Книга - Her Last Wild Ride

Her Last Wild Ride
ABBY GREEN


Some guys know just what a girl needs…Fresh off a brutal break-up—with a guy who was running for the World's Biggest Liar—Ashling Sullivan has returned to New York City to start over. Priority number one is getting her new business started with her BFF, Jenna. Hence their strict no-guys pact. No dating, no sex, no exceptions! Until temptation walks into her brother's bar in the form of a really, really hot guy!She must resist. She will resist. Except that Johnny Ryan, with his cool, edgy but brooding attitude (what is it with this guy?) and his so, so strong carpenter's hands, is six-foot-three inches of ripped, Irish sexiness that turns Ash into a puddle of lust in about half a second. Worse yet, he offers her a deal that she can't refuse?a down-'n'-dirty and wickedly hot two-week fling. Just one last ride before she gets down to business. No-one would know! Ash is definitely not thinking with her head or her heart when she agrees…Because this thing with Johnny goes way deeper than just chemistry. And what started as a last, wild ride with a bad boy is definitely headed for major head-on collision…







Someguysknowjustwhatagirlneeds...

Fresh off a brutal breakup—with a guy who was running for the World’s Biggest Liar—Ashling Sullivan has returned to New York City to start over. Priority number one is getting her new business started with her BFF, Jenna. Hence their strict no-guys pact. No dating, no sex, no exceptions! Until temptation walks into her brother’s bar in the form of a really, really hot guy!

She must resist. She will resist. Except that Johnny Ryan, with his cool, edgy but brooding attitude (what is it with this guy?) and his so, so strong carpenter’s hands, is six-foot-three inches of ripped, Irish sexiness that turns Ash into a puddle of lust in about half a second. Worse yet, he offers her a deal that she can’t refuse—a down ‘n’ dirty and wickedly hot two-week fling. Just one last ride before she gets down to business. No one will know! Ash is definitely not thinking with her head or her heart when she agrees...

Because this thing with Johnny goes way deeper than just chemistry. And what started as a last wild ride with a bad boy is definitely headed for a major head-on collision...




Contemporary, sexy stories for sassy women

Cosmo Red-Hot Reads from Mills & Boon

www.millsandboon.co.uk/Cosmo (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk/Cosmo)


About the Author (#u666f7153-034f-5c07-802f-101d21236434)

Abby Green lives in Dublin, the capital city of a generally rain-soaked Ireland. When she was small she was obsessed with American TV and thought that if she ever went there, it would be like Dallas or Dynasty, where women looked like Joan Collins and wore power suits and all the men wore cowboy hats like JR in the shower. But as we all know by now, it was just a dream. Since then she’s been to America lots of times and is happy to report that the reality is far better than ’80s TV shows.

She used to work in the film and TV industry bossing a lot of people around, but now she’s happy to live in slovenly bliss and make up stories about hot, sexy men and gorgeous women who give as good as they get (with as many sex scenes as she can manage to throw in before her editor gets suspicious.)

You can find out more at abby-green.com (http://www.abby-green.com) or find her twittering on Twitter, @abbygreen3 (https://twitter.com/abbygreen3). For more books from Mills & Boon by Abby Green, visit millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).


Dear Reader (#u666f7153-034f-5c07-802f-101d21236434),

I’ve loved writing these novellas for the Cosmopolitan Red-Hot Reads from Mills & Boon brand. I’ve especially loved writing this one, featuring the wayward Johnny Ryan, the older brother of my last heroine, Caitlin Ryan. Johnny has been a tortured character for quite some time now, and I don’t know about you, but who can resist a dark, brooding hero? Add a sexy Irish accent into the mix and poor Ashling Sullivan doesn’t know what’s about to hit her.

I hope you enjoy Ashling’s valiant fight against Johnny’s ruthless seduction, but as we all know, in the end, resistance is futile ;).

Happy reading!

x Abby


Her Last Wild Ride

Abby Green




Contemporary, sexy stories for sassy women

Cosmo Red-Hot Reads from Mills & Boon

www.millsandboon.co.uk/Cosmo (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk/Cosmo)


This is for Heidi Rice, who is my partner in crime in this crazy brilliant world of making up sexy stories and getting paid to look at pictures of gorgeous men. (Purely for research of course.) Thank you, honey. X


Contents

Cover (#u5f8694ad-ca11-5a6f-a1bf-dc0664d1c709)

About the Author

Dear Reader

Title Page (#u5d5529df-9d59-5d09-b003-3aebc21fbc5b)

Dedication (#u086ffb15-efb2-59bd-bee0-3e641cf500cf)

Chapter One (#ulink_f472cb84-360a-592c-a65f-d7ae195a4c9c)

Chapter Two (#ulink_18f796e6-25db-5f63-928f-a81a60ee2d98)

Chapter Three (#ulink_74d18b68-7d48-5d19-ab40-7dcedadaf4a5)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ulink_a85240d6-12f3-59ce-a010-77a7621b7d3c)

The guy came into the bar toward the end of the evening, and I summed him up in an instant: tall, dark and handsome, with a broad, lean build that couldn’t hide how ripped he was under his long-sleeved top and worn dark jeans. Eye color indeterminate from where I was, but big, and dark. Brown hair and a sensual mouth with a heavily stubbled jaw that screamed just got out of bed and couldn’t be bothered to hide it.

Cheekbones that could cut ice. I could almost imagine the spontaneous hyperproduction of female ovum his presence was sparking, and I could have sworn I heard Kings of Leon skip for a second on the sound system.

Some men oozed a silent sex appeal, like a force field that was naked to the eye but tangible to every other sense. I’m not talking about the cocky, arrogant guys who thought they were God’s gift to the women’s clits they invariably failed to find no matter how much poking and prodding or relentless sucking they did. And man, did that get sore after a while.

No, this was far more subtle, this was the type of guy who you just knew would get you off in a way that you’d only ever fantasized about, and even in some ways you hadn’t. And he knew this, too, evidenced by the quietly cocky confidence.

Damn. There went that betraying little pulse between my legs, joining in the Mexican wave of adulation as people followed his progress to the bar.

Hence the hushed reverent silence. And hence the sinking of my stomach, because I’d just sworn off men to focus on some me time and a brand-new career direction.

“Hey, Ash! What’s a guy gotta do to get a drink? I’m dyin’ over here!”

The stranger’s dark gaze had been making a leisurely appraisal of the bar and suddenly caught mine. Wham. It was the most bizarre thing. Almost as if an explosion had just happened, turning everything mute and muffled, like the first twenty minutes of Saving Private Ryan.

I couldn’t move. I was rooted to the spot by the darkest blue eyes I’d ever seen in my life. Navy. Long lashes that should have looked feminine, but didn’t.

“Yo! Earth to Ashling Sullivan. How about a bit of service?”

More than a little humiliated and annoyed to have been caught mesmerized like every other female within a mile radius, I broke the connection and went over to take some orders.

Not cool, Ash, not cool at all to notice someone so...noticeable. Thanks to my job as a film makeup artist, I’d worked with some of the hottest men in the world, so it wasn’t as if I’d never seen a gorgeous guy before.

I sucked in a deep breath. Kings of Leon were still playing—Sex on Fire —mockingly enough. Everyone was chattering again. Maybe it had been some kind of mad hallucination? But then I felt a prickle of awareness. I looked to my left along the bar and my skin sizzled.

Nope. He was real and he was still here. And looking at me. Even if it was just to get a drink. After all, I was on my own in the bar tonight and for the foreseeable future, thanks to a litany of minor disasters with the other staff.

I told myself he was probably gay, even though every feminine instinct I had screamed in protest at this. But the laws of dynamics in New York said that any half-decent guy was gay, or an asshole, or taken.

I couldn’t keep ignoring him. But as I went over to take the stranger’s order, I hated that I was so aware of him. Dammit, I wasn’t a fifteen-year-old virgin anymore! I was an independent twenty-six-year-old woman who’d had her fair share of sweaty, earth-pounding sex, so why was this pretty boy making my palms damp?

Because when I stood in front of him I realized that he wasn’t pretty at all. He was devastating. And unsmiling. Tense, almost wary.

I forced down my libido, which was jumping up and down like an overexcited dog dry-humping my leg. “Hey, what can I get you?”

“Whenever you’re ready, I’ll have a beer. Please.” His voice was deep, his tone dry.

Whenever you’re ready. And please almost as an afterthought. I only dimly registered that his accent wasn’t American because hackles were rising. I smiled sweetly and cocked my head. “Any beer in particular, sir?”

He glanced behind me and back. Slightly distracted. “Local is grand.”

My insides twisted. He was Irish. And there was something about an Irish accent that made me melt. This was getting ridiculous. Gorgeous and Irish. Who cared if he wasn’t a smiler?

I got a bottle and felt as self-conscious as I had when I was a teenager. All awkward limbs and burgeoning boobs and clumsy with everything.

When I put it in front of him, I said casually as I wiped the bar, “If you like Guinness, we have it on draft here.”

He arched a dark brow as he took a gulp of his beer, his Adam’s apple moving. Even that was sexy. He put the bottle down, and after another enigmatic glance somewhere behind me, he said coolly, “I’ll stick with the local brew.”

He managed to make it sound almost like an insult. As if any proper Irishman would even consider drinking the national drink outside Ireland.

Someone called me then, and I used the opportunity to escape, not liking how disappointed I was that he was living up to his brooding intensity, and borderline rude to boot.

One look at him and any resolutions to swear off men had been slinking away like weak traitors given the slightest chance to escape. But not anymore. He had danger written all over him. Just what I didn’t need.

He was welcome to the veritable quivering queue of pretty women lining up to give him some company. And sure enough, when I looked again some girl had perched on the empty stool beside him and was all but pushing her chest into his face. Not that he looked remotely impressed. The fact that that mollified me somewhat was not appreciated.

* * *

Johnny Ryan curbed the urge to snarl at the girl who seemed intent on thrusting her oversize breasts into his mouth. It wasn’t her fault he was edgy as fuck tonight. How was she supposed to know he was sweating at the thought that any moment now he might see his baby sister for the first time in years?

Pneumatic breasts brushed his arm boldly again and he gritted his jaw. He’d tried ignoring her, but he was well used to the tenacious zeal of the single New Yorker woman by now, so he sighed and turned to her, saying, “Look, I just came in for a quiet drink, okay?”

For a second her heavily made-up eyes took on the glint of a challenge, but then she must have seen something on his face, because she finally admitted defeat and said, “Aw crap. Fine.” And then she swung off the stool to go back to her friends.

Johnny could have sworn he heard her say something like, “He’s gay,” and he gave a little smirk. At least that would dissuade the others from coming over. He was under no illusions about his appeal to the opposite sex. He’d been aware of it since he was fifteen, when an eighteen-year-old Sinéad Morissey—the best looking girl in school—had pulled up her skirt, dropped her knickers and instructed him in the fine art of cunnilingus, before instructing him on a whole lot more.

A shadow covered the memory. Fifteen had been before his world had been ripped apart for good. When he’d still had some sense that life was a pretty benign place and that nothing too bad would ever happen.

But it had. And he’d only just started coming out the other side again, nearly a decade later.

The cute bartender came into his line of vision and his conscience smarted because he’d been rude to her. Coming into this bar was loaded for him, and he was raw, but it wasn’t her fault.

What was it someone had called her? Ashling...Sullivan. So she had to be related to Liam Sullivan, the owner of the bar and his little sister’s boyfriend, according to the PI who had tracked Johnny down. The PI had been sent to look for him by Liam on Johnny’s sister’s behalf.

Luckily he’d been able to persuade the man to give him a chance to come and see Caitlin himself, before the PI gave Liam and Caitlin his whereabouts. Except neither Liam or Caitlin appeared to be here this evening. He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or not, but something in him eased out of a tight grip. He was ill enough prepared to see his baby sister, never mind deal with the fact that she had a boyfriend.

He scowled at himself; as if he even had a right now to act like the possessive big brother. He’d given up that right when he’d left Dublin three years ago. Familiar guilt made Johnny’s hand clench around his beer. Guilt on top of guilt. Heaped in so many layers now, he’d never find his way out.

After his world had imploded with the death of his parents at the age of seventeen, he’d been plunged into the depths of grief and had created not a little havoc.

New York had become his hiding place for the past three years. A space for him to lick a lot of wounds and explore what he really wanted to do. And now with his baby sister on his doorstep, it was time to come out of hiding. But perhaps not today.

Now that he felt fairly certain he wouldn’t see Caitlin, he watched Ashling Sullivan work. It was no hardship; she was exquisitely pretty. Big blue eyes, slightly almond shaped. High cheekbones, a straight nose and a wide mouth with full, very kissable lips.

Desire pulsed through his blood, heating it up. When he’d caught her gaze earlier, it had been so blue it almost hurt. She lifted her hands now to tuck some stray dark blond hair into the messy bun on top of her head. The movement lifted smallish but firm-looking breasts, and a jolt of electricity and heat went straight to Johnny’s groin, surprising him with its force.

He grimaced and shifted on the stool. He’d had lovers since he’d come to New York. For the first year he was ashamed to admit that he’d lost himself a little in a spiral of booze and meaningless hookups. Anything to take the edge off the turmoil simmering in his system.

And then thanks to a job opportunity with a fellow expat, he’d finally begun to climb out of his self-destructive streak and had gone the opposite way, giving up booze and women for almost a year, concentrating on his work.

Since then...he’d settled somewhere in the middle. He still wasn’t remotely interested in anything serious romantically. He’d left his own family behind for crap’s sake, so women were fleeting diversions to him. He didn’t need to be responsible for hurting anyone else.

But when a woman came along and she was happy to take what he could offer, then he took full advantage. It had been a while, though, since anyone had piqued his interest the way this woman was...

He watched her bend and twist to put glasses in a dishwasher. He wanted to know how long her hair would be if left down. Would it look wild? Like her? Because she looked wild, and knowing. As if she’d seen a little too much of the world, too. It was in the directness of that blue gaze.

She was relatively tall, about five foot seven. Slender with delicate curves, yet a surprisingly lush ass in tight black jeans. And those tantalizing breasts under a snug Sullivan’s Bar and Eatery V-neck T-shirt. He was already wondering what they’d be like naked—firm, and tip-tilted with small berrylike nipples? He had to shift again on the stool at that visual.

She turned away now to reach up and get a bottle of liquor from the shelf along the wall at the back of the bar, and Johnny’s gaze was riveted on the juncture between her legs where the shape of her ass was like an upside-down heart.

His mouth went dry and his dick strained against denim. Shite. All he could think about was cupping that ass and spreading his fingers along her cleft to see if she felt as hot as she looked. He imagined slick folds of flesh, wet with arousal, pushing against the gusset of her panties, slipping a finger inside, easing those plump lips apart, spreading her juices, then slipping two fingers—

It took him a second to realize that she was standing in front of him and looking at him with a raised brow. Clearly she’d just asked if he wanted another drink. Feeling seriously disoriented and turned on in a way that he couldn’t remember feeling in...ever, Johnny knew he had to get out fast. He shook his head abruptly, throwing down a couple of bills before getting off the stool and adjusting himself discreetly, so he wouldn’t make a complete ass of himself walking out of the bar. Damn her.

The last thing he needed was to be lusting after a relative of his sister’s boyfriend! He took the long walk home over the Brooklyn Bridge, keen to get some air to his overheated brain cells. He’d take a taxi on the other side. It was only when he’d reached his apartment that he realized he hadn’t even asked where Caitlin was.

Shite.


Chapter Two (#ulink_cbf1fb1d-6724-5cdc-bee6-400a0304c281)

“Who was that?”

I looked at my oldest and best friend, Jenna MacAuley, who had just arrived and perched herself, wide-eyed, on the other side of the bar. I didn’t need to ask who she meant because her arrival had coincided with the brooding sexy stranger’s departure. I didn’t like that I was smarting because he’d just looked at me as if I’d grown two heads before he’d left. As if I cared! I was officially a man-free zone. Just call me Sister Ashling.

I forced myself to look blank. “Who? What?”

She snorted. “Nice try, Ash. The tall, lean drink of water who just walked out of here.” She leaned forward and said lasciviously, “I’d like a drink of that.”

I scowled. “Don’t know. Never seen him before. He was rude.”

Jenna sighed. “He can be rude with me anytime. Seriously, those eyes. I mean, did you see those eyes? And those arms?”

Yes I had, and I could imagine them all too well right now, eyes and arms and broad shoulders. I was annoyed that he’d apparently had the same effect on Jenna. Under her narrow-eyed look, I forced myself to smile. “We’re nearly closing up... Want to wait and I’ll have a drink with you?”

She nodded, her green-eyed gaze far too assessing. “Sure. Give me a beer while I’m waiting.”

About half an hour later I was locking up behind the last customer, and as I came back to Jenna, she swiveled around on the stool and grinned. I took her cue. “Cosmos? For old times’ sake?” We were still celebrating my return to New York after fifteen years in LA.

Her grin got wider. “Line ’em up, baby.”

We’d both been obsessed with Sex and the City in our teens and had loved Samantha the most, rewinding her many sex scenes, and pausing to ask, “Wow, do you think we’ll ever have sex like that?”

We were sisters from another mother: best friends since the moment in kindergarten when Noah Goldberg had said Jenna’s hair looked like dirty, squiggly carrots and I’d kicked sand in his face in her defense. We were both the younger sisters of annoyingly protective older brothers, and both from staunchly Irish-American backgrounds. Although mine was a little more diluted on my mother’s side.

We’d suffered together under the tutelage of the nuns and used to spend most of our time separated for bad behavior. And we’d both been through the acrimonious divorce of our parents within years of each other.

Except where Jenna’s folks had stayed just blocks away from each other in New York, my mom had moved to LA and taken me with her, leaving my older brother behind, so I’d only ever come home for the holidays.

As I mixed the cocktails, Jenna said carefully, “So, how are you doing?”

I smiled brightly. “Great! As long as you’re not referring to a lying, cheating bastard by the name of Steve.”

Jenna winced and looked at me with sympathy. “You had no idea, sweetie. How could you? He was from New Zealand! How would you have ever found out that he had a wife and baby if they hadn’t come to surprise him on the last day of the movie?”

“I can’t believe I let him move in with me.” Even now my skin crawled to think of it. I’d never even usually let a guy sleep over. The betrayal and humiliation was still painful. After a lifetime of trusting my instincts not to let guys get too close, my defenses had come crashing down spectacularly. And all because Steve the Rat had seen me as a challenge because I wasn’t giving in as easily as every other girl.

It had been a red rag to a bull for a man who refused to take no for an answer. His single-minded seduction had taken me off guard, and it was still galling that his zeal had had more to do with his ego than any great passion for me. The fact that his family hadn’t been on the same continent had given him plenty of room to maneuver.

Film shoots were notorious hotbeds of extramarital affairs, but I never thought I’d get caught like that. Considering my own scars from being the product of a broken home, the fact that I might have contributed to someone else’s misery, even unwittingly, was excruciating.

“Look,” Jenna said stoutly. “He was a gorgeous stunt guy with a cute Kiwi accent, and your job was to draw freaking tattoos on his practically naked body every day.” She rolled her eyes. “You’d have to have been Mother Attracta to avoid that kind of temptation, and even she probably would have gone down on him.”

The thought of the very strict Mother Superior of our primary school getting on her knees to give a blow job made me convulse inelegantly. Thank God for Jenna; she could always made me laugh. When I got myself under control again, I put the cosmos on the bar counter and came around to perch on a stool beside her. She picked hers up. “Here’s to giving up men to concentrate on us and our fabulous new business, and your homecoming!”

“Amen!” I said with feeling. Jenna had just been through a pretty brutal breakup of her own, demonstrating once again how our lives always seemed to freakishly sync up. We clinked glasses and took a gulp of the bright pink concoctions.

A sense of lightness and excitement gripped me. I was so happy to be home, much happier than I’d ever thought I might be. And even happier to be leaving the frenetic pace of working on films behind me. The long hours and insecure freelance nature of the job had taken its toll. Not to mention my recent crappy dating experience.

I pushed down the lingering bitterness and looked at her. “So, we’re really doing this, aren’t we?”

She nodded, making her abundance of curly red hair bounce around her shoulders. “Abso-fricking-lutely.”

Nerves mixed with anticipation gripped me. We were setting up a joint business venture, a company called MacSullivan Inc. Jenna was a stylist, and together we were going to provide an all-in-one service for the hair/makeup/styling end of things for commercials, photo shoots and videos. Normally a production company called any number of freelancers to fill those roles, but we were going to be a one-stop shop and make a name for ourselves as the go-to girls everyone needed on their shoots.

We already had another old friend lined up who could do hair. The plan was to do it ourselves for the first few years, get it off the ground and then train up newbies so that they could take over. Eventually we’d hopefully have built up something of an agency with a byword in excellence. It also helped that one of my specialties from working on films was prosthetics, so we’d be able to do quirky stuff, too. I was also planning on teaching some workshops.

Ever since I’d gone to LA with my mother, I’d felt a little out of control of my own life, which had manifested as severe teenage rebellion. And even though I’d had a great career, it still felt as if I’d never really made the choice, because I’d been all but forced into an internship in the movie industry by my mother in a bid to keep me out of trouble.

But for the first time now, with this venture, I was taking control of my life. And it felt good.

Jenna turned businesslike. “Okay, so I’m going to Miami tomorrow for two weeks for the big family reunion for my nana’s eightieth birthday. Will you be working here?”

I sipped my cosmo and nodded. “Liam and Caitlin left for Mexico today.” My older brother had run the family business since our father had checked out in spectacular alcoholic style some years ago. I was happy to help out and find my feet after returning from LA, and make some money before throwing all my energy and savings into this new business venture with Jenna.

She said now with wide eyes, “I still can’t believe Liam is actually in love.”

“I know,” I said. “It’s freaking me out big-time. He’s always been so cynical...and I’ve never seen him so...content.”

Jenna shook her head again, still disbelieving. “This girl—is she a supermodel? Does she have magical powers?”

I shook my head. “Nope. She’s pretty, but not extraordinary, and she’s really sweet. I like her. She can stand up to Liam, which is cool to watch, actually.”

“Wow,” Jenna breathed, starting to space out. “I mean, if it can happen to Liam—”

I put down my glass and took her by the shoulders, making her look at me, and said firmly, “Exception to the rule. Ever heard of that one?”

Jenna made a face. “Too fricking often.”

“We don’t need men.” I imagined a long, dry life ahead and qualified it with, “Well, not right now anyway. We’re what’s important.”

Jenna lifted her glass. “Yes we are. And it’s a good thing we’re both single—no unnecessary distractions from world domination.”

“Exactly,” I said, and forced out betraying images of the hot, sexy stranger from earlier. “So we’re agreed—no men, no distractions.”

Jenna clinked glasses to mine and said, “Agreed.”

She gestured between us and our general pelvic regions and said, “No boys allowed in this area.”

And then she wagged a finger at me as if reading my mind. “Not even if Hottie McHotness from earlier makes a reappearance. If I’m going to resist the temptation of surfer dudes in Miami then you’re not getting any either.”

I had to repress a little illicit shiver of reaction at the thought of seeing the stranger again. Before Jenna could spot it, I clinked glasses and said with conviction, “I can guarantee that nothing is more important to me right now than getting our business off the ground.”

* * *

The following evening I was in irritable form. I hadn’t slept well thanks to one cosmo too many with Jenna, followed by a night of broken vivid dreams featuring an unsmiling gorgeous face and dark blue eyes.

Candy, the day manager and one of mine and Liam’s oldest friends who was also putting me up until I found a permanent home, had offered to stay and help, as I was still on my own manning the bar. But we both knew that wasn’t a solution because she already did the early shift covering breakfast and lunch, which was a vital part of the business.

I’d assured her I’d be fine. After all, most of the crowd were regulars, and I’d survived the previous night.

But the previous night had been Thursday. Now it was Friday, and things were already uncomfortably busy, and it was only 8:00 p.m. And there was no sign of any regulars. I would have given anything right then for Candy’s acerbic wit and tough presence, but she was on a date with a new girlfriend, and no one in their right mind came between Candy and a hot sex session.

It wasn’t until I’d taken the orders of a crowd of rowdy frat boys who’d come in and I finally had a second to take a breath that I noticed him sitting at the other end of the bar, on his own again, watching me. Immediately I thought of Jenna’s wagging finger warning me off fooling around and a very old urge to rebel made itself felt.

Crap.

I hated that my first reaction was intense excitement, followed by irritation. I was so not in the mood for this. I didn’t even realize I was glaring at him with my arms folded until he arched a brow at me.

I walked over, a mix of that excitement and unwelcome desire pulsing through me. “Yes?”

Those intensely dark blue eyes narrowed on me and I swallowed the urge to apologize. He’d all but run out of the place as if he’d smelled a skunk last night. So what was he even doing back here?

“I think I’ll give that Guinness a try after all,” he drawled with that luscious accent that put a serious dent in my irritation levels.

I fought the urge to smile—what was it about gorgeous men that had that ability to reduce perfectly intelligent women to simpering shadows of their former selves?—but I also knew I couldn’t be rude. Liam would have my hide if any customer felt less than welcome. So I just said lightly, “I have it on good authority that’s it’s as close to the real thing as you can get this side of the Atlantic.”

I went over to pull the pint, letting it settle for a minute while taking another order and then finishing the pour. I felt jittery, and between my legs was already damp. Shit. My body wasn’t obeying my firmly avowed resolution to swear off men for the foreseeable future. The last thing I needed now was the distraction of a hot guy. I wasn’t sure I trusted that my defenses had been fully reerected yet.

When I brought it back over, his mouth tipped into a sexy side smile and my insides tightened with pure, unadulterated lust. Christ, but you’d have to be made of stone not to react to that, wheedled a voice in my head.

“You know how to pour it like a proper Irish woman.”

“Well, I’d be letting the side down if I couldn’t pull a pint of the black stuff properly.”

He tipped the glass toward me. “Sláinte.”

“Sláinte,” I echoed. Then I heard from behind me, “Hey, miss! Can we order please?”

My cheeks got hot to realize I was neglecting customers. And when I turned around, my belly sank. The bar was heaving. About a hundred faces all looking at me expectantly.

I dove in, time blurring as I dealt with a seemingly unending barrage of customers. At this rate I’d run out of glasses. I cursed silently.

Then the frat boys came back for another round. Drunker this time. “Hey, sexy lady,” one of them slurred. “How’s about you and me get together after you finish me off?”

He leered at me. “That is, I mean to say, when you finish work.”

I kept my tone friendly but firm. “I think you boys have had enough here. Time to go to the next bar.”

“Hey, bitch,” said another guy, big and beefy and sulky looking. “You can’t tell us to leave.”

The language shocked me and a definite frisson of fear crawled up my back. Then I felt a sensation behind me and heard a voice say, “Yes she can, and she’s right—you boys have had enough. Go on, get out.”

I looked around and had to look up to see Hottie McHotness right behind me, behind the bar. How had I not even noticed? An uncomfortable awareness of my vulnerability and those recently decimated defenses made me clench my hands and face him. “Excuse me, who said you could come in here?”

“Yeah, dude, who the fuck are you? She’s talking to me.”

I looked back at the beefy guy who was pointing a pudgy finger at himself. The mood was turning ugly. As much as I hated it, when the sexy stranger ignored me to move in front of me and spread his hands on the bar and said menacingly, “Get out now or I’ll call the cops myself,” I was relieved.

The guys looked at him belligerently for a few seconds but clearly they saw the same danger I did. Next to him, they no longer looked threatening. They looked soft and ineffectual, and they finally slunk away with a few muttered insults and curses.

I sucked in a shaky breath, not even realizing till then how tense I was. He turned around, and I reacted to his proximity. “You can go back to your seat now. I could have handled that.”

“But thank you,” I added ungraciously.

His mouth tightened and he folded his arms across his chest, making him look intimidating and huge. “I’ve no doubt you could...on a slower night. But you’re being slammed, and those guys were knocking back drinks they’d brought with them, which you wouldn’t have noticed.”

I looked at him. I hadn’t noticed. And now I recalled Liam warning me about those guys. They’d been in a few times before and he’d barred them.

“I... Well, thanks. I have to get back to work.”

I glanced at the bar. Even with those guys gone, others had taken their places.

“You obviously need a hand. Tell me where you want me.”

I looked back at him and blinked. For a bizarre second I had a vision of him pushing me up against the bar to grind his hips into mine.

Shock made me blurt out, “You can’t just—”

He cut me off. “I’m not moving.”


Chapter Three (#ulink_7a417f81-70ec-5733-bf71-5326981b045c)

I heard the clamor of the crowd, and the music had stopped. Dirty glasses were piled up. He was right. I was slammed. And I realized that even though he was a complete stranger, I felt I could trust him. Which should have been warning enough if I’d had enough time to think about it.

Still reluctant, though, I said, “I don’t even know your name.”

“Johnny.”

I pushed the image of Jenna’s wagging finger to the back of my mind and followed my gut—and my ravenous libido—and stuck out my hand. “Ashling.”

He took my hand with his and it was big and warm and callused. Be still, my pulsating pussy. Shit.

I pulled my hand away and tried to look as stern and boss-like as possible. “You could start by collecting the glasses and putting them in the washer.”

I showed him quickly how it worked and then he said, “It’s grand. I’ve got it—go on, get back to it.”

For the next couple of hours I operated in a haze, totally bemused to find myself working around this six-foot-three gorgeous Irish man who was now also taking orders and serving drinks as if he’d been here for years.

When the last customers finally left and I had closed and locked the door behind them, I watched Johnny carry some glasses from a table, bringing them behind the bar, efficiently putting them into the washer and switching the washer on.

He flipped a tea towel over his shoulder and looked around, hands on slim hips. He’d taken off his top layer along the way, so now he was wearing a white T-shirt that was so thin I could see nothing but ripped musculature. Flat nipples. A tantalizing sliver of flat belly and that delicious line of dark hair that led down underneath the top button of his low-slung jeans.

Man oh man. Some evil God had sent this vision of sex to tempt me away from my resolutions and back to a place of hormone-controlled decadence. Moisture pooled between my legs and my breasts felt tight.

Still in a kind of daze, I walked over to the bar and perched on a stool. We looked at each other and something sizzled. It might have been me.

I shook my head. “Wow. I don’t...” My mouth closed. Obviously I had to thank him. He’d saved my ass, probably literally. Even now I shuddered to think of those frat guys and what might have happened.

And then it hit me. I didn’t even know his full name. I stuck out my hand across the bar and smiled ruefully. “I’m Ashling Sullivan. Nice to meet you.”

He wiped his hands on the towel and I noticed that they were very masculine with long fingers. Short nails.

He took my hand and held it tight. “Johnny Ryan.”

Between my legs didn’t just pulse this time; it spasmed. Inner walls tightening as if already imagining what his thick length might feel like thrusting in and out. He didn’t let my hand go and I could feel those calluses again. My nipples hardened against the sheer material of my bra.

From somewhere that wasn’t keeling over with lust I said, “Thank you. Really. You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugged easily. “I didn’t have any plans to break. It was no bother.”

I tugged my hand free, aware of that delicious, slightly earth-tilting feeling of mutual desire. Because he wanted me as much as I wanted him. It wasn’t an arrogant assertion. It was just...there. I could smell it, and Jesus, I wanted to taste it. To taste him. He was looking at my mouth, and it made me want to put out my tongue to moisten it.

In a bid to stop myself crawling over the bar to get to him, I blurted out, “You obviously know your way around bars.”

He shrugged one broad shoulder, and something in his expression tightened. He avoided my eye. “Coming from Ireland, it’s kind of an occupational hazard. And I’ve worked in a few here.”

But then he dragged his gaze back to mine and said, “Actually, I came back in tonight for a reason.”

My heart thumped hard. “You did?” Mentally I was already apologizing to Jenna and I sent her telepathic permission to do a surfer dude.

“Yeah...” He ran a hand through his short hair, leaving it deliciously tousled and messy. Everything in me was poised, waiting for him to say he’d come back because he’d wanted to see me.

Already I was imagining lowering the blinds, taking him into the office, sitting on the side of the table, spreading my legs, his hands on my hips, roughly pulling me toward him—

He looked at me. “Yeah...the thing is that I’m actually looking for my little sister, Caitlin Ryan. Do you know her?”

The sting of exposure and humiliation was like a slap across the face. What the hell was wrong with me? I was all but ready to jump over this bar and strip off my clothes and beg this complete stranger to do me right now? As if I hadn’t just left my dignity in tatters back in LA?

I put the brakes on. Screeching. Thank God I hadn’t made a complete ass of myself and shown him how susceptible I was. I slid off the stool, brisk. “Yeah, sure I know Caitlin. She’s going out with my brother. She lives upstairs with him.”

I came around behind the bar and started to tidy up, not looking at him. But when he spoke and he sounded almost...hesitant, I had to look.

“Is she—are they...here? Now?”

I steeled myself against those huge eyes and the desire to know why he looked and sounded tortured all of a sudden.

“No, they’re on holiday for two weeks in Mexico. That’s why I’m here, covering for Liam.”

I frowned at him and folded my arms. “She never mentioned having a brother in New York.”

Something in his expression was bitter for a second. “Yeah, well, she does. I’ve been living here for a few years.”

Instantly interest spiked when a wealth of questions begged to be asked. Why hadn’t he seen her before now? Why was he so nervous? I pushed down the urge to know. Questions would lead to answers and answers would lead to confidences and confidences would lead to feelings of empathy and ultimately believing I could trust—I stopped my whirling brain and took a breath.

I felt dizzy. I would never let anyone suck me in again the way Steve had. No matter how hot.

But Jesus Christ... Steve had been undeniably gorgeous, but with Johnny in front of me, I don’t think I could have picked that cheating rat out of a lineup. And I hated to admit it, but there was something very satisfying about that. Although I had no interest in this guy.

Liar.

I turned around and picked up the jar of tips, holding it out to him. “Caitlin won’t be back for two weeks. Thanks for tonight. You should take these and I’ll settle up with you for the shift if you give me your bank details. I’ll do a transfer.”

I was avoiding his eye but had to look up when he didn’t take the jar. His arms were crossed, muscles bulging and seriously distracting. Now he sounded disgusted when he said, “I’m not taking your tips and I don’t want payment.”

More than exasperated at how he’d exposed all of my lofty resolutions for being weak at the seams, I said, “Well, what do you want then?”

He just looked at me for a long moment and then unfolded his arms and came close, putting two hands on the back bar either side of me. I clutched the jar to me like a shield. My pussy tightened. Just like that.

“You, Ashling. I want you and I wanted you the moment I saw you. I wanted you so bad I couldn’t even remember why I’d come in last night.”

* * *

The palpable relief Johnny felt to know that he had a reprieve from seeing Caitlin for another couple of weeks still lingered, even as he called himself a fucking coward for it.

But, if that was a license to push the past aside for a moment, he did. He kicked it right over the edge of a cliff to deal with later.

Because he felt wild and desperate as he looked down into Ashling’s upturned face. And right now he was all about the present and those mesmerizing blue eyes. For a second they looked hot enough to burn him alive. The pink tip of her tongue came out as if to moisten her lips, and immediately he was rewarded with an image of her on her knees, that pink tongue exploring him, slipping along the slit at the head of his dick, tasting his pre-come.

He almost groaned and was about to press closer when she scooted out from under his arms and put the jar down. She stood a few feet away, arms crossed tightly across her chest. It pushed up the enticing swells of her modest but plump cleavage. Not helping. Ice in her eyes now. Not heat. Not helping either.

“Yeah? Well, I’m afraid I’m not interested.”

Johnny curbed the urge to point out that it hadn’t looked like that a few moments ago when she’d been on the other side of the bar and looking as if she was about to climb over it to get to him. He’d had to bloody focus enough to remember why he was here. Again.

I’m not interested. The words hung between them, and something dark pierced him. “Are you going out with someone?”

Ashling’s expression became hard. “No. Not that it’s any of your business.”

Tightness eased inside Johnny, and he didn’t like it. He wasn’t an angel by any means, but he’d never felt as if he couldn’t walk away if a woman was taken—drawing the line at seducing attached lovers. Which was about as noble as he got.

Except here, now, with Ashling, he wasn’t so sure he would have found it so easy. And that had never happened before.

Johnny’s voice lowered. It was very much game on now. “I’d say it’s my business when I know you want me as much as I want you.”

Her eyes flashed momentarily, as if with panic, but then she hitched her chin up belligerently. “Haven’t you ever heard the expression ‘I’m just not that into you’?”

Man, she was cute. Johnny’s libido surged. He stepped closer and saw how the pulse at the base of her neck jumped. She was into him, all right.

“Where I come from,” he drawled, “that’s called fighting talk. And if it eases your mind any, I’m not with anyone either.”

He crossed his arms and saw the way her eyes dropped for a moment before coming back up. Some of the ice was melting, he could see it. Lust kicked hard in his solar plexus.

Ashling rolled her eyes. “Whatever, Johnny. The fact is that whether you’re single or a cheating bastard, I’ve had my fill. So when I say I’m not interested, I mean it.”





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