Her Irish Rogue

Will wandered back to the kitchen and grabbed a bag of potato crisps. When he returned to the parlor, Sorcha was lying down on the sofa. He handed her the bag of crisps and she tore it open, then popped one into her mouth. “God, I’m hungry,” she muttered. “Do you have any chocolate?”

“We’re going to eat in an hour. Are you done?”

She stuffed two more crisps into her mouth, then nodded. “Yes. You are now completely curse-free.” She paused. “Well, not entirely. I did a wee counterspell, just something between two good friends.”

“Sorcha, you promised.”

“This is a good spell. The next woman you meet will madly desire you and you’ll have a wildly passionate sexual encounter within twenty-four hours. She will stop at nothing to get into your trousers and have a go.”

A frantic knocking sounded through the quiet of the parlor and Sorcha giggled. “Ah! The spell has worked. It’s herself! I wonder who it could be? The single women on this island are a sad lot, except, of course, for me. I suppose Eveleen Dooly wouldn’t be so bad in bed. And then there’s Mary Carlisle. She’s old but she’s sprightly.”

“At least Eveleen wouldn’t curse me,” Will muttered. “While I answer the door, you remove the spell. Am I clear?”

“Quite,” Sorcha said. “Just walk slowly. It’ll take some time. It was a very complex spell.”

Will strolled out to the front hall, then waited a bit before he opened the front door. Standing on the steps was a woman, drenched by the rain, her shoes covered in mud.

“It’s about time,” she muttered, pale hair plastered to her face. “I’m soaked to the skin. And I couldn’t find the key. It’s supposed to be under the flowerpot.”

“I’m sorry,” Will said, reaching out to grab her bags. “Sorcha must have used…well, never mind. Come in, please. Welcome to the Ivybrook Inn.”

She walked inside, tracking mud across the parquet floor of the hall. Glancing back, she noticed what she’d done, then cursed softly, struggling out of her ruined shoes. “I couldn’t find the taxi. He was supposed to be at the pub and he wasn’t. Some farmer offered to give me a ride on his horse. Good thing, because an Irish mile seems to be a lot longer than an American mile. It took me forever to get here.” She picked up her shoes, her wet clothes making a puddle around her. “I need a room.”

Will studied her as he stepped behind the front desk. It was hard to tell what she looked like. She’d tied a scarf around her head to ward off the rain and her hair hung in a stringy mess over her eyes. One cheek was muddy and the other was stained with mascara.

Her jacket and jeans were so baggy and waterlogged that her shape was indistinct beneath them. She did have very pretty feet, Will mused, and her toenails were painted a bright pink. And she looked young, probably not much older than twenty-five or twenty-six. Will watched as she rummaged through her purse.

“You’re American?” he asked.

She shoved her hair back and met his gaze for the first time. Tiny droplets clung to her lashes and she blinked several times, sending rivulets down rosy cheeks. “I—I’m sorry, what did you ask?”

“American?” Will repeated softly, his gaze falling to her lips.

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

When he looked up, he found himself staring into sparkling turquoise eyes. She held out a credit card. “No, not at all,” he said, taking the card. “I was just curious. You sounded…American.”

A tiny smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. “That’s probably because I am.” A shudder ran through her and she rubbed her arms. “So, may I have a room? I’d really like to get out of these clothes and—”

“Yes, of course,” Will said. “And I’d like to get you out of those…I mean, I’m sure you’d be more comfortable if you took your clothes off…and put others back on.” He grabbed the key for the nicest room on the second floor. “Room seven,” he said. Will reached out and grabbed her hand, then put the key in her palm. Her skin was damp and cool to the touch and he let his fingers linger, his thumb slowly caressing the inside of her wrist. “Top of the stairs and to your left. It’s at the end of the hall. All our rooms are en suite.”

“What does that mean?” she muttered, staring down at the key.

He grabbed her shoes from her hand. “They all have their own bathrooms. Seven has a very large tub with a shower. Why don’t you go on up and I’ll bring your luggage and shoes after I’ve had a chance to dry them off.”

“All right,” she said. She gently pulled her hand from his grip, then started toward the stairs.

“What is your name?” Will called.

She spun around. “What?”

“Your name. For the register.”

“It’s on the card,” she replied. “O’Connor. Claire O’Connor from Chicago. Illinois.”

“Welcome to the Ivybrook Inn, Miss O’Connor,” he said, glancing down at the credit card. “I’m Will Donovan.”

She nodded, then trudged up the stairs, her clothes dripping as she climbed. When he turned to tend to her bags, he found Sorcha leaning up against the doorjamb to the front parlor, clutching the bag of crisps to her chest and munching thoughtfully. “An American. Pretty thing, that,” she murmured, nodding toward the stairs. “I hear American girls are positively wild in the sack.”

“I don’t seduce the guests,” he said. “Don’t you have some potions to brew? Go home, Sorcha.”

“Too bad about the curse,” she murmured. “I’m afraid you were a bit too fast answering the door. I didn’t have a chance to remove the spell.” She grinned as she popped another crisp into her mouth. “She’s definitely worth a shag or two, Will. I think I’ll just be going now.” She walked over to Will, straightened his collar and smoothed his hair. “Just remember to be nice and to use a Johnny. Good sex is safe sex.”

“Get out,” Will muttered.

She grabbed her mackintosh from the coat tree in the hall and slipped into it. “Have fun, Wills. You can thank me later,” she said.

Will walked back to the kitchen to fetch some rags, then cleaned up the mess Claire O’Connor had made in the entry hall. Her shoes were ruined, but he dried off her suitcases and carried them upstairs.

Her door was slightly ajar and he knocked softly. “Miss O’Connor?”

There was no answer. Will peeked inside and found the room empty. He placed the suitcases next to the bed, and turned back to the door. As he did, he glanced into the bathroom and his breath caught in his throat. The door was open just far enough for him to see her lying in the tub.

He froze, unwilling to invade her privacy. But then Will realized she was sound asleep, her arms draped over the sides, her head resting on the edge of the old clawfoot tub as water still poured out of the faucet.

Her pale hair was brushed away from her face and he found himself transfixed by the simple beauty of her profile, her upturned nose, her lush lips. He noticed a tiny sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks. His gaze drifted down, to the soft flesh of her breasts, rosy from the rising water in the tub.

Desire warmed his blood and he fought the impulse to step closer. Innkeepers had certain standards they kept to and spying on a female guest while she was in her bath went way beyond acceptable behavior. But then, what if Sorcha was right? What if this woman was meant to be his anyway?

She stirred slightly, then sighed, her lips parting as she sank a bit deeper into the bath. Will backed up and grabbed the suitcases, setting them closer to the door. When he reached the hallway, he drew a deep breath and leaned back against the wall. If the tub overflowed, he’d have a reason to return, but for now, he’d keep to the hall.

The image of her naked body whirled in his head and he felt himself growing hard at the thought of touching her. Will groaned in frustration. Sure, it had been a while. And there had been the occasional fantasy about a sexy female guest, a beautiful woman with no inhibitions intent on seducing him, the inn quiet and empty, as it was now. But he had never once considered making the fantasy real.

Perhaps she’d only stay for one night. Or perhaps her boyfriend or fiancé or husband would be joining her tomorrow. Besides, he didn’t believe Sorcha Mulroony had even an ounce of mystical power. He’d be polite and accommodating and hospitable to Claire O’Connor. Nothing more.

THE BATH WAS LUKEWARM by the time Claire crawled out. She wrapped herself in a thick cotton towel, then walked into the bedroom. Her suitcases had been placed next to the door, and for a moment, she wondered how the innkeeper had slipped into her room without her noticing.

An image of the man flashed in her mind and Claire recalled her reaction when she first looked into his eyes. There were obviously handsome men scattered all over the world, but somehow, the fates had blessed the Isle of Trall with a truly beautiful specimen. But why was one of Ireland’s most eligible bachelors living here?

She smiled as she sat down on the edge of the bed, wrapping the towel more tightly around her. Back at her job, she’d stared at thousands of images—male models, everyday guys, celebrities—trying to figure out what it was that made one man merely attractive and another devastatingly sexy.

Will Donovan belonged in the latter category. He possessed features that were in perfect balance. He wasn’t pretty, he was gorgeous. And it wasn’t the straight nose or the expressive mouth or the eyes that were an odd mix of green and gold. It was the way he wore his looks, so casually, as if he weren’t aware of the effect they had on women.

He hadn’t shaved in two or three days and it looked as if he preferred his fingers to a comb when it came to fixing his hair. Everything about him was comfortably rumpled, as if he’d just rolled out of bed, even the lazy way he looked at her with half-hooded eyes.

Claire retrieved a bottle of scented lotion from her suitcase and rested her foot on the edge of the bed as she rubbed some of the product over her legs. With any other man, she might not have given him a second thought. After all, it had been just one day since her relationship with Eric had ended. And she’d come to Ireland to save that relationship.

She was in a foreign country, so of course she’d find a guy like Will Donovan…interesting. Maybe even a bit exotic. That accent, the sound of her name on his lips, the way his gaze drifted between her mouth and her eyes. Lusting after another man now would be a waste of precious time. As long as she was here in Ireland, she’d do what she came to do—save her relationship with Eric. After all, she and Eric were meant for each other.