by Myla Jackson
When she’d entered the airport, her gaze had found him in an instant. Though she knew plenty of beautiful men through her experiences as a model, she hadn’t met one with as much ruggedly masculine charisma as Mack.
As he lifted his lips from hers, he whispered, “Definitely beautiful.”
Her heart fluttered and she swayed toward him, wanting a replay of the kiss, not nearly satisfied with just one.
Lights flashed and the click of cameras surrounded them.
“What the hell?” Mack straightened, setting her upright on her feet.
“Feckin’ papparazi.” Deirdre lifted her scarf up over her hair and snatched her sunglasses from where they’d caught on her sleeve, slipping them over her eyes. “If you want a lift, come with me now.”
Before he could take a step toward the door, a woman shoved a microphone in his face. “Sir, are you Deirdre Darcy’s lover?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He pushed the microphone away from his face and matched Deirdre’s steps as she exited the terminal.
A man carrying a camera jumped in front of Deirdre, blocking her path. “Ms. Darcy, we understand you’re attending a wedding this weekend. Is it yours? Is this man your fiancé?” He snapped several pictures, the flash blinking again and again.
Glad for her sunglasses, Deirdre ignored the question and started around the man. He moved to the side, blocking her yet again. This was exactly the kind of situation she’d hoped to avoid and was dead tired of dealing with.
Mack stepped up beside her and pushed himself between the man with the camera and Deirdre, gripping her elbow in his massive paw. “You’re blocking the lady’s path.”
Much larger than the reporter, Mack towered over him, glaring down his nose like an angry bull.
The man’s eyes widened and he stepped aside.
Deirdre marched to the parking garage where she’d left her car, her lips twitching at the way her path cleared with the big American by her side. She could get used to this. Perhaps she should hire a bodyguard when she went out in public. A big one with rock-hard muscles and hands that could hold her like she was lighter than a feather. A guard who could kiss like the feckin’ devil himself.
She stumbled. If not for Mack’s hand on her arm, she’d have gone headfirst into the side of her car. Straightening, she stared up into Mack’s deep-blue eyes and gulped. She swallowed hard before she could get words past her vocal chords. “You can store your bag in the boot.” Without waiting for his response, she clicked the button releasing the lock on the lid of the boot.
Mack let go of her arm. “Are you okay?”
“I’ll be better once we’re out of here.” She shook free of his grip, walked around to the right side of the vehicle and slid behind the steering wheel.
Once Mack had stowed his bag and slid into the passenger seat, Deirdre eased the shift into reverse and backed out of the parking space.
“Deirdre Darcy.” Mack tapped his finger to his chin and finally shook his head. “Name rings a bell, but I’ve been too long in the sandbox to remember why. Suppose you enlighten me.”
“Sandbox?”
“Afghanistan.”
She knew Wyatt’s brothers were in the military, but she hadn’t stopped to think of where. That they’d been in hostile countries, possibly being shot at, hadn’t crossed her mind. Suddenly her status as an internationally known public figure seemed unimportant to the point of trivial. “I guess you could say I’m a celebrity in Ireland.”
Once they were out of the parking garage, she pushed the scarf off her head, leaving her sunglasses in place, not ready to reveal her thoughts through her eyes. Every photographer she’d ever worked with had told her that her eyes were the windows to her soul. Every emotion she felt was revealed. For some reason, she didn’t want her every thought on display for the handsome man in the seat next to her to see. He was too confident, cocky and annoying by far. And his kiss had left her confused and, for the first time in a decade, needy.
“Celebrity?” He turned toward her. “Actress? Newscaster? No, don’t tell me. Weathergirl?”
Deirdre frowned. “None of those.” She nodded toward a billboard sign at the side of the highway. “See that sign?”
Mack’s glance darted to the sign as they drove past.
In larger-than-life size and brilliant contrasts of dark and light was a woman in a white evening gown with a plunging neckline. She stood in front of a shiny black Mercedes, her deep auburn hair twisted up in an elegant chignon at the back of her head.
Deirdre waited for recognition to dawn.
“Sorry, what was it you wanted me to see? Great car, by the way.”
“The woman on the sign. Jazus, Mary and Joseph, you are thick.”
“She wasn’t bad.” Mack shrugged. “A little too highbrow for me.”
“You dunce! That’s me. Deirdre Darcy. I’m an international model in high demand by every major advertising company in the global market.” She glanced at him. He really had no clue who she was. “Oh, that’s right, you’ve been rolling around in the sand for how long?”
“Thirteen months.” He winked at her. “I knew it was you. Are you on very many billboards?”
“I’ve been modeling for nearly a decade.”
“Sorry. I’m not much into high fashion. I’m a blue jeans and T-shirt kind of guy when I’m not in uniform.”
Why she was letting his sad lack of recognition get to her, she didn’t know. Most days she wished for the solitude and anonymity of one who hadn’t made a living by having her face plastered over every billboard or television commercial. But Mack’s complete disregard for her… Her what?
Self-importance? Her foot left the accelerator as she contemplated her thought. Mack didn’t give a kiss of the Blarney Stone for her career or her superstar status. Once she got past her own arrogance, she could appreciate his open honesty. Although he’d been a bit too honest. He’d called her obnoxious. She’d never been obnoxious a day in her life.
Okay, sometimes her red hair got her into trouble. She shook her head to clear her musings. “Which one of Wyatt’s brothers are you?”
“I’m the older brother. The other two are younger.”
“And all of you are in the U.S. military?”
“We are.” He smiled, staring straight ahead as if revisiting a good memory. “Not all of us are in the same branch of the military. Wyatt joined the Army Special Forces. I’m in the Marines. Ronin is a SEAL and Sam is an Army helicopter pilot.”
“Are there any more of you?”
“We have a sister. She should be on her way here.”
“Is she also in the military?”
“No, she chose to join the U.S. Foreign Services. She works at the embassy in the Ukraine. Much to our father’s disappointment.”
“Why?”
“She’s the baby he always tried to protect. And you know the troubles they’re having in Russia now.”
Deirdre nodded. “I can understand his hesitation.”
“Abby has always had a stubborn streak.” Mack smiled. “But she loves her job and she’s good at it.”
When he talked about his little sister, Mack’s smile deepened and he looked more relaxed, less stressed. Positively gorgeous. And gorgeous usually meant one thing. Trouble. “I’m sure if your sister got into trouble, her big brothers would come bail her out, right?”
“Damn right. Speaking of parents…have mine arrived?”
“They settled into the hotel and are getting some rest after their long flight from the States.”
“Good. I know Mom will love being here. She always wanted to come to Ireland.”
As Deirdre drove through the streets of Dublin, she reflected on how close the Magnus family seemed. A twinge of regret tugged at her. In her global travels following her chosen career, she’d lost the closeness she’d grown up with. The camaraderie of a close-knit Irish family. Sure, she got together on occasion with the rest of her large, extended family, but
she didn’t have that connection they all seemed to have. Perhaps she’d been away too long.
Fiona had been the one cousin she’d kept in touch with most and she’d grown up in America. Fiona’s mother was Irish, Deirdre’s aunt, her father had been in the military. She’d been like Deirdre, constantly on the move, never content to stay in one place. When Fiona had informed her she wanted her to be her maid of honor at her wedding in Dublin, Deirdre couldn’t say no.
What she hadn’t counted on was how much work was involved in the maid of honor position. Though had she known, she still would have accepted. Fiona was a wonderful woman who deserved every happiness.
A little twinge of something akin to envy tweaked beneath the surface as Deirdre made arrangements for the informal wedding at a very old church a friend of the family was able to secure on short notice for the event.
Who knew ordering flowers and arranging for a pianist would spark such a strong tug of longing in herself and a deepening dissatisfaction with her career and the direction her life was heading?
Fiona had been a career woman set in her independent ways when she’d met and fallen in love with Wyatt Magnus. A whirlwind of a romance and three months after they’d met they were scheduled to marry in Ireland and honeymoon in Crete.
Deirdre sighed. Why did some people make falling in love appear so easy? One minute you’re happily pursuing your career, the next you’re falling all over yourself to please your man.
Fiona’s Magnus brother must be as handsome and appealing as the one in Deirdre’s car. In that case, Deirdre could understand Fiona wanting to stake her claim before another woman discovered her goldmine of a catch.
“We’re staying at the Fitzpatrick Hotel, a four-star hotel close to the church. I believe you’ll be comfortable there.”
“Sweetheart, I could be comfortable on a stone floor as long as the temperatures don’t get above one hundred, no one is shooting at me and sand isn’t getting stuck in those really hard to reach cracks. For your information, if we ever go beyond that kiss back there, I can promise you that we won’t be making love on a beach. I’ve had enough sand in my shorts to last a lifetime.”
Deirdre’s pulse quickened at an image of herself making love with the American on a sandy beach, warm waves washing over their naked bodies. She quickly squelched the image and lifted her chin. “I’ll keep that in mind. But for the record, we will never hook up or make love. You’re not my type.”
He chuckled. The deep rumble in his chest setting her heart to racing. “And what type is that?” he asked.
“I don’t know what it is, but I’ll make sure you’re the first to know when I do.”
“Ah, a woman who doesn’t know what she wants. Perhaps you haven’t been with a man who can show you exactly what it is you need.”
She shot him a surprised look. “Cocky much, Yank?”
He shrugged. “Just saying, you haven’t been with a real man if you still don’t know what you want in the way of sex.”
She snorted. “Oh dear, and I suppose you would be the expert to show me?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Good. Because I’d have to call you an arrogant braggart.”
“I wouldn’t want you to sink to name-calling.” He grinned and leaned back in the seat. “You have an international image to uphold. Besides, I’m not into high-maintenance women, and you, sweetheart, have high-maintenance written all over you.”
She relaxed against her seat, a smile lifting her lips. “You say that like high-maintenance is a bad thing.”
“That’s right. I’m just here for the weekend and then I’m on to my much-deserved vacation. I only have time and energy enough for a quick fling with the low-maintenance type. No strings attached.”
And in a flash, her heartbeat jumped at the American’s suggestion of a fling. Not that he wanted one with her. She was high-maintenance, and he wasn’t going to be around for long. Then he’d be off to the States for a vacation then back to some far corner of the world to be shot at or worse.
However, if she wanted to have an affair with a gorgeous man, she’d be hard-pressed to find a physical specimen as gorgeous as Mack. It had been over a year since she’d been with a man, and he’d been less than a gentleman, wanting only to be with her because of her status in the fashion industry. How refreshing would it be to make love to a man who only wanted a willing woman, not a leg up in his business?
The weekend was looking to be more interesting by the minute. As with most celebrations in Ireland, the pre-wedding and wedding activities promised to be entertaining. With a roomful of Magnus brothers, it could be even more entertaining.
“As the best man, am I required to do anything besides stand with my brother and make the first toast to the happily married couple?”
“Seriously?” She glanced his way. “You’re the best man. You’re supposed to be in charge of the bachelor party, not just going there for a drink.”
Mack frowned and sat up. “I forgot about that part. I had really hoped to have a drink and call it a night.”
“Hard to believe,” Deirdre muttered.
“Seriously, how hard can it be? You know a stripper I can hire on short notice?”
“I do not!” Deirdre exclaimed.
“Well, damn. I’m already falling down on the job. What about a bar where we can go get shit-faced drunk?”
“You won’t be pissin’ the night away on the eve of my cousin’s wedding.”
“It’s tradition. My brother needs to celebrate his last night as a bachelor.”
“And my cousin doesn’t need to celebrate her last night as a single woman?”
“Absolutely.”
“I’ll be sure to line up a stripper for her.”
“I thought you didn’t know any strippers.”
“I only know the male strippers. I assumed you meant female.”
He shot a sideways glance her way and winked. “Like I said, you are high-maintenance.”
Her belly clenched at that wink and her fingers tightened on the steering wheel. The man had a way of making her body hum with just a look. Feckin’ American. “For your information, I’ve already arranged for the bachelor and bachelorette parties to be held at the Donegal, a small pub in the heart of Dublin. We will have the place to ourselves.”
“That won’t do at all. The bride and groom need to celebrate separately.”
“And they will. The women will be in the back room of the bar and the men will be in the front. Quite separate.”
He glanced her way. “You’ll be there?”
She lifted her chin. “I’m the maid of honor. I have to be there for my cousin.”
“Hmm.” His gaze shifted forward. “Save a dance for me, will ya?”
“There’ll be little burnin’ up the tiles tonight.”
“There will be if there’s music.” He gave her a sexy smile. “Save the dance.”
Her knuckles turning white on the steering wheel, she pulled in front of the hotel where they had booked a quarter of the rooms for members of the wedding party. “The pub is within walkin’ distance, a block and a half in that direction.” She pointed as she turned off the engine and pulled the keys from the ignition. “You’ll have just enough time for a shower and to change clothes.”
“Is there a dress code?”
She glanced across at him, loving the way he looked in denim. “Something better than jeans will do. Meet me in the lobby in one hour and we’ll walk to the pub together. I’d like to be there before the rest of the wedding party to make certain everything is in place.”
“Are you sure you weren’t a drill sergeant in a previous life?”
“No, but I have four younger cousins I used to keep after school.” She slid out of the vehicle, hit the button to unlock the boot and handed the keys to a uniformed valet. She waited for Mack to gather his bag and join her on the sidewalk, before she continued. “I know how to handle bold little boys.”
Mack leaned close
to her, his lips near her ear. “Just so you know. I’m not a little boy.” He kissed the side of her throat, captured the back of her neck and kissed her full on the lips before straightening.
Her heart thundering against her ribs, Deirdre couldn’t force a word past her vocal cords. The man was entirely too bold…and big…and sexy as hell.
Then he winked and her knees wobbled.
“See you in an hour,” he promised.
Chapter Two
Mack checked into his room and threw his backpack onto the bed. When he’d gotten off the airplane with his internal clock jacked up from the time changes, he’d been more concerned about catching some more Z’s as soon as he reached his room.
If not for the chance to spar with the pretty international model, he’d call foul and indulge in that siesta he so badly needed. But the beautiful redhead was too tempting to leave standing alone in the lobby for long. One of his brothers would likely bump into her and hit on her.
Mack pulled his trousers out of his pack and shook out a white button-up dress shirt. Other than the jeans he wore, a couple of pullover shirts and a casual blazer, he hadn’t packed much. Marines didn’t take anything but uniforms when they deployed. For the purpose of coming to the wedding, he’d had some of his civilian clothing mailed to him from stateside. As soon as he’d disembarked off the military aircraft at Ramstein, he’d ditched his desert camouflage uniform. He’d changed into the jeans, pullover polo shirt and jacket before taking a train to Frankfurt where he’d flown out on a commercial flight to Ireland.
The marine in him refused to allow himself to show up at the party in wrinkled clothing. He pulled the ironing board out of the closet and plugged in the iron before hopping into the shower. A few minutes later he emerged, refreshed and feeling almost human with every trace of sand completely erased from his body.
A quick run over his clothes with the iron removed the wrinkles and he dressed in black trousers, the white shirt and the dress shoes he’d pair with the tux Wyatt had rented for him to wear to the wedding.
