by Laura Burton
“If that’s the case, I think I can forgive you.” Shane beamed. And just to be sure I didn’t doubt his words, he made sure I understood just how forgiving of me he was. Not by words. Shane was never one for explaining things that way. No, he took his time to show me in the best possible way.
“So, I’m forgiven?” I said, when I came up for air.
“If you apologize to me in plaid pajamas and your glasses each time we fight, I’ll promise to forgive you every time.” Shane reached out to kiss me again.
“Hey,” I interrupted him. “What makes you so sure I’ll be the one needing to apologize?”
“Just a hunch.” Shane laughed before pressing his lips to mine and kissing me long and hard enough for me to forget what we had been talking about.
-Acknowledgements-
A huge thank you to Taylor Dean and Charissa Stastny. It’s invaluable to have such great friends in such a tough industry.
Thank you, Jamie, for being my go-to girl for valuable feedback.
Thank you to Shaela at Blue Water Books for designing a cover I adore.
A special thanks to Jenny Proctor for your excellent feedback to make my book shine.
As always, a huge shout-out to Jennifer Henkes for your sharp eye as an editor and being a star to work with.
Thank you to Haley for being an exceptional P.A. and making my life so much easier this year. You have helped me more than I imagined possible, and I love you for it.
Thank you always to my Heavenly Father for helping me find a balance in life to continue writing the stories that bounce around in my mind while working and taking care of a family and fulfilling my church responsibilities.
And always, a huge thank you to my husband and children. Without your love and support, I would be lost.
Other books by the Author
The Rules Series
Rules are made to be Broken
I’ve loved Will Henderson from the first day I laid eyes on him. But I made a solemn promise that same day. I would never, ever date Will Henderson.
Rules are made to be Ignored
Coming Nov 2020
I’ve sworn off men. For good! Finding your boyfriend cheating on you will crush even the most romantic of hearts.
-Meet the Author-
Mylissa Demeyere was born in Belgium, and resides in the beautiful city of Ghent. She lives in a somewhat organized home with her four beautiful children and the love of her life. If she isn’t working, she’s writing, exercising, reading, or enjoying time with her kids, who are growing up way too fast.
Mylissa loves to hear from her readers.
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King of the Castle by Nadine Millard
Prologue
Jenna McCarthy had once read a self-help book. Or at least tried to.
Pop psychology wasn’t really her thing, and she’d found herself snorting derisively rather than nodding sagely at most of what she was reading.
And since she figured a sage nod or two was generally required for this type of reading, along with the odd gasp of revelation for good measure, it seemed best that she give up the ghost.
One chapter, however, had stuck with her.
It was about hitting an all-time low. Cleverly entitled “how to rock rock-bottom.”
Hence the snorting.
But there was a paragraph. Something about how when you hit rock bottom, you know for sure. Irrefutable, unambiguous bottom. A bottom so bottom that there’s no possible way for things to be worse.
Now, Jenna would never claim to be the most emotionally intelligent person in the world.
But, she figured, it was reasonable to assume that being stuck on a fence, in the depths of the countryside, on someone else’s property, and surrounded by what she suspected were killer cows, could be the very definition of rock bottom.
Oh, and it was raining. Not just rain. Irish rain. West of Ireland rain – extra cold, extra fat drops.
“Really?” she threw her eyes heavenward and yelled. “I mean, really, really?”
One of the murderous herd mooed ominously in answer and ambled closer to her, like a very slow, but no less terrifying, killing machine.
Jenna managed to emit a squeak of fear past the lump in her throat.
She didn’t like cows. Of all the farmyard creatures in the world, cows were her least favourite.
They were completely untrustworthy. Looking all docile and unassuming. But she’d never walked by a field of them where they let her pass without notice. One always spotted her then stopped what it was doing to watch her intimidatingly. And worse, once one did it, they all slowly did it.
They communicated telepathically, she’d concluded one night after a couple of glasses of pinot and a quick dash past a field full of the telepathic monsters. And if they could do that, they were capable of anything.
People had laughed at her suspicions.
Well, they wouldn’t be laughing anymore. Not when someone discovered her cold, still, ravaged corpse.
Although, they might actually laugh. Knowing the people around here, they’d probably think death by cow was a hilarious way to shuffle off the mortal coil.
Another of the herd of bovine psychopaths bellowed, causing a mini stampede, and Jenna nearly had a heart attack right there and then.
How on earth was she going to get out of this one?
And how, she couldn’t help wondering self-pityingly, had she managed to get herself here in the first place?
It was all his fault, of course. Conor King. Sitting up at his castle all snug, and warm, and not about to be trampled to death by murderous cows.
The herd edged closer and Jenna squealed again, pulling her feet up.
How to rock rock-bottom?
She would have much preferred if someone had told her how not to bloody well get there in the first place.
Chapter 1
One week earlier
“Gran, are you here?”
Jenna McCarthy swung open the door to the small, stone cottage and looked around the kitchen.
The flagstones gleamed in the morning sunlight, the scrubbed wooden table was shining clear of clutter, and the aga that dominated one wall was giving off smells that made Jenna drool.
Gran almost always had something delicious baking or cooking, and she kept her cottage immaculately clean. A pretty impressive fete considering how old it was.
The whitewashed walls didn’t need much maintenance to be fair, and Jenna made sure that the thatched roof was regularly looked after. Since her grandad had died a few years ago, Jenna had hired people to do the jobs he used to love doing.
Gran was fiercely independent, but she was also practical and thankfully knew better than to drag herself onto the roof of her two-hundred-year-old cottage to mend thatching.
“Gran?”
When no answering call came, Jenna figured that Gran was in her garden.
The cottage was small, but beautifully and perfectly situated.
Not only did the back garden stretch down to the shell-covered coast, but to the right was the formidable Dunkilly Castle. The castle after which the town had been given its name.
Jenna loved that castle. It was one of the reasons she’d decided to move back to Kerry when she’d quit her job as a corporate lawyer. Being close to her family was great. But this place – the Atlantic Ocean that bashed unforgivingly against the rugged coastline, the grey-stoned castle that stood indomitable against the backdrop of the mountains – it spoke to
her soul.
Jenna had spent many wonderful days, and even nights, in the ruins of Dunkilly. It was said to be haunted, but that didn’t really mean much since pretty much every building more than fifty years old was said to be haunted in Ireland.
Although, on the nights that she’d camped out there with her friends as a teenager, she would have sworn the same thing.
Jenna flicked on the kettle and started preparing a coffee for herself. While the water heated, she flitted around the kitchen, putting away the supplies she’d picked up on her way over to Gran’s.
She wasn’t due to be at her office until nine and even then, if she was a bit late nobody would mind too much. There weren’t many legal emergencies requiring her attention in Dunkilly.
The kettle clicked off and she quickly made her coffee, grabbed one of the scones that Gran always baked first thing in the morning for the many people of Dunkilly who wandered in and out of her house all day, then made her way outside.
Gran’s cottage was always the hub of what went on in their small town. From residents’ meetings, to fundraisers to keep the grounds of the castle in a semblance of good repair, which was the only repair they could afford, to book clubs and poker nights that got out of hand more often than not, Eileen McCarthy’s place was central to it all.
Jenna stepped out onto the flagstone patio, inhaling the tangy sea air.
In the near distance she could make out Gran, her oversized sunhat looking like a UFO had landed on her greying hair.
As Jenna made her way down to the shore, she looked over at the castle.
Though the outer walls were in bad shape, the main Keep was in pretty decent repair. It still had a partial roof, albeit a leaky one.
Jenna, along with a group of locals, had been lobbying the office of public works for years to have it taken over and restored. It was a part of their culture, their heritage. It deserved to be returned to its former glory. Not left to rot away.
“Gran!”
Gran looked up as Jenna called to her and waved.
“Morning, love,” Eileen called. “Did you take a scone? They’re blueberry.”
Jenna held up the still warm scone to show that she was indeed in possession of it.
“I won’t stay long,” she said as she reached the beach, the shells crackling under her feet. “I just wanted to drop over your bread. And Mrs. Callahan sent some of her jam.”
“Hmm,” Gran sniffed, inspecting bits of washed glass, shells, discarded fisherman’s rope, and stones before dropping them in her basket or throwing them back onto the beach. She made art pieces out of what she found on the shore. Good ones. Jenna had one in her poky little lawyer’s office and a couple in the apartment upstairs. “I suppose it’s the raspberry one she was waffling about last week at Bingo.”
Jenna rolled her eyes.
The feuding between the two old ladies was legendary. Nice as pie to each other, they were the very definition of frenemies. And they were both as bad as each other.
“If you don’t want it, I’ll take it back,” Jenna said now in a voice she’d use for a child.
“Not at all,” Gran said. “Sure, won’t it be lovely with the scones?”
Jenna could only shake her head.
“I have to run,” she said. “I’ve clients coming in at ten. Do you want to come over for dinner later? It’s only going to be me and the cat, so you’re more than welcome.”
“Actually, I was hoping you’d come here,” Gran said, her tone unusually serious. “I need to talk to you about something.”
Jenna was immediately filled with dread.
All sorts of things ran through her head, and none of them were good.
“Are you ok?” she asked, hearing the fear in her voice. “You’re not – sick?”
“Fit as a fiddle!” Gran said. “It’s not me you’ve to worry about.”
Jenna frowned at the cryptic remark.
Her parents were safe and well in Dublin. She knew, because she’d only come back from spending the weekend with them.
And her brother had sent an email just that morning from his office in Canada.
“It’s the castle, love,” Gran said. “I’ll let you know later when I can explain properly.”
“Explain what?” Jenna demanded. “Gran, you know I won’t be able to concentrate on anything now until you tell me.”
“There’s not much to tell.” Gran sounded a bit defensive, which only made Jenna more uneasy.
They engaged in a bit of a stand-off there on the shore of Dunkilly, matching sets of deep blue eyes staring each other down.
Jenna hadn’t only gotten her Celtic looks from the McCarthy side of the family, but she got their stubbornness, too. That’s why she wouldn’t back down until Gran at least gave her a hint of what she was on about.
The stiff sea breeze blew her dark hair around her face, and she pushed the waves back impatiently.
Finally, Gran relented.
“Fine,” she said, flicking her long, grey plait over her shoulder. “But don’t be asking me loads of questions now, because I don’t have the answers for you.”
Jenna just raised a brow and waited.
“Dunkilly castle has been sold,” Gran said. “To a private investor. And he’s turning it into a hotel.”
Jenna’s stomach sank at Gran’s reluctant announcement.
So many beautiful Irish castles had been turned into hotels and private, luxury accommodations. The history and soul stripped out of them to make way for spas and restaurants. It was an absolute shame and something she was passionately against.
So, what then? Were the grounds to be paved for parking? Was the coastline going be destroyed by yet another golf course?
Ugh, she could just see it now. Big extensions of glass and chrome poking out where they didn’t belong.
“Who bought it?” she asked through clenched teeth.
Gran shrugged but Jenna could tell that the old lady was as crushed as she was. Gran might have learned to curb her passion with the wisdom of age. Jenna hadn’t yet managed that, and she could feel rage bubbling under the surface.
“Some American investment firm. I don’t know much about it. I got a letter this morning saying someone would be in touch to make an offer on the cottage.”
“Wait, what?” Jenna asked, her stomach dropping again. “The cottage?”
“Apparently, the investors want to acquire the land around the castle to build luxury holiday villas. Villas, would you mind?”
“B-but, Gran! They can’t take your cottage.”
“Well, of course they can’t, love. That’s why you’re not going to let them.”
Jenna quickly arranged a time with her gran to come back for dinner then stormed back to the cottage to grab the letter.
She skimmed her eyes over the content before moving them up to squint at the letterhead.
The King Corporation.
Jenna had no idea who this King Corporation was, or which lackey they intended to send to Dunkilly.
But whoever it was, he or she was in for a surprise when they got here.
She’d make sure of it.
Chapter 2
“Thirty minutes to landing, Mr. King.”
Conor King looked up from his laptop to thank his stewardess then turned his gaze out the small airplane window.
Below him was only cloud and sea. He wouldn’t see the western coast of Ireland for a while yet. He hadn’t been here in years but every time he came, he was taken aback by how green it was.
And even though he had little interest in his familial connection to the place, and even though he was perfectly suited to his busy, New York City life, he couldn’t deny that he felt a jolt of something each time the unmistakeable emerald isle came into view.
But he wasn’t here to connect with his grandfather’s place of birth. And he wasn’t here to soak up the history, or the culture, or admire the green. He was here to close on what should be a very lucrative deal for The King Corp
oration.
Anita had hinted about wanting to join him when he’d told her of his plans.
“It sounds so romantic, Conor,” she’d practically purred. “An Irish castle by the sea. It could be the perfect escape for us.”
Well, she’d been right about one thing. It was the perfect escape. Just not for them.
Anita was supposed to have been different. Someone who understood Conor’s limits.
It wasn’t that he was a commitment-phobe, much as his sister, Callie, liked to call him one. He was just too busy to even think about something serious.
And if he did have time to commit properly to someone, he didn’t think it would be Anita Billings.
She was beautiful, of course. Smart, too.
But she was far too into “the scene” in New York to be someone Conor would consider spending his life with.
Being a Socialite was both a full-time job and a life’s ambition for the tall, willowy blonde.
And the truth was that while Conor enjoyed city life and knew the value of networking and maintaining a social presence, he didn’t want it to be the centre of his life.
In fact, he liked nothing more than to be able to escape the rat race sometimes, and just enjoy the peace and quiet of his waterfront estate upstate.
Anita didn’t like it there. He’d made the mistake of bringing her with him once. Once. And it wasn’t a mistake he’d repeat. Her incessant whining had very nearly ended them.
