The Irresistible Irishman - M.J. Fields Page 0,2

I swallow. “I’m not sure what she told you about me, but—”

“Nor I.” He shakes his head as if I said something amusing. “The truth of it is I’m only in town for a short while, just visiting my mate Raff and godson Nathaniel. Faith invited me here and told me there’s someone I should meet. And here we are. It’s that simple.”

The accent.

I will not get pulled in by that accent!

“Th-that’s all?” My voice comes out so hesitant, but that’s because I am.

Most of the people in town know about my battle. They saw the hair loss. They watched me shrink in weight. And the truth is, they were all amazingly kind to me in the way you’d expect from a small town like Holiday Springs. But it also made it harder for me to just be myself. It wasn’t an easy choice to go back to Aspen after I recovered, but I felt like I couldn’t live comfortably when everyone saw me as porcelain. Even when I was at my weakest, I was a twenty-nine-year-old woman made of skin and bone, with a heart that beat with aspirations in both life and love. I got tired of being looked at as weak and frail. Looking at the Irishman now, my body reminds me for the first time in what feels like forever that it also craves something more than survival. Maybe Faith is right.

I cross my legs, trying to contain the beat that’s settled in the pit of my stomach. With every second that passes in his proximity, it is starting to pulse lower. Much, much lower.

He quirks a brow as though he’s reading my consideration. “That’s all there is.” He tilts his head to the side, thick chestnut waves shifting to the side, a sliver of his tongue moving to the corner of his full lips. “I’m only here for a short visit. There’s nothing wrong with a bit of fun, aye?”

His delivery is to the point. It’s as cut and dry as it gets.

“Aye.” I lift my glass, my hands shaking a bit, and taking another sip when I notice a gold watch glinting on his wrist. I finally realize how differently he’s dressed from the other men here. They’re in flannel and jeans, while the Irishman is in a dark suit with a white button-down shirt. But while he is definitely dressed like a serious businessman, his gaze speaks anything but boardroom. Though if he has anything in common with the Holiday Springs natives—with the way he fills out his suit—he looks like he chops wood in his free time.

So. Insanely. Hot.

Gathering my wits, I tell him, “Here now, works for me.” I scrutinize him closely, looking for any sign he knows more than he’s letting on.

He gives me a half-smile, and I don’t see an ounce of pity. This man is nothing but confidence wrapped up in a masculine package. “So, let’s enjoy the holiday, aye?”

He again raises a hand to the bartender, and this time, she comes rushing toward him, her cheeks flushing. “I’ll have Glenlivet on the rocks. And she’ll take another of whatever she’s having.”

“Sure.” The bartender smiles like she’s waiting for him to order her up to his room later tonight, and with her reaction to him, I don’t feel so alone. She immediately fills the orders and slides them toward us, her smile more of an offering as her eyes linger on Beckett. “Let me know if I can get you anything else.”

Chapter Two

Sláinte!

(Cheers!)

-Irish saying

Beckett

Within a few silent and assessing seconds—mostly by her—I can’t help but to break the silence. “I take it this isn’t something you do often, if ever.”

She bites her lip and subtly shakes her head. Briefly, I imagine what a moan would sound like coming from between her lips and being the man responsible for it. Her innocence and hesitation are obvious. She’s not hiding it well. Not that she looks virginal, but she doesn’t appear to be completely comfortable with the idea of casual sex or hookups, let alone my style of sex. Oddly enough, I don’t even think I care.

I circle the liquid in my tumbler as I look her over. She doesn’t carry a natural confidence. Her eyes are a light brown, a bit too large for her face, but there is a depth to them that’s insurmountable. It’s as though she’s lived far more life than her time. Her lips are full, the lower more so than the upper. She’s not