Wild Irish

by C. M. Seabrook

  The woman’s gotten under my skin and I can’t figure out why.

  There’s a part of me that wants to protect her, keep her safe – even from myself. Because from the second I laid eyes on her, I haven’t been able to think about anything other than being inside her.

  But she’s not the kind of girl that does one-night stands, or at least that’s what I thought before I read the list.

  Kiss a stranger.

  Sure, that’s innocent enough. But it was number twenty-two that really fucked with my head. Like the list was written by someone else. Someone who could handle what I have to give.

  No expectations.

  No promises of tomorrow.

  No emotions.

  I may be an asshole, but I’ve had my own heart crushed enough that I have no intention of inflicting the same pain on someone else. Especially not the sweet little American who carries the weight of the world in those hypnotizing hazel eyes.

  “Cillian?”

  With my hand on a bottle of Jameson, I glance over my shoulder, cursing under my breath when I see Emer walking towards me, mouth twisted in a frown.

  I’ve known the woman since we were kids. Her brother Shane was my best friend, or at least I thought he was before I found out what Owen did. I believed he’d have my back when the shit hit the fan. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

  To complicate matters, Emer’s also dating Aiden Callahan, Wild Irish’s drummer, another man I never believed would betray me, until he did.

  The four of us—Owen, Aiden, Shane, and myself—started the band ten years ago, when we were still practically kids. We never dreamed we’d have the success we did. But then, a lot of things turned out differently than imagined.

  “Hey,” I grumble, regretting not driving the extra twenty minutes to the next town to do my shopping.

  Emer gives me a small smile, her expression filled with concern and a million questions that I don’t want to answer. “Yer back?”

  “For now.” I place the bottle of Jameson in my trolley, then as a second thought grab another one.

  “Have ye called Shane or Aiden? They’ve been worried sick about ye. We all have.”

  I grunt, pushing the trolley forward.

  She follows me. “I know it’s none of my business, but yer brother–”

  “Yer right.” I turn to her. “It isn’t yer business.” I drag my hand through my hair and let out a low breath. “I’ve had a shitty day and I don’t want to make it any shittier by arguing with ye about stuff ye don’t understand.”

  Her expression changes from one of concern to irritation. She’s a tiny thing, barely comes up to my shoulders, but the way she crosses her arms over her chest and narrows her eyes at me is intimidating.

  She may be two years younger than Shane and I, but she’s never had any problem putting us in our place when she thought we deserved it.

  “I knew ye were stubborn, Cillian, but I didn’t take ye for an idiot.”

  “So now I’m an idiot for believing what my eyes saw.”

  “He didn’t–”

  “I’ve heard the lies from his mouth. I don’t need them repeated from yours.”

  She shakes her head and mutters something under her breath.

  “Leave it alone, Emer. This isn’t your fight.”

  “It is. Because I care about ye both.” She places her hand on my arm. “Ye should see him. He’s a mess. It’s killing him to think that he’s lost you.”

  “He should have thought about that before he fucked my girlfriend.”

  She cringes and drops her hand. Immediately, I regret my harsh tone. The woman has never been anything but good to me.

  “I know yer just trying to help.” I rough my hand over my beard.

  A sad smile plays on her lips. “Come over to the house. I’ll make ye a bite to eat. Aiden will be home soon–”

  “I can’t.” I put my hand up to stop her protests. “And before ye start into me, I’ve got a good reason.”

  “Fine.” I can tell she doesn’t believe me, but at least her smile has returned. “Come by soon.”

  “I will.”

  “That’s a promise then?” She points a finger at me, brows raised.

  I nod, which seems to satisfy her.

  Exhaling heavily as I watch her walk away, I know I’ll have to live up to the promise. But I knew when I decided to come home that I’d have to see the guys again – even Owen. I was just hoping to put it off as long as possible.

  I manage to get out of the store without anyone else recognizing me. Or if they do, they know better than to approach.

  The sky is a deep purple by the time I get back to the house. It’s quiet when I walk in. Delaney isn’t in the kitchen or the living room. I place the groceries on the counter, then walk down the hall towards the bedroom. The bathroom light is off, so it’s the only place she can be.

  My chest tightens when I see her.

  Spread out on my bed, dark hair draped over her cheek, her eyes are closed. I have no control over the way my body responds to seeing her in my bed. I’m instantly hard.

  Leave it alone, my brain warns, urging me to step away from the bedroom. I’m already in too deep by allowing her to stay here. As soon as I made the decision to bring her back to my place, she became my problem.

  I shut the door and go back to the kitchen, pouring myself a good shot of whiskey, then slam it back before refilling my glass.

  My phone is still on the counter. Four missed calls. Two from Owen, the others from Aiden and Shane.

  Fuck. By now, the whole town probably knows I’m back. It won’t be long before those assholes start knocking on my door with their demands.

  I drain my glass and refill it again before pulling out the meat and vegetables from the fridge. I keep drinking as I sauté the beef and chop the onions, potatoes, and carrots. I’m nearly halfway through the bottle by the time the stew is simmering on the stove.

  Taking my glass and the bottle of whiskey, I lay down on the living room couch, my head already swimming in the warm fog of alcohol.

  I close my eyes, allowing my thoughts to drift to the woman in my bed.

  If I wasn’t in such a fucked-up place, and I knew she could handle sex with no strings attached, I’d be all over her. There’s no way in hell she’d be sleeping right now. She’d be screaming my name, begging me to fuck her harder and faster.

  I’m good at it. Sex. Making women cry out in pleasure. And I know I could fulfill number twenty-two on her list.

  Have a mind-blowing orgasm.

  And be damned if I don’t want to give it to her.

  Chapter 5

  Delaney

  It’s dark when I finally open my eyes. The only light is the soft glow from under the door. And it’s quiet. So damn quiet I swear I can hear my own heart beating.

  My stomach growls and I realize what woke me – the strong scent of garlic and meat cooking.

  I’m starving. With my stomach turning on the plane, I hadn’t been able to eat the bland meal that was provided. But whatever Cillian is making has my mouth watering.

  A small bundle of nerves twists in my chest as I climb out of bed and walk down the hall towards the kitchen. But it’s more from the anticipation of seeing the man again.

  There’s a large pot on the stove, steaming. I lift the lid. It’s some kind of stew with chunks of beef, potatoes, and carrots.

  I’m impressed.

  In all the years we were together, the only thing Matt ever cooked for me was scrambled eggs and burnt toast. But then, he always had the expectation that once we were married I’d take up most of the household duties.

  I hadn’t thought much about it at the time, summing it up to the fact that he was raised by a stay-at-home mom who did everything for everyone. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, I just always believed in equal responsibilities. I realize now that would never have happened with Matt. He would have expected me to play the dutiful housewife.

  For a ti
me, that’s what I thought I wanted. To be someone’s wife. Have kids. Move to suburbia and live the American dream.

  I didn’t want to listen to Maeve when she told me not to settle. I ignored the small voice in my head warning me that I was giving a piece of myself up for a dream I didn’t really want.

  I see it now. How I gave up three years of my life to be with someone because I thought he was the safe choice.

  Despite how painful it was to find him with another woman, at least I found out before we were married.

  I just wish Maeve could have seen his face when I threw his clothes, including his favorite Gucci suit, out the window of my twelfth-floor apartment.

  I put the lid down and go searching for Cillian.

  He’s sprawled out on the couch, and the way he’s laying with one arm extended above his head has made his shirt rise, exposing his stomach.

  My gaze roams down his body, my fingers itching to touch the dark ink that runs up his one arm.

  God, he’s sexy. Not the tall, dark, cookie cutter handsome you read about in romance novels. But something rougher, more raw and real. He could just as easily be on the cover of Rolling Stones magazine. He’s got the whole bad boy vibe down.

  The opposite of what I usually go for. The kind of man I usually run in the opposite direction from.

  “Do ye make it a habit of watching people sleep?” The words rumble in a slur from his beautiful lips, but his eyes remain closed.

  Shit.

  “I…I...” I have no excuse. “Sorry. I woke up, and…” God, I sound like a gibbering idiot.

  He stretches, exposing more of his stomach, and the soft line of hair that trails under his jeans.

  My tongue darts over my bottom lip.

  A small growl rumbles from his throat, and I jerk my gaze to his.

  Hunger flares in his eyes. A look that says he would devour me in a heartbeat.

  My breath catches in my throat, and I panic.

  I take a step back, bumping into the coffee table behind me and knocking an empty glass onto the floor. Thankfully, it doesn’t break. My fingers are shaking when I lean over to pick it up.

  “Sorry.” I place the glass back on the table.

  He rolls off the couch, picking up the whiskey bottle that’s beside him. “Ye hungry?”

  I give a small nod and look away, anywhere but the gorgeous man in front of me.

  I’m starving. And not just for food.

  I want to taste him.

  Feel his lips on mine.

  It’s insane. I don’t even know him. But my body is craving his touch.

  He takes a step toward me, and my heart begins to race, because for one crazy second I think he means to kiss me.

  And I want him to.

  I lick my lips, meeting his fiery gaze, my body humming in anticipation. I lean towards him just slightly.

  He stares down at me for a long, tense moment.

  Kiss me.

  But he doesn’t. He breaks eye contact and moves past me.

  “Come on,” he growls, voice brimming with frustration.

  With me?

  As he disappears out of the room, I hear his heavy, agitated breath.

  The warmth of embarrassment reaches my cheeks, and I squeeze my eyes shut.

  I totally misread him. Maybe he’s not attracted to me. Or maybe he has a girlfriend. I hadn’t even thought of that until now. I sigh and follow him into the kitchen.

  “Sit,” he says, nodding to the table and chairs. When I take a seat, he places a bowl of stew in front of me.

  He grabs the bottle of whiskey and two glasses and sits down across from me. Filling both glasses, he pushes one across the table towards me. Leaning back in his chair, he swirls the amber liquid and studies me.

  “You’re not eating?” I ask, picking up the spoon.

  He drains his glass, then places it on the table before refilling it. “Tell me about the list.”

  I cough, choking on my first bite. Grabbing the glass in front of me, I drain it, but the whiskey only makes me cough more.

  Cillian doesn’t seem fazed, he just refills my glass and continues. “That’s why ye’re here, right? In Ireland.” He leans forward, blue eyes studying me like I’m some sort of anomaly. “But ye don’t seem like the adventurous type.”

  More heat races to my cheeks. Embarrassment mixes with indignation because there’s judgment in his words.

  I place my spoon down and tilt my chin at him. “What type do I seem like?”

  “The kind that stays home. Gets married and has babies. Not the type who runs off…” His lips twitch up slightly. “And kisses strangers.”

  “I never…” I fidget in my seat. “I mean, I haven’t.”

  “Ye don’t have to justify yerself. I’m just trying to figure ye out.”

  I glance down at my bowl, unable to meet his gaze. I hate that he can read me so well when I can’t figure him out at all.

  “D’ye have a man back at home?”

  “What?” I blink up at him. “No.”

  “So it’s not a man yer runnin’ from?” There’s a slight slur to his voice.

  I chew on my bottom lip and shake my head. “Maybe I just want to have fun. Live my life. And not care about everyone else’s rules.”

  He sighs and rakes his fingers through his hair. “Ye don’t seem like the type that goes looking for trouble.”

  “You’re assuming a lot about me.”

  “Am I wrong?”

  I pick up my spoon and stir the meat and potatoes around the bowl.

  When I don’t answer, he grunts. “Ye’ve got the look about ye.”

  “What look?”

  “Like someone hurt ye.”

  I shrug. “You’ve been hurt?”

  Maybe that’s why he’s so damn surly.

  His expression darkens. “People can only hurt ye if ye let them. If ye don’t care, they have no power over ye.”

  “Good advice,” I say, picking up the glass he poured for me and lifting it in a salute. “To not caring.”

  “To not caring,” he repeats, angling his glass towards me, then drinking.

  I cough as the whiskey burns a line down my throat.

  He chuckles and shakes his head, then pours me another shot. “And to the list.”

  I wince, wondering if he read the entire thing. “To the list,” I mutter before draining my glass.

  Silence stretches between us as he watches me eat the remaining stew.

  “Thank you for dinner. It was good.”

  He gives a sharp nod.

  “Did your mom teach you how to cook?”

  “No.” There’s a finality to the word, and I can see I’ve broached a taboo subject.

  I take my empty bowl to the sink, fully aware of the way his gaze follows me across the room.

  Everything about him is intense, pulsating with an energy that leaves me alert, on edge, and aching for something I can’t quite put my finger on. It’s more than just his touch. Sure, the physical attraction is there, but there’s also a mystery to him, a puzzle that I want to figure out.

  “Also, thank you for letting me stay here tonight,” I say as I rinse my bowl off in the sink.

  I don’t hear him move, but I feel the warmth of his body behind me, even though he doesn’t touch me. If I turn, I know he’ll be only a breath away.

  Despite the heat surrounding me, a small shiver races down my spine, sending little pinpricks across my skin.

  “I’ll clean up.” The rich, melodic brogue is strained.

  I turn slightly, just enough that my arm brushes against his. The skin-to-skin contact is enough to release the small moan that’s been trapped inside my throat.

  His response is a low growl, and the next thing I know his gorgeously tatted arms are trapping me between the counter and his large, muscular body.

  He doesn’t touch me. It’s like he’s making every effort not to.

  “Delaney.” My name is a command on his lips, forcing me to lo
ok up at him.

  When I do, there’s no mistaking the desire in his eyes.

  A small sliver of fear races through me. “I…”

  His nostrils flare, and he lets out an uneven breath before slowly stepping away, heading back to the table, grabbing the bottle, and pouring himself another glass, his back to me.

  I’m left standing there, not sure what I did wrong.

  I wanted to kiss him, and I think he wanted it, too.

  God, I’m no good at this kind of thing.

  “Go to bed, Delaney.” He stares blankly into his glass. It’s not just a command, but a severing of whatever spark or connection we shared for that brief moment.

  Chapter 6

  Cillian

  Groaning as sunlight hits my face, I toss on the couch, stretching my legs over the armrest. I’m too damn big for the fucking couch, and every muscle in my body aches. Not to mention the constant throbbing between my legs.

  I spent the night regretting not kissing the woman. Her body was practically humming in anticipation. So damn responsive, and I hadn’t even touched her.

  Knowing she was in my bed had my cock aching so fucking bad that no amount of whiskey could dull it.

  There’s a knock on the door.

  Shit. I think about ignoring it, but the person knocks again, this time with more urgency.

  Grunting, I roll off the couch and drag my tongue over my teeth, before rinsing my mouth with a shot of whiskey.

  More knocking.

  “Fuck off. I’m coming.”

  Aiden’s eyebrows shoot up when I answer the door, his gaze dropping to the bottle of Jameson in my hand. “My God, man, Emer said ye look like shit, but I didn’t think it’d be this bad.”

  I make a noise in the back of my throat. Turning my back on him, I walk to the kitchen and place the bottle on the counter. I frown when I notice fresh coffee brewing.

  Delaney must have woken up already.

  “Ye not going to talk to me?” Aiden follows me down the hall toward the bedroom. It’s empty and the bed is made. The luggage in the far corner of the room is the only sign that she’d been here.

  Where the hell is she?

  “Did ye see a woman when ye came in?” I turn back to him, dragging my hands through my hair.