he muttered. “We’ve been there before and it didn’t work.”
“I know. But this time we can just have a shag. We won’t bother with the relationship.”
“Let’s be honest. You devour men. You require that they worship you and wait on you and satisfy you until they’re nothing but blithering fools. And then you toss them aside for someone new.”
Sorcha’s lips pressed into a pout. “How can you say that? I love men.”
“Maybe a little too much,” Will said.
“If you’re going to insult me, then give me my whiskey. I feel like getting pissed.”
“Not until you do something for me.”
“What do you want? Obviously not my body. I should be humiliated, but I’m not. I’ve come to think of you as a…dare I say it? A brother?” She giggled. “A very hot brother. Oh, hell, I’d probably be riddled with guilt if we slept together again. I do have some standards to maintain.”
“I want you to lift the curse you put on me,” he said.
A satisfied grin curled her lips. “I didn’t think you believed in my powers.”
“I don’t.”
“Which curse?” she asked.
Will groaned. “How many are there?”
There was a long moment before Sorcha answered. “Two. No, three.” She paused. “No, wait, I lifted that one after you helped me fix my car. Two,” she said.
“And what were they?”
“Well…one was so you’d never meet another woman as beautiful and sexy as I am. And the other had to do with your…performance in the bedroom.” She slowly raised her index finger, then let it curl up again. “A willy-wilting curse for Will.”
He frowned. Since they’d ended their relationship, his luck with women hadn’t been great, but he’d still been able to perform when called upon. He’d had three serious relationships in the past two years and all had ended after only a few months. In between, he’d indulged in an occasional one- or two-night stand with old girlfriends in London or Dublin. Living on an island offered few possibilities for regular or casual sex. That could only be found on the mainland.
“In the spirit of our newfound friendship,” Will said, “I want you to reverse both curses. Right now. In front of me.”
Sorcha sighed and grabbed the whiskey from his hand. “All right.” She swallowed her drink in one gulp, then sat up straight and closed her eyes, tipping forward until her red hair fell like a curtain around her face. Slowly, she began to rock back and forth, mumbling a string of words that Will recognized as Gaelic. Though he knew a fair bit of the language, he didn’t understand what she was saying. Suddenly, she opened her eyes. “I’m starved,” she said. “I need taytos. I have to have nourishment for this to work.” Then she closed her eyes and began to mutter again.
Will wandered back to the kitchen and grabbed a bag of potato crisps. When he returned to the parlor, Sorcha was lying down on the sofa. He handed her the bag of crisps and she tore it open, then popped one into her mouth. “God, I’m hungry,” she muttered. “Do you have any chocolate?”
“We’re going to eat in an hour. Are you done?”
She stuffed two more crisps into her mouth, then nodded. “Yes. You are now completely curse-free.” She paused. “Well, not entirely. I did a wee counterspell, just something between two good friends.”
“Sorcha, you promised.”
“This is a good spell. The next woman you meet will madly desire you and you’ll have a wildly passionate sexual encounter within twenty-four hours. She will stop at nothing to get into your trousers and have a go.”
A frantic knocking sounded through the quiet of the parlor and Sorcha giggled. “Ah! The spell has worked. It’s herself! I wonder who it could be? The single women on this island are a sad lot, except, of course, for me. I suppose Eveleen Dooly wouldn’t be so bad in bed. And then there’s Mary Carlisle. She’s old but she’s sprightly.”
“At least Eveleen wouldn’t curse me,” Will muttered. “While I answer the door, you remove the spell. Am I clear?”
“Quite,” Sorcha said. “Just walk slowly. It’ll take some time. It was a very complex spell.”
Will strolled out to the front hall, then waited a bit before he opened the front door. Standing on the steps was a woman, drenched by the rain, her shoes covered in mud.
“It’s about time,” she muttered, pale hair plastered to her face. “I’m soaked to the skin. And I couldn’t find the key. It’s supposed to be under the flowerpot.”
“I’m sorry,” Will said, reaching out to grab her bags. “Sorcha must have used…well, never mind. Come in, please. Welcome to the Ivybrook Inn.”
She walked inside, tracking mud across the parquet floor of the hall. Glancing back, she noticed what she’d done, then cursed softly, struggling out of her ruined shoes. “I couldn’t find the taxi. He was supposed to be at the pub and he wasn’t. Some farmer offered to give me a ride on his horse. Good thing, because an Irish mile seems to be a lot longer than an American mile. It took me forever to get here.” She picked up her shoes, her wet clothes making a puddle around her. “I need a room.”
Will studied her as he stepped behind the front desk. It was hard to tell what she looked like. She’d tied a scarf around her head to ward off the rain and her hair hung in a stringy mess over her eyes. One cheek was muddy and the other was stained with mascara.
Her jacket and jeans were so baggy and waterlogged that her shape was indistinct beneath them. She did have very pretty feet, Will mused, and her toenails were painted a bright pink. And she looked young, probably not much older than twenty-five or twenty-six. Will watched as she rummaged through her purse.
“You’re American?” he asked.
She shoved her hair back and met his gaze for the first time. Tiny droplets clung to her lashes and she blinked several times, sending rivulets down rosy cheeks. “I—I’m sorry, what did you ask?”
“American?” Will repeated softly, his gaze falling to her lips.
“Yes. Is that a problem?”
When he looked up, he found himself staring into sparkling turquoise eyes. She held out a credit card. “No, not at all,” he said, taking the card. “I was just curious. You sounded…American.”
A tiny smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. “That’s probably because I am.” A shudder ran through her and she rubbed her arms. “So, may I have a room? I’d really like to get out of these clothes and—”
“Yes, of course,” Will said. “And I’d like to get you out of those…I mean, I’m sure you’d be more comfortable if you took your clothes off…and put others back on.” He grabbed the key for the nicest room on the second floor. “Room seven,” he said. Will reached out and grabbed her hand, then put the key in her palm. Her skin was damp and cool to the touch and he let his fingers linger, his thumb slowly caressing the inside of her wrist. “Top of the stairs and to your left. It’s at the end of the hall. All our rooms are en suite.”
“What does that mean?” she muttered, staring down at the key.
He grabbed her shoes from her hand. “They all have their own bathrooms. Seven has a very large tub with a shower. Why don’t you go on up and I’ll bring your luggage and shoes after I’ve had a chance to dry them off.”
“All right,” she said. She gently pulled her hand from his grip, then started toward the stairs.
“What is your name?” Will called.
She spun around. “What?”
“Your name. For the register.”
“It’s on the card,” she replied. “O’Connor. Claire O’Connor from Chicago. Illinois.”
“Welcome to the Ivybrook Inn, Miss O’Connor,” he said, glancing down at the credit card. “I’m Will Donovan.”
She nodded, then trudged up the stairs, her clothes dripping as she climbed. When he turned to tend to her bags, he found Sorcha leaning up against the doorjamb to the front parlor, clutching the bag of crisps to her chest and munching thoughtfully. “An American. Pretty thing, that,” she murmured, nodding toward the stairs. “I hear American girls are positively wild in the sack.”
“I don’t seduce the guests,” he said. “Don’t you have some potions to brew? Go home, Sorcha.”
“Too bad about the curse,” she murmured. “I’m afraid you were a bit too fast answering the door. I didn’t have a chance to remove the spell.” She grinned as she popped another crisp into her mouth. “She’s definitely worth a shag or two, Will. I think I’ll just be going now.” She walked over to Will, straightened his collar and smoothed his hair. “Just remember to be nice and to use a Johnny. Good sex is safe sex.”
“Get out,” Will muttered.
She grabbed her mackintosh from the coat tree in the hall and slipped into it. “Have fun, Wills. You can thank me later,” she said.
Will walked back to the kitchen to fetch some rags, then cleaned up the mess Claire O’Connor had made in the entry hall. Her shoes were ruined, but he dried off her suitcases and carried them upstairs.
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.
The attraction between them was undeniable and intense, yet Will wasn’t quite sure how to handle it. With any other woman, he wouldn’t have hesitated to crawl into her bed and make love to her all night long. But Claire O’Connor was a guest! And then there was Sorcha’s little love spell. If that had anything to do with this attraction, then Will wasn’t about to let it affect his judgment.
Still, he couldn’t resist enjoying just a few more moments with her. His hands skimmed over her body, slipping beneath the silk shirt to touch bare skin. She leaned closer, inviting further exploration, and there didn’t seem to be anything standing in his way.
Will slowly worked at the buttons of her shirt, opening them one by one and bending to kiss each inch of exposed skin. When he reached the soft tops of her breasts, he sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled her into the space between his legs.
His lips found her belly, so smooth and warm, and he spanned her waist with his hands as he kissed her there. Claire ran her fingers through his hair, guiding his head until he reached the lacy fabric of her bra. Will nuzzled at the soft flesh, then reached up to tug the lace down to reveal her nipple.
Claire tipped her head back the instant his lips teased at the hard peak and a heartbeat later, they tumbled onto the bed in a tangle of limbs. All good sense seemed to vanish and Will focused on pleasure, the wonderful act of exploring her body with his lips and his fingers, inhaling her scent and listening to the tiny sounds that escaped from her throat with each tantalizing caress.
He twisted his fingers around hers and gently drew her arms above her head, gazing down into her face. “Are you sure you want this?”
She didn’t open her eyes, but merely smiled. “Yes.”
“Look at me,” he said.
Claire opened her eyes and he stared down at her. “Would you like to go to sleep?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied.
Will rolled to his side, then stood next to the bed. If he was going to spend his pent-up passion on Claire O’Connor, then it was going to be a night both of them remembered, a night that went on far longer than the next hour or two. He reached down and drew the covers back.
“You’re going to thank me for this tomorrow morning,” he muttered as he took off her shoes. “Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy a good roll in the sack, but I can control my impulses. Not that it isn’t killing me to walk out of this room.” Will carefully rebuttoned her shirt. “I sure won’t be getting any sleep tonight.”
He pulled the bedcovers up over her and tucked them under her chin, then bent down and brushed a kiss onto her lips. “We’ll take this up another time,” he said.
“Another time,” she whispered, a tiny smile curling her lips.
He walked out of the room, closing the door behind him, then made his way through the quiet hallway to the stairs. On his way through the parlor, he grabbed the wineglasses and empty bottle before heading back to the kitchen.
Though it was late, he wasn’t tired. In truth, he was so wound up, he wondered if he’d sleep at all. Or if he’d spend the entire night thinking about the beautiful woman in room three, knowing she was just upstairs, knowing that if he really wanted to, he could walk into her room and crawl into her bed. He’d been invited.
“Was she wild for you?”
Will spun around to see Sorcha standing in the doorway. She was dressed in a long white robe with a jeweled belt cinched at the waist and a wreath of holly leaves on her head. “Jaysus, what the hell are you doing here?”
“I was curious,” she said, crossing the room to stand in front of him. “I wanted to see if my spell worked.”
“No,” he lied. “Did you really expect that it would?”
She frowned, staring into his face as if she could read his mind. “Why don’t you believe in my powers, Will? They’re real, you know.”
“Sorcha, it’s late and I need to get some sleep. Go home.”
“I can’t. I have to go out to the stone circle and do an incantation. Maggie Foley wants grandchildren and she’s paying me for a weekly fertility ritual on behalf of her three daughters.”
“But you’d rather come here and bother me?”
“If you don’t believe in the magic, it won’t work.” She reached into her bag and withdrew an old bottle, stopped with a cork. “Here, you might as well have this. You need all the help you can find.”
“What is it?”
“Water from the Druid spring. Use it. If you don’t have a woman soon, I think you’re going to go right round the bend. It’s not good for a man to have all that unreleased sexual energy. It’s not healthy.”
“I blame that on you and every other person who lives on Trall. You were the eedjits who put my name up for that bachelor story. Thought it might bring more publicity to Trall. Well, it didn’t. But it ruined my social life.”
“The water could change all that,” Sorcha said.
“There is no Druid spring,” Will countered. “You probably drew this water right from the tap at your flat.” He pulled out the stopper and dumped the water into the sink, then handed her the empty bottle.
She shrugged. “All right. Suit yourself.” Sorcha turned for the door.
“Are you going to remove the spell?” Will called.
She slowly faced him again, a satisfied grin curling her lips. “You do believe, you just can’t admit it. My work here is done. The rest is up to you.”
With that, she spun around, her robes billowing out as she left the room. Will chuckled to himself. So maybe there was something to Sorcha’s spell. He’d give Claire tonight to sleep off her jet lag and the wine they’d drunk. But tomorrow, he’d get down to the bottom of this crazy attraction between them. And then he’d know for sure if Sorcha’s Druid powers had any effect on him at all.
CLAIRE SLOWLY came awake, opening her eyes to the soft sunlight in the room. At first, she wasn’t sure where she was. She closed her eyes again, certain she was dreaming, but then realized she wasn’t asleep. Pushing up on her elbow, she looked around the unfamiliar room. It wasn’t her bedroom—but then, she was in Ireland, wasn’t she? But this wasn’t the room she’d been put in, either. Her luggage wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Slowly, the events of the previous night came back to her.
“Oh, no,” she murmured. Was this his room? Had they spent the night together in his bed? Wincing, she sat up and peeked under the covers. A sigh of relief escaped her lips. She was still dressed, though her blouse wasn’t buttoned right. “I didn’t do anything stupid.” Claire frowned. “Why didn’t I do anything stupid?”
A soft knock sounded on the door and Claire crawled out of bed. She smoothed the wrinkles in her shirt and ran a hand through her hair before she opened the door. Will stood on the other side with a tray. “I made you some coffee,” he said. “I thought you might need it.”
Claire rubbed her temple, suddenly aware of the ache there. “What time is it?”
“Noon,” he said. “Which is about six a.m. Chicago time. I can bring the coffee back later, if you like. Your bags are out here in the hall.”
Claire stepped away from the door and motioned him inside. She sat down on the edge of the bed and he placed the tray on a small table and set it in front of her. Then he poured her a mug of coffee. “There’s milk and sugar,” he said, pointing to the tray.
“Black is fine.” She took a sip, watching him over the rim of the mug. “What happened last night?”
“You don’t remember?”
“Parts of it are a little hazy. I didn’t have that much to drink. Just a few glasses of wine.”
He walked out the door and returned with her luggage, setting the bags at the foot of the bed. “I think you were more tired than drunk,” Will said. “You got sleepy and I brought you up here and—”
“And?”
“And put you to bed.”
“That’s all?” Claire asked.
“Yes,” he said. “Well, not entirely. We did mess around a bit before you fell asleep.”
“Define messing around,” Claire said. “I don’t want to mistranslate here.”
Will reached out and took her hand, toying with her fingers as he spoke. “We kissed and touched and that was about the end of it. And you invited me to spend the night, but I didn’t want to take advantage.”
“That was noble of you,” she said.
“Not that noble. Believe me, I considered taking you up on your offer. I spent most of last night kicking my own arse because I hadn’t. I live on a damned island. Beautiful women don’t come along every day.”
“I’m sorry,” Claire said.
“For what?”
“Leading you on. I—I really didn’t come here for—Well, even though I find you very—” Claire quickly took another sip of her coffee. Why was she having such a difficult time telling him she didn’t want him? Claire groaned inwardly. Maybe because she wanted Will Donovan more than she’d ever wanted a man before?
“You came here for a vacation,” Will said. He slowly stood. “If you’d like, I’ll take you out today and show you some of the sights.”
“Thank you. But I thought I’d walk into town and do a little shopping.”
“Well, be sure to put on something warm. There’s a chill in the air.”
Claire watched as he walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. She let out a tightly held breath, then flopped back on the bed. In truth, she would have been perfectly happy to spend the entire day with Will, curled up in front of a blazing fire, sipping wine, getting to know each other…more intimately. But she’d come to Trall specifically to find the Druid spring. And if she hoped to accomplish her goal, then she’d have to do some investigative work. And the first person she’d go to see was that Druid priestess that Captain Billy mentioned. If anyone knew about the Druid spring, she would.
When she’d finished her coffee, Claire unpacked. She followed Will’s advice and picked out a warm wool sweater and a pair of corduroy pants. Then she brushed her teeth and ran a comb through her hair, deciding to forgo makeup. There was no use attracting unwarranted attention from the innkeeper.
She found Will sitting at the dining room table, a pile of papers spread out in front of him. She watched him, unseen, from the doorway, admiring the handsome features of his face, the strong set of his jaw and the sensuous mouth.
His hair was thick, an indistinct color somewhere between brown and black, and long enough to brush against his collar. Her fingers twitched as she recalled the feel of it. His profile was almost aristocratic, a perfectly straight nose, a high forehead, a strong chin. She’d always thought Eric the most handsome man she’d ever met, but he seemed rather ordinary compared to Will.
So how had a man like Will remained unattached? Surely, one of Ireland’s most eligible bachelors had had his choice of available females. He had a charming personality; he was good-looking, polite, with just a hint of bad boy thrown in. And he’d managed to nearly seduce her, a complete stranger, without even trying. Surely there was one attractive, single woman in all of Ireland who’d wanted him for her own.
Claire cleared her throat as she walked into the room and Will glanced up. He slowly stood, his gaze fixed on her. “Hi,” he said.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Claire said. “I hoped that you might give me some information.”
“About?”
“The captain of the mail boat was telling me about a Druid princess—no, priestess—who lives on the island. I’d like to meet her.”
Will was silent for a long moment. “You want to meet Sorcha? Why?”
“I don’t know. She sounds…interesting. Does she have a shop in town?”
Will nodded. “It’s called The Dragon’s Heart. She makes jewelry and little Druid trinkets. But, she’s really a bit—” He paused. “Eccentric. She sometimes has a tendency to promise more than she can deliver. If you’d like to see her, I could take you.”
“No, I’m just curious. What else would you suggest? I thought I might make a list to be sure I saw everything before I left.”
Will chuckled. “You don’t need a list. There’s not that much to see. There’s the church. There are some beautiful relics inside and some interesting Celtic crosses in the graveyard. There’s a small museum about the island just back of the post office. And there are some lovely shops along Parsons Street, antiques and such. There’s a tour of the island that leaves at noon from the market square in a horse-drawn carriage. Most of the tourists enjoy that.”
“And what about the things you find interesting?” she asked.
“There’s the stone circle,” Will said.
“Like Stonehenge?”
“Not nearly as grand. But interesting. I can take you if you’d like. I’m finished here. And after we go, we can stop in town for lunch.”
Claire considered his invitation, then nodded. What harm could it do? Despite wanting to keep her distance, spending the day with Will would be infinitely more interesting than wandering about the island on her own. And in the light of day she could certainly control her impulses around him. “All right,” she said.
He held out his hand and she hesitantly placed hers in his. The instant she touched him, Claire regretted accepting his offer. His fingers were warm and strong and she imagined them skimming over her naked skin, raking through her hair, touching her in places far too intimate to contemplate. She tugged her hand away and fumbled with the buttons of her jacket.
“I just need to grab a coat and we can go,” Will said.
They walked out the kitchen door to the carriage house. Will helped her into a Range Rover, then circled around and got in the driver’s side. As they bumped down the lane, Claire risked a glance over at him. She smiled to herself. She could look, but touching was a bad idea. Looking couldn’t possibly get her in trouble, could it?
They drove away from the village, winding around through the barren, windswept hillsides at the center of the island. Once, they had to stop and wait for a flock of sheep to meander across the road. Will pointed out the old stone cottages along the way and the remains of a castle keep that was now nothing more than a pile of rocks.
They came to the crest of a hill and a moment later, Claire could see the ocean again. Will pulled the Range Rover to a stop. “We’ll have to walk from here,” he said. “It’s not far.”
She jumped out of the truck and joined him as he started off down a small footpath. He held her hand for most of the way and when the path grew rocky, he walked in front, turning to help her climb over stone fences, his hands firm on her waist as she made her way between rickety wood stiles. They trudged over another small rise and suddenly, a wide, lush green meadow appeared before them, the circle of pillars rising toward the sky.
Claire’s breath caught in her throat. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured.
Will turned to her and looked down into her eyes. He reached out, brushing his fingertips over her cheek, and Claire shivered at his touch. She waited, unsure of how to react, her breath coming in tiny gasps that made her a bit dizzy.
And then, he bent closer and kissed her, his mouth warm on hers. Claire parted her lips as the kiss deepened and she felt her mind spinning with desire and her body pulsing with wonderful sensations. But then the kiss ended as suddenly as it had begun.
Will glanced up at the sky. “We’d better hurry along. It looks like it’s going to rain.”
They walked down the steep hill to the circle of rough pillars. It was like a miniature version of Stonehenge, the stones no more than ten feet high and four feet wide. The diameter of the circle was at least fifty or sixty feet.
She slowly walked around the outside, touching each pillar as she passed it, surprised by the strange atmosphere. She could feel the magic all around them, like electricity in the air or a scent in the wind.
“It’s very powerful,” she said. “What did they do here?”
Will shrugged. “They say it’s like a calendar. The Druids celebrated at specific times of the year. At both solstices and both equinoxes. Beltane and Samhain and a couple others I can’t remember. In fact, Sorcha does her Samhain celebration on Friday, if you’ll still be here. The whole island comes to watch. It’s all very pagan.”
“Did they do sacrifices?”
“Like virgins?” He chuckled. “When I was a teenager we used to come out here with girls. We thought the magic would help us get lucky.”
“Did it work?” Claire asked.
“Sometimes. I felt a girl up for the first time right over there. I thought I was doing all right.”
“And do you ever come out here with women now?”
“I’m here with you,” Will said with devilish grin.
Claire chuckled. “And do you expect to get lucky with me?”
Will grabbed her by the waist and drew her over to one of the stones, trapping her against it with his arms. He pressed his hips against hers and stared down into her eyes. “Times have changed. Maybe you should get lucky with me.” He turned her around until he leaned back against the pillar, her hands now braced on either side of his hips.
“Will you let me get to first base?” Claire teased.
He frowned. “First base? As in, baseball?”
“Yes,” she said.
“You played baseball?”
Claire shook her head. “No. It’s just a way of saying how far you went with a boy. Actually, boys use it to discuss their prowess with girls. First base is kissing. Second base is hands under the shirt. Third base is hands in the pants and a home run is full-on sex.”
“No wonder Americans are so fond of baseball,” he said. “Much more interesting than cricket. So we’ve been to second base, then,” Will said.
“We have?”
“Last night,” he said. “There was some groping that went on.” He reached down and slipped his hand beneath her sweater, finding the warm skin beneath.
Claire shivered at his touch, then mimicked his caress, slipping her hand under his sweater and sliding her palm up his chest. “Yes, I suppose you could consider this second base.”
He cupped her lace-covered breast in his palm and ran his thumb over her nipple, drawing it to a peak. Claire sighed softly and closed her eyes and a moment later, his lips met hers in a deep, demanding kiss.
Suddenly, she couldn’t stop touching him. She shoved him against the pillar and pushed his sweater up, revealing the muscled flesh of his abdomen. Impatient, Will shrugged out of his jacket, then yanked his sweater and T-shirt over his head. The brisk wind caused goosebumps on his skin and Claire pressed her lips to his chest. She was still fully clothed and he’d made no move to undress her, his hand still hidden beneath her own sweater.
Slowly, she drew her tongue to his nipple, then circled it several times. It grew to a hard peak under her ministrations and Claire continued to tease at it. He groaned softly, and ran his fingers through her hair, tangling in the windblown strands.
Her hands drifted down his to belt and then lower, smoothing over the fabric of his jeans until she felt his growing erection beneath. Normally, she might have hesitated. But this mystical place made her feel bold and uninhibited, as if they’d stepped into another world where there were no rules, only impulses and desires.
Claire began to work at his belt while Will leaned back against the stone pillar. He watched her as she fumbled with the buckle, holding his breath as if her touch were enough to send him over the edge. Claire had nearly got it unfastened when she felt the first drop of rain hit her head.
A moment later, the skies opened up. She glanced up at Will to see him smiling…and shivering. “I guess the gods have spoken,” he said.
Claire giggled, then reached down and handed him his sweater. “Should we listen to them?”
“Just until we find someplace out of the rain.” Will grabbed his jacket and they ran toward the path, the downpour soaking them both. But Claire didn’t care. She’d never experienced anything quite so exciting as this. There was something between them, some force of nature, that couldn’t be denied.
Was it part of this magical place or part of this land? Where did these feelings come from? And why did she feel so compelled to act upon them? For a moment, she thought about stopping him, about lying down in the soft, wet grass and making love right here in the middle of the meadow.
But in the end, she decided that a warm bed and a crackling fire would be much more conducive to an afternoon of pleasure. And the only place to find that was back at the inn.
“I REALLY DON’T THINK it’s broken.”
Will reached out and gently pushed Claire’s jacket sleeve up to examine her wrist. On the way back to the Range Rover, Claire had slipped on a moss-covered rock and gone down hard. She now lay sprawled in a muddy patch of the footpath, her hair drenched, her clothes dirty.
“Wiggle your fingers,” he said. She winced as she did and Will sat back on his heels. “I think it may be broken.”
“It’s probably just a sprain,” Claire insisted. “Really. Just help me up. It’ll feel better once I put some ice on it.”
Will tugged his jumper over his head and fashioned a crude sling, then slipped into his jacket. He carefully helped her back to the car and once he’d settled her inside, got behind the wheel. As they drove the short distance back to the inn, Will glanced over at her. She was trying to make light of the accident, but it was clear from the tight set of her jaw she was in considerable pain.
Claire met his gaze and forced a smile. “It’s already feeling better,” she assured him.
Will turned his attention back to the road, navigating the bumps and soggy parts as carefully as he could. But every time the Range Rover took a hard bounce, Claire let out a tiny cry of pain.
When they reached the main road, he turned toward the village. “We’ve got a medical clinic here on the island.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he reached out and put his finger over her lips. “Humor me.”
Will reached into his jacket pocket for his mobile and rang up Annie Mulroony, the nurse who staffed the clinic on a daily basis, and Sorcha’s mother. “The doctor comes over from the mainland once a week,” he explained to Claire. “If we’re lucky, he’ll be in today.”
Five minutes later, they arrived at the small, white-washed cottage on the edge of the village. Annie was waiting at the door. She’d been the island’s nurse and midwife for the last twenty-five years and had patched up all manner of minor injuries and seen to the births of most everyone under the age of twenty. The patients she couldn’t handle were sent to the mainland, the serious by helicopter and the rest by the ferry.
“What seems to be the problem, then?” she asked as she helped Claire into the surgery.
“I think it’s just bruised,” Claire said.
Annie glanced over at Will as she settled Claire onto the examining table. “And where were you two mucking about? You look like you just crawled out of the sea.”
“I took her over to the stone circle,” Will replied. “She slipped on the path and fell.”
Annie gave him a disapproving frown. “You know what comes of that business. The gods don’t like it when you desecrate their holy place with hanky-panky.”
“We were just sightseeing,” Will said.
Annie glanced back to Claire. “Is that true, lass?” A flush of pink stained Claire’s cheeks and Annie shook her head. “I see. Well, let’s have an X ray of this, shall we? If it’s broken, we’ll splint it and wait for the doctor to put on a cast. He’ll be here tomorrow.” She glanced over her shoulder to Will. “Young man, you may wait outside.”
Will found a chair in the reception room and distractedly flipped through a copy of Hello! magazine. But the celebrity gossip didn’t occupy his interest and he got up and began to pace the width of the waiting area. He’d never believed in all the superstitions surrounding the stone circle. But Will had to wonder if perhaps he was being punished for taking advantage where he shouldn’t have.
She was a guest, after all. And though she certainly had enjoyed what had gone on as much as he had, there was something slightly naughty about it as well. Hell, she’d made the first move with all her talk about baseball, so he had no reason to feel guilty.
Fifteen minutes passed before Claire emerged from the examining room. Annie followed close behind. “She’s fine,” the nurse said, handing Will his jumper. “No broken bones that I can see, but I’ll have a consult with Dr. Reilly tomorrow and if he finds anything, he’ll ring you up. For the evening, keep ice on it and don’t be turnin’ any handsprings, dear.”
“Thank you,” Claire said. “And you’ll send me the bill at the inn?”
“I’ll take care of that,” Will said. “Don’t worry.”
By the time they got back to the inn, Will could see Claire was in a considerable amount of discomfort. He walked her up to her room and then went back downstairs to change and fetch whatever pain medication he had on hand. When he got back to her room, he found her standing in front of the fireplace, struggling with the zipper on her pants.
“I can’t get them off,” she muttered, staring down at the mud-stained corduroy.
“Here, then, let me help.” He tossed the bottles on the bed then crossed the room to stand in front of her. At first, Will wasn’t sure how he ought to go about undressing Claire. In the end, he decided to try to remain as impassive as possible. He reached for the zipper and pulled it down, then slipped his palms beneath the waistband and skimmed the pants over her hips.
Will had undressed a fair number of women and had always enjoyed it. But the simple act of helping Claire out of her muddy clothes was charged with a current that made touching her electric.
He’d forgotten to remove her shoes and socks first, so he bent down and worked at the laces, grateful that he had something to turn his attention to besides her long, shapely legs…and the skimpy pair of panties she wore.
Claire picked up her foot, then lost her balance and swayed into him until the lace of her panties pressed against his chin. Will swallowed a groan and tried to ignore the activity going on inside his jeans. Maybe it would have been best to let her struggle on her own.
When he’d finally managed to yank off one shoe, he turned to the other. But when he grabbed Claire’s ankle, she lost her balance completely and tumbled forward. Will wrapped his arms around her waist and softened her fall onto the carpet with his body. They lay together for a long moment in a tangle of limbs.
Claire stared down into his eyes, her pale hair tickling at his cheeks. Her pants were twisted around her ankles and Will was keenly aware of his arousal pressing between them. She shifted slightly, the silky fabric of her panties sliding against the front of his jeans.
A tiny smile teased at her lips as she deliberately moved against him. “What’s that all about?” she whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“I was hoping you could tell me,” Will replied. “You’re the one who caused it.”
“And am I responsible for getting rid of it?” she asked.
“Getting rid of it seems a bit harsh,” Will said. “Maybe if we lie here for a moment we’ll figure out how to make it go away.”
Claire wrapped her good arm around his neck, then rolled off of him, pulling Will on top of her until their contact was even more intimate. Slowly, she began to move beneath him, in a tempting rhythm that did nothing to relieve his situation.
This was crazy, Will thought to himself. They’d only just met, yet there was an attraction between them, a desire that burned with greater intensity every time they touched. He closed his eyes, losing himself in the sensations coursing through his body. He’d enjoy it for just a moment and then, he’d do the sensible thing and leave the room.
But as he rocked against her, Will realized his need had completely overtaken his common sense. It felt good, as good as the first time he’d experienced it as a teenager, this overwhelming need for release at any cost.
Will furrowed his fingers through her hair and kissed her, gently at first, then more desperately as his desire became more acute. She was beautiful and exciting and irresistible and he couldn’t seem to get enough of her. But she was also a complete stranger and a guest in his inn.
He drew a deep breath and stopped, then rolled off of her. Covering his eyes with his arm, Will moaned. “This is crazy. We have to stop this.” It was Sorcha’s fault. She’d put all these ideas into his head and now he was acting on them.
Claire sat up and brushed the hair out of her eyes, then kicked off her pants. “I didn’t start it,” she murmured.
A laugh escaped his throat. “Yes, you did. What’s that all about? That’s what you said.”
“I was asking a question.” She tossed her muddy pants into the corner, then stood and yanked off her jumper, throwing that aside as well. She stood over him in just a T-shirt and her underwear. “I think I’ll take a bath.”
“Are you resolved to torture me?” Will asked, staring up at her.
She studied him for a long moment, then shook her head. “I have no idea what I’m doing. As soon as I do, I’ll let you know.”
With that, Claire walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind her. A few moments later, Will heard the water hit the tub. He closed his eyes again and imagined her stripping off the remainder of her clothes and stepping into the warm water.
Once Claire had settled in for the evening, he’d find Sorcha straight away and insist that she remove whatever spells were still pending. How the hell was he supposed to resist this woman when she did absolutely nothing to resist him? Sorcha would fix it. And after that, he’d certainly be able to control this desperate need he had to seduce Claire O’Connor.
3
WHEN SHE EMERGED from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, Claire found a fire crackling in the fireplace. She stood at the mantel and held her palms out to the warmth. To her relief, Will had decided to use her bath as an excuse to leave the room.
She ran her hand through her damp hair, then grabbed her robe and slipped it on. Since the moment she’d arrived at the inn, all her thoughts had been focused on the handsome innkeeper. It was like she’d stepped into some fantasy world, where men and women were instantly attracted…and willing to throw themselves into each other’s arms without thinking.
But she’d always carefully considered every step in a romantic relationship. Claire O’Connor was nothing if not prudent. And going to bed with a man she’d only just met twenty-four hours before was the epitome of… “Stupidity,” she muttered to herself.
Yes, she was in a foreign land and all her troubles did seem oceans away. And staring into Will Donovan’s beautiful eyes did have an amnesia-like effect on her. Staying in Ireland for the next month to let a love affair play out between her and Will Donovan was just not an option. Eric was her future and it was time to get down to business, time to find the Druid spring, get a bottle of water and go home.
She opened the top drawer of the dresser and pulled out the tattered, velvet-covered journal. She still occasionally jotted down important thoughts and reminders, but whenever she felt her world shifting on its axis, she went back to the journal, to the plan she’d made for her life.
Claire flipped through the pages. There was the list of her top ten colleges. She’d attended her number one—Northwestern—on a partial scholarship. And then there was the list of boys she’d wanted to take her to prom. Again, she’d gone with the first boy on her list, although three through six had asked her as well.
She found the page headed My Future Husband and scanned the list. “One, he must be handsome. Two, he must have dark hair and beautiful eyes. Three, he must love Madonna.” All right, that one didn’t matter. “He must be successful. He must live in Chicago. He must love cats.” Claire continued to go through the list, recalling the moment she’d realized that Eric met all her criteria, including a fondness for Madonna. She’d even cut out a photo from a magazine and pasted it in her journal, and Eric had borne a slight resemblance to the man in the photo.
Claire paged through the book until she found the photo. The moment she looked at it, her breath caught in her throat. There was something familiar in the eyes, something that looked remarkably like—Will Donovan.
She quickly closed the book and put it back into its spot beneath her underwear. So maybe Will did fit a few of her criteria, but all her plans had been built around Eric. So why was she so tempted by Will?
She’d never in her life thrown herself into a purely sexual affair, never experienced that kind of physical excitement. And though her practical side wanted to listen to all the warning bells, another part of her wanted to throw caution to the wind. And if she ever wanted to let loose, then Will Donovan was probably her best bet.
After all, she could make every wild fantasy come true here in Ireland and then she could hop on a plane and go back to her real life, with no regrets. Perhaps she owed it to herself to explore that side of her nature, the side she kept so well-hidden. She planned to marry Eric and after the wedding, there’d be no second chances.
A soft knock sounded on the door and Claire ran her fingers through her damp hair. “Come in,” she said, clutching her robe together over her breasts.
The door slowly swung open and Will stood on the other side. “I’ve made some supper,” he said. “It’s down in the kitchen. I have to go out but I’ll be back later. If you’re hungry, just help yourself.”
Claire forced a smile and tried to ignore her racing pulse. How was it possible that this man had such an effect on her? Was it the way he stared at her, always looking so deeply into her eyes that it felt as though he were undressing her soul as well as her body? Or was it the way his mouth seemed to be a heartbeat away from kissing hers? A shiver skittered down her spine and she took a step back and turned her attention to the fire. “Thanks for the fire,” she murmured. “And the offer of dinner. But I’m really not very hungry.”
“It’s there if you want it,” he said. “I mean the food. Supper. In the kitchen.”
“I know what you meant,” Claire said, glancing over at him.
“I’ll just be off, then. I shouldn’t be long.”
Claire kept her gaze fixed on the fire until she heard the door click shut, then groaned softly. Cradling her wrist, she fell backwards onto the bed, then pinched her eyes closed and tried to put every last thought of Will Donovan out of her head. She rolled off the bed and walked to the windows, which overlooked the front drive.
Drawing back the lacy curtain, Claire watched as Will strode out to the Range Rover. Gravel sprayed from beneath the tires as he sped away. Whatever the errand, he was obviously in a hurry.
Claire spent the next half hour wandering around her room and trying to convince herself that she hadn’t made a mistake in coming to Ireland. Though it had taken a major portion of her savings just to buy the plane ticket on such short notice, at the time the expense had seemed well worth it. But the more she thought about the Druid spring and the silly legend behind it, the more she began to feel like a fool.
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