Yeah, I’d been a little prick for sure.
Now, objectively, I could admit to myself it was only because she’d knocked me for a loop, made me question everything I’d ever known about myself and my place in the schoolyard. The first time Sophie had said my name, I’d experienced a weird, complicated, wholly unwelcome churning of my belly and had wanted to throw up. The next time she’d spoken to me, I’d gone lightheaded and felt as if I was going to pass out. From that point on, I’d been an obnoxious little shit because it was the only way I could think of to interact with her and not lose my lunch at the same time.
As the days had turned to months, and then months had stretched into two years, outside of rugby practice the brightest moment of my day had been when I’d made Sophie Newport blush and stutter because those had been the times when her attention had been wholly fixed on me.
I shook my head to displace the memories. That had been a long, long time ago, and while it was clear she harbored some seriously unpleasant thoughts about me right now, I didn’t want to dwell on what had been.
Uncomfortable with her continued glare, I broke eye contact. Until now I hadn’t realized just how badly I’d hurt the little girl I’d quietly adored. I was also surprised that in the years since her grandparents had taken me under their wing, neither of the Fitzgeralds had given me insight into Sophie’s lingering pain.
I didn’t know if after all this time it would matter one way or the other, but I needed to make it up to her somehow. The problem was I didn’t know how to do that. Oh, I knew all about getting women to fall to their knees in front of me—quite literally—but I recognized earning Sophie’s forgiveness would require a level of honesty I wasn’t used to.
Squashing my instinct to offer up disingenuous platitudes or a pithy one-liner, I said simply, “I’m sorry Sophie. Truly.”
I didn’t ask for forgiveness from the women in my life. Hell, I’d never really needed to. And as for being heartfelt? Well, that was a new one for me too. Females had always come easy to me and none, save Sophie, had ever stayed mad for long.
I watched for indication she believed what I’d said and when the steel glint of her eyes softened and her shoulders relaxed, I was hopeful I could earn her forgiveness. If not now, then eventually.
I pushed forward. “I know it’s no excuse, really I do, but I was eight years old and I had no idea I’d actually hurt your feelings.” I said, laying my heart on the line the way I’d done with her grandfather earlier this morning.
I glanced away and my mind was flooded with bursts of memories of Sophie as a little girl. One image after another played through my mind like a highlight reel of her two years in Ballycurra and I couldn’t keep the small, happy smile from crossing my face.
“You were always so fierce and intense. I was a little bit in awe of you, if I’m being honest. Looking back, I think I behaved like that to get a rise out of you. It seemed the only way I could get you to talk to me.” I shrugged and caught her eye which then shifted to avoid looking at me.
When she rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, I continued. “We’re hardly the same people we were at ten years old, yeah? Do you think it’s possible not to judge me for the little arsehole I was back then? Can we put it behind us and be friends?”
“Friends …” she muttered, shaking her head, and my stomach clenched.
I feared she was going to tell me there was no way she could forgive me and that being friends was the last thing she wanted.
Chewing on her lip, her eyes met mine and they sparked with emotion.
“I try not to think about that time too much because it wasn’t the best for me, you know? I was scared, lonely, and incredibly awkward. All I wanted was to be liked but you teased me so … mercilessly. It started the first moment I stepped foot inside our classroom and everyone just fell in line with your taunting. For two years, Declan, you made my life hell.”
Sophie fell quiet and I could see she was lost in the past, likely remembering the same moments I just had, albeit from an entirely different point of view.
After several long seconds, she blinked.
“Do you know I’ve never eaten fish and chips since I left Ireland? God, I can still hear your stupid voice in my head. ‘Good night fish and chips! See you tomorrow.’ And then you’d cackle and run down the street like you were the funniest thing in the world. I wanted to murder you.”
Seeing the pain those memories caused, I wanted to murder me too.
Chapter Five
Sophie
Declan looked and sounded genuinely contrite, but it was hard to let go of the anger I’d stored up all these years. And now, this whole conversation had me confused. Half of my brain—the indignant, righteous part—told me to say something that would wipe that dazzling smile off his face, while the other half said to let bygones be bygones and move on with my life.
Wait, what? Dazzling smile? No. No, no, no. Not dazzling. Horrid, horrible, no good, terrible. His terrible, appalling, blindingly gorgeous smile.
Shit.
I’d hated Declan O’Shaughnessy for the majority of my life—loathed him to the very marrow of my bones—but I had to admit his apology had doused some of that white-hot anger. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if it was because I was ready to forgive and forget, or if it was because the man standing in front of me was one of the handsomest I’d ever laid eyes on. Suddenly and quite unexpectedly, I wondered what it would be like to kiss him.
Had it really come to that? Had my self-imposed celibacy this past year turned me into the type of woman who melted when confronted with the first man who had a way with words?
Apparently it had, and I was, because I felt an almost hypnotic pull to him. There was just something … magnetic … about him that drew my eye—first to his face and then down his strong, powerful body. As much as I wanted to deny it, Declan spoke to me on some primitive level.
I was drawn to him like a moth to a flame.
My stomach dropped when I raised my eyes and realized he’d caught me savoring every spectacular inch of him. Blushing to the tips of my ears, I tried to speak but my words came out as a squeak. I took a breath, cleared my throat, and tried again.
“I would have been your friend back then. I would have loved to be friends with all of you but you never gave me a chance.”
“I know,” he responded, sliding his hand around the back of his neck and squeezing. “But do you think it’s possible to put the past in the past? Pretend we’re meeting now for the very first time?”
I looked at him skeptically. “Why?”
Declan stared up at the airport ceiling for a quick beat. His chest expanded on a breath and then his hand fell away as he looked me square in the eye. “The truth?”
“Always.”
“Because your grandparents are important to me and I think you’re someone worth knowing.”
Hadn’t I been worth knowing back then too?
“Look, little boys are shits. I think we can agree on that. Back then, I didn’t understand the ramifications of my behavior, and even if someone had told me, I’m not sure it would have mattered. But I’m a man now and I know when someone’s worth having in your life, and I think you’d be a good friend to have Sophie Newport.”
His eyes sought mine and they were filled with … longing. For me. For my friendship.
My heart thundered in my chest as I absorbed his words.
“Friends?” he asked, pushing his hand forward and staring at me intently.
I looked down, my natural instincts battling what my heart told me to do. Deciding to take a leap of faith, I ignored my trepidation and grasped his hand in mine.
“Friends then,” I said, pumping once.
As my hand slid away, his grip tightened and I felt his fingers stroke against my palm as he let me go. My eyes shot up and I glimpsed raw, naked desire flash across his face, before his features shuttered.
After a few seconds of heated silence, Declan cleared his throat and g
lanced around nervously, his eyes shifting over the crowd. Wordlessly, he grabbed my bag off the top of the cart and hitched it on his shoulder before taking control of the trolley and maneuvering it past a small gathering of people hugging and crying.
“Sorry,” he said, hurrying me along. “But do you mind if we take this somewhere a bit more private? I don’t want to draw a crowd.”
Too late I realized we already had, but I didn’t understand why.
A few feet away two teenage girls whispered behind their hands and pointed. Next, a little kid in a green jersey, probably no more than eight years old shyly approached and, holding out a small notepad and pen, asked for Declan’s autograph. To my surprise, he took the paper and asked the kid’s name before scribbling his signature on a fresh sheet. When he passed it back, the boy squealed and ran back to his parents while waving the notebook around excitedly.
“Hey man,” said a guy about our age who was trailed by three additional men, “do you mind if we get a picture?”
Declan waited no more than a heartbeat to answer, but before he did I watched him square his shoulders. “Sure thing, of course.” He pushed my cart to the side and beckoned me over. “But let’s include Sophie as well.”
Confused, the guys shared a few glances before one asked, “Your girlfriend?”
Declan laughed animatedly. “Oh no,” he assured them, pulling me in against his side and resting his arm across my shoulder. “She actually kind of hates me.”
He looked down at me and winked. Then, addressing the guy who’d pulled out his iPhone to take a selfie of the group, said, “But she’s gorgeous and any time you have an opportunity for a photo with a beautiful woman, you need to take it.”
I fought my laugh. He was still a charming bastard, that was for sure.
That group drew even more interest in Declan’s presence and suddenly he was swamped. After taking photos with what I estimated to be at least 50 more fans we were finally, blessedly, left alone.
“That happen often?” I asked as he buttoned his jacket and tried to burrow down into it, a poor attempt to hide himself for any additional fans.
He shrugged and shot me a look. “Yeah, sometimes.”
“Still the most popular boy in all of Ballycurra then?”
“More like all of Ireland,” he responded with a smirk.
“And that would be because …?”
“Here, why don’t you hand me that.” He pointed to the carry-on I wheeled along behind me.
“Oh no, that’s okay. You’ve already got the heavier ones and it’s easy for me to lug this one,” I responded, dropping the strap of my purse over my head to settle across my body.
Declan tilted his head and assessed me for a few short seconds. Shrugging, he said, “Suit yourself,” before heading toward the parking structure.
“You never answered my question. Why were they treating you like a rock star back there?” Dreading his answer, I continued, “I’m assuming you play some sort of sport?”
He snorted. “Not some sort of sport, Sophie. Rugby, the only sport.”
Avoiding the warning ache in my gut, I set him straight. “Since my family back in the U.S. owns a professional basketball team, I’m going to argue with you there, buddy. I may not care for sports, but I know enough to say rugby’s nowhere near as important as baseball, basketball, or football.”
“Pussies,” I’m pretty sure I heard him mutter under his breath. Then, more diplomatically, he said, “That you can put baseball and rugby in the same sentence proves just how ignorant you are.”
“Baseball takes a large amount of skill,” I argued, wondering if I was right.
I’d been to my fair share of Pirates and Red Sox games growing up, and while I’d been bored to tears no matter which team played, I assumed it did take a special type of skill to throw a 98-mile-an-hour fastball and for a batter to be able to hit it. As for the rest of the team? Well, there was an awful lot of standing around doing nothing.
“What’s so special about rugby then?”
He shook his head like I was completely clueless. “The only sport in the U.S. that comes close to the skill and physical stamina needed to play rugby is hockey, and even they get to wear pads and helmets.”
“And is that how you messed up your face?” I asked, raising my chin to call out his bruises since my hands were occupied with my luggage.
He chuckled and rubbed his hand across his whiskered chin and winced. “You should see my thigh.”
Immediately I pictured what he’d look like without his pants on. If Declan clothed was a sight to behold, I could only imagine what he’d look like bared for me. I hoped my expression didn’t give away my lewd thoughts since I wasn’t exactly known for my poker face.
Declan caught my eye, laughed, and waggled his eyebrows. Okay, he knew exactly what I’d been thinking. That wasn’t mortifying or anything.
“So how do you know my grandma?” I asked, changing the subject from his naked body to something less fraught.
Declan’s face lit up with a warm, happy smile. “Everyone in Ballycurra knows your granny. She’s the best cook in town.”
“So, how’d she rope you in to picking me up? Bribe you with food?”
“No bribing necessary,” he responded, and then scratched his face nervously. “She, ehm, called me up right after you told her you were coming and asked if I could swing by and get you. I had to come out this way anyhow so I volunteered.”
I couldn’t say if it was his shifty eyes or the quick stutter when he started to answer, but something didn’t ring true. Instead of pressing him on it though, I thanked him for doing my grandparents the favor. By the time he finished telling me about his conversation with my grandma, we’d reached an older model black Volkswagen Golf that, despite its age, was in perfect condition.
“Lemme open the boot and we can put your stuff in there.”
Lifting the hatchback and hauling my bags in to the trunk, Declan’s shirt rode up his back, treating me to a momentary flash of sculpted muscle and lean waist I pictured myself licking. Shit, I was in so much trouble.
“Here, hand me that other one,” he said, reaching for my last bag.
“I’ve got it,” I insisted.
He smiled and a million butterflies came alive in my stomach. “I don’t think so Sophie.”
Mutely, I let him take the bag from my loosened grip and when his hand rested atop mine, it was like I’d been zapped with an electric current where our skin connected. It was over almost as soon as it began. When he took the luggage from me, I was sad to see he didn’t seem as fazed by the touch as I’d been.
Satisfied nothing in the trunk would shift once we hit the road, Declan slammed the door and made his way to the driver’s side while I moved toward the passenger side, realizing belatedly I’d gone to the wrong side of the car when I saw him opening the door.
“Oops, other side,” I mumbled, as my cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment. “Excuse me,” I murmured as I tried to pass between him and the vehicle behind me.
My legs brushed up against his and my body tingled where our clothed skin had connected. His rock-hard thigh twitched and my head shot up. When I saw him gazing down at me, heat and desire written all over his face, I sucked in a short gasp.
We stared at each other for what felt like eons while a million thoughts flashed through the part of my brain that still managed to function. Every inch of Declan O’Shaughnessy was the worst sort of temptation and yet acting on my attraction to him—getting involved with him—was completely out of the question. My life right now was complicated enough. Adding a fling to my itinerary was a terrible idea, even if I was starting to wonder if that hadn’t been my grandma’s intent when she’d sent Declan to fetch me. I hadn’t come to Ireland for romance but this … itch … wasn’t likely to go away without a good, thorough scratching.
As if he could read my mind, the right side of Declan’s mouth hitched up, showing off a devilish dimple in his cheek. When he
spoke, his voice had dropped low, velvet over gravel.
“Hi there,” he said, his glittering eyes coming to rest on my lips.
Lips that I licked nervously as the heat from our bodies radiated outward and swirled between us.
I took a deep breath and scooted past him as quickly as I could in the tight, confined space. As I made my way around the back of the car to the actual passenger side door, I tried to steady my rapidly beating heart. Once settled in my seat with the belt latched, I avoided making eye contact. When I thought it was safe, I glanced up to find him staring back at me with the same devilish grin he’d worn before. And then his eyes traveled up and down my body in a thorough perusal that warmed me from head to toe. I wanted to look away but it was like my head wouldn’t obey the directive my mind had given it. Finally, Declan let out a short huff that I took for a laugh, shook his head, and turned to start the car.
“Get it together, man,” he muttered under his breath and I didn’t think I was meant to have hear it.
As I tried to think of polite conversation topics that could downplay the charged silence that filled the cabin, Declan’s voice interrupted my thoughts.
“Tell me about yourself, Sophie.”
Was it my imagination or did he linger over my name? Whatever it was, the way my name sounded on his lips was intoxicating. I released a gust of air I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.
“What do you want to know?”
He chuckled and I watched, transfixed, as his tongue darted out and he licked his lips before speaking. “You could start with what you like to do in your free time.”
“Okay, well, I’m a travel writer.”
I stopped, not sure what to say after that. My subconscious yelled at me to expand on my statement but Declan’s flirty looks had rendered me tongue-tied.
“Oh aye, your granny’s always telling me about your adventures. ‘My Sophie’s in Spain running with the bulls,’ she’d tell everyone, proud as can be.” He paused, then asked, “Did you really do that?”
Trying Sophie: A Dublin Rugby Romance Page 4
