Her Irish Rogue

Claire picked up her foot, then lost her balance and swayed into him until the lace of her panties pressed against his chin. Will swallowed a groan and tried to ignore the activity going on inside his jeans. Maybe it would have been best to let her struggle on her own.

When he’d finally managed to yank off one shoe, he turned to the other. But when he grabbed Claire’s ankle, she lost her balance completely and tumbled forward. Will wrapped his arms around her waist and softened her fall onto the carpet with his body. They lay together for a long moment in a tangle of limbs.

Claire stared down into his eyes, her pale hair tickling at his cheeks. Her pants were twisted around her ankles and Will was keenly aware of his arousal pressing between them. She shifted slightly, the silky fabric of her panties sliding against the front of his jeans.

A tiny smile teased at her lips as she deliberately moved against him. “What’s that all about?” she whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I was hoping you could tell me,” Will replied. “You’re the one who caused it.”

“And am I responsible for getting rid of it?” she asked.

“Getting rid of it seems a bit harsh,” Will said. “Maybe if we lie here for a moment we’ll figure out how to make it go away.”

Claire wrapped her good arm around his neck, then rolled off of him, pulling Will on top of her until their contact was even more intimate. Slowly, she began to move beneath him, in a tempting rhythm that did nothing to relieve his situation.

This was crazy, Will thought to himself. They’d only just met, yet there was an attraction between them, a desire that burned with greater intensity every time they touched. He closed his eyes, losing himself in the sensations coursing through his body. He’d enjoy it for just a moment and then, he’d do the sensible thing and leave the room.

But as he rocked against her, Will realized his need had completely overtaken his common sense. It felt good, as good as the first time he’d experienced it as a teenager, this overwhelming need for release at any cost.

Will furrowed his fingers through her hair and kissed her, gently at first, then more desperately as his desire became more acute. She was beautiful and exciting and irresistible and he couldn’t seem to get enough of her. But she was also a complete stranger and a guest in his inn.

He drew a deep breath and stopped, then rolled off of her. Covering his eyes with his arm, Will moaned. “This is crazy. We have to stop this.” It was Sorcha’s fault. She’d put all these ideas into his head and now he was acting on them.

Claire sat up and brushed the hair out of her eyes, then kicked off her pants. “I didn’t start it,” she murmured.

A laugh escaped his throat. “Yes, you did. What’s that all about? That’s what you said.”

“I was asking a question.” She tossed her muddy pants into the corner, then stood and yanked off her jumper, throwing that aside as well. She stood over him in just a T-shirt and her underwear. “I think I’ll take a bath.”

“Are you resolved to torture me?” Will asked, staring up at her.

She studied him for a long moment, then shook her head. “I have no idea what I’m doing. As soon as I do, I’ll let you know.”

With that, Claire walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind her. A few moments later, Will heard the water hit the tub. He closed his eyes again and imagined her stripping off the remainder of her clothes and stepping into the warm water.

Once Claire had settled in for the evening, he’d find Sorcha straight away and insist that she remove whatever spells were still pending. How the hell was he supposed to resist this woman when she did absolutely nothing to resist him? Sorcha would fix it. And after that, he’d certainly be able to control this desperate need he had to seduce Claire O’Connor.

3

WHEN SHE EMERGED from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, Claire found a fire crackling in the fireplace. She stood at the mantel and held her palms out to the warmth. To her relief, Will had decided to use her bath as an excuse to leave the room.

She ran her hand through her damp hair, then grabbed her robe and slipped it on. Since the moment she’d arrived at the inn, all her thoughts had been focused on the handsome innkeeper. It was like she’d stepped into some fantasy world, where men and women were instantly attracted…and willing to throw themselves into each other’s arms without thinking.

But she’d always carefully considered every step in a romantic relationship. Claire O’Connor was nothing if not prudent. And going to bed with a man she’d only just met twenty-four hours before was the epitome of… “Stupidity,” she muttered to herself.

Yes, she was in a foreign land and all her troubles did seem oceans away. And staring into Will Donovan’s beautiful eyes did have an amnesia-like effect on her. Staying in Ireland for the next month to let a love affair play out between her and Will Donovan was just not an option. Eric was her future and it was time to get down to business, time to find the Druid spring, get a bottle of water and go home.

She opened the top drawer of the dresser and pulled out the tattered, velvet-covered journal. She still occasionally jotted down important thoughts and reminders, but whenever she felt her world shifting on its axis, she went back to the journal, to the plan she’d made for her life.

Claire flipped through the pages. There was the list of her top ten colleges. She’d attended her number one—Northwestern—on a partial scholarship. And then there was the list of boys she’d wanted to take her to prom. Again, she’d gone with the first boy on her list, although three through six had asked her as well.

She found the page headed My Future Husband and scanned the list. “One, he must be handsome. Two, he must have dark hair and beautiful eyes. Three, he must love Madonna.” All right, that one didn’t matter. “He must be successful. He must live in Chicago. He must love cats.” Claire continued to go through the list, recalling the moment she’d realized that Eric met all her criteria, including a fondness for Madonna. She’d even cut out a photo from a magazine and pasted it in her journal, and Eric had borne a slight resemblance to the man in the photo.

Claire paged through the book until she found the photo. The moment she looked at it, her breath caught in her throat. There was something familiar in the eyes, something that looked remarkably like—Will Donovan.

She quickly closed the book and put it back into its spot beneath her underwear. So maybe Will did fit a few of her criteria, but all her plans had been built around Eric. So why was she so tempted by Will?

She’d never in her life thrown herself into a purely sexual affair, never experienced that kind of physical excitement. And though her practical side wanted to listen to all the warning bells, another part of her wanted to throw caution to the wind. And if she ever wanted to let loose, then Will Donovan was probably her best bet.

After all, she could make every wild fantasy come true here in Ireland and then she could hop on a plane and go back to her real life, with no regrets. Perhaps she owed it to herself to explore that side of her nature, the side she kept so well-hidden. She planned to marry Eric and after the wedding, there’d be no second chances.

A soft knock sounded on the door and Claire ran her fingers through her damp hair. “Come in,” she said, clutching her robe together over her breasts.

The door slowly swung open and Will stood on the other side. “I’ve made some supper,” he said. “It’s down in the kitchen. I have to go out but I’ll be back later. If you’re hungry, just help yourself.”

Claire forced a smile and tried to ignore her racing pulse. How was it possible that this man had such an effect on her? Was it the way he stared at her, always looking so deeply into her eyes that it felt as though he were undressing her soul as well as her body? Or was it the way his mouth seemed to be a heartbeat away from kissing hers? A shiver skittered down her spine and she took a step back and turned her attention to the fire. “Thanks for the fire,” she murmured. “And the offer of dinner. But I’m really not very hungry.”

“It’s there if you want it,” he said. “I mean the food. Supper. In the kitchen.”

“I know what you meant,” Claire said, glancing over at him.

“I’ll just be off, then. I shouldn’t be long.”

Claire kept her gaze fixed on the fire until she heard the door click shut, then groaned softly. Cradling her wrist, she fell backwards onto the bed, then pinched her eyes closed and tried to put every last thought of Will Donovan out of her head. She rolled off the bed and walked to the windows, which overlooked the front drive.

Drawing back the lacy curtain, Claire watched as Will strode out to the Range Rover. Gravel sprayed from beneath the tires as he sped away. Whatever the errand, he was obviously in a hurry.

Claire spent the next half hour wandering around her room and trying to convince herself that she hadn’t made a mistake in coming to Ireland. Though it had taken a major portion of her savings just to buy the plane ticket on such short notice, at the time the expense had seemed well worth it. But the more she thought about the Druid spring and the silly legend behind it, the more she began to feel like a fool.