by JoAnn Ross
“That’s different.”
“Is it, now?”
“What if you wrote a song that didn’t connect with your fans?”
He shrugged and took another bite of battered cod. “I’d write it off as a mistake and move on. No risk, no reward. I tend to go with my gut, then don’t look back.”
“My father’s the same way,” she murmured, more to herself than to him.
He leaned back in the wooden chair and eyed her over the rim of his glass. “And how has that worked out for him?”
“Very well, actually.”
He lifted the glass. “Point made.”
“Different strokes,” she argued.
“You know what they say about opposites.” His gaze moved slowly over her face, his eyes darkening to a stormy, deep sea blue as they settled on her lips, which had parts of her tingling that Sedona had forgotten could tingle.
“I have a spreadsheet,” she said.
“I suspect you have quite a few.” When he flashed her a slow, badass grin she suspected had panties dropping across several continent, Sedona sternly reminded herself that she’d never—ever—been attracted to bad boys.
So why had she forgotten how to breathe?
As that fantasy of him sprawled in her bed next door in the Copper Beach Inn came crashing to the forefront of her mind, Sedona thought of those twenty-two months, three weeks, eight days and sixteen, no almost seventeen hours.
Even if she hadn’t been coming off a very long dry spell, every instinct she possessed told her that not only was Conn Brennan trouble, he was way out of her league.
“They’re not all business related. I also have one for men.”
Putting his ale down, he leaned across the small round table and tucked a strand of blonde hair, which had fallen from the tidy French twist she’d created for the reception, behind her ear. The brush of his fingertips, roughened from guitar strings, caused heat to rise beneath the erotic touch.
“You put us men in boxes.” His eyes somehow managed to look both hot and amused at the same time.
It was not a question. But Sedona answered it anyway. “Not men. Attributes,” she corrected. “What I’d require, and expect, in a mate.”
Oh, God. Why did she have to use that word? While technically accurate, it had taken on an entirely different, impossibly sexy meaning. Desperately wanting to bury her flaming face in her palms, she remained frozen in place as his treacherous finger traced a trail of sparks around her lips, which, despite Ireland’s damp weather, had gone desert dry.
“And where do I fit in your tidy little boxes, Sedona Sullivan?”
Although she was vaguely aware of the couple leaving the snug, and the pub, his steady male gaze was holding her hostage. She could not look away.
“You don’t.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” he said on that deep, gravelly voice that set off vibrations like a tuning fork inside her.
Conn ran his hand down her throat, his thumb skimming over her pulse, which leaped beneath his touch, before cupping her jaw. “Because I’ve never been comfortable fenced into boundaries.”
And growing up in a world of near-absolute freedom, Sedona had never been comfortable without them. “There’s something you need to know.”
“And that would be?”
“I’m not into casual sex.”
“And isn’t that good to hear.” He lowered his mouth to within a whisper of hers. “Since there’d be nothing casual about how you affect me.”
She drew in a sharp breath, feeling as if she were standing on the edge of the towering cliff where J.T. and Mary’s wedding had taken place in a circle of ancient stones.
“I’m taking you back to your room.”
Somehow, her hand had lifted to his face. “Your flight…”
He parted her lips with the pad of his thumb. “It’s my plane. It takes off when I’m ready.” His other hand was on her leg, his fingers stroking the inside of her thigh through the denim of the jeans she’d put on after returning to her room after the reception. “I’ll ring up the pilot and tell him I’ll be leaving in the morning.”
Then his mouth came down on hers and Conn was kissing her, hard and deep, setting off a blind-blinding supernova inside her.
They left the pub, running through the soft Irish rain into the inn next door. As the old fashioned gilt cage elevator cranked its way up to her floor, he continued to kiss her breathless, making Sedona forgot that she’d never, ever, been attracted to bad boys.
Other Books from JoAnn Ross
The Shelter Bay (Castlelough’s sister city) series:
The Homecoming
One Summer
On Lavender Lane
Moonshell Beach
Sea Glass Winter
Castaway Cove
Christmas in Shelter Bay (Cole and Kelli’s pre-novella in A Christmas on Main Street)
You Again
Other books in the Castlelough series:
A Woman’s Heart
Fair Haven
Legends Lake
Briarwood Cottage
The Shelter Bay spin-off Murphy Brothers Trilogy:
River’s Bend
About The Author
When New York Times bestselling contemporary romance author JoAnn Ross was seven years old, she had no doubt whatsoever that she’d grow up to play center field for the New York Yankees. Writing would be her backup occupation, something she planned to do after retiring from baseball. Those were, in her mind, her only options. While waiting for the Yankees management to call, she wrote her first novella—a tragic romance about two star-crossed Mallard ducks—for a second grade writing assignment.
The paper earned a gold star. And JoAnn kept writing.
She’s now written around one hundred novels (she quit keeping track long ago) and has been published in twenty-six countries. Two of her titles have been excerpted in Cosmopolitan magazine and her books have also been published by the Doubleday, Rhapsody, Literary Guild, and Mystery Guild book clubs. A member of the Romance Writers of America’s Honor Roll of best-selling authors, she’s won several awards.
Although the Yankees have yet to call her to New York to platoon center field, JoAnn figures making one out of two life goals isn’t bad.
Currently writing her Shelter Bay and River’s Bend series set in Oregon, where she and her husband grew up, and her Castlelough Irish series—from where her grandparents emigrated and one of her favorite places to visit—JoAnn lives with her husband and two rescued dogs (who pretty much rule the house) in the Pacific Northwest.
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