The Luck of the Irish (In Love)

By the time he returned, she had already started a fire. He was pleased. “You are a resourceful woman,” he praised as he kicked off his boots. He opened a cupboard and withdrew some clothing and blankets, which he brought to the hearth.

  “I’ve been on my own for a while,” she admitted as she took the pile of material from his hands.

  “No family?” She shook her head as she glanced through the clothing, which included a shirt and pants. Her eyes met his. “They belong to my younger brother,” he explained. “Normally women do not visit the hunting cottage.”

  “No wife?” she asked.

  He shook his head. His blue eyes were clear and direct. “I have no wife,” he explained.

  Her eyes fell away from his as she rose to her feet. “Where can I change?”

  He nodded toward a door across the room. She rushed to the sanctity of the bedroom, shutting the door with a gasp of relief behind her. Kian was doing a serious number on her nerves. She leaned against the heavy wood door and took a couple of deep breaths to calm herself before she changed out of her wet clothes.

  Her body trembled as she peeled away the thin layer of material, which clung to her like a second skin. Knowing Kian was just a room away forced a soft, unconscious groan from her throat before she hopped into the borrowed clothes. Though they were small in size, she still had to gather the excess material into one fist to make them fit. With a shrug of her shoulder, she decided to tie a knot in the material, which ultimately bared part of her stomach.

  She knew it was improper, but the only other alternative would be to let the clothes fall from her body in a heap and leave her completely naked.

  Kian would just have to understand.

  When she emerged from the room, he had his back to her, busy pouring a beverage into two polished wood goblets. He turned when he heard her approach, offering one goblet, but he nearly dropped it when he glanced over her unusual appearance.

  “Sorry,” she shrugged and he quickly shook his head to indicate an apology was not needed.

  “You wear those clothes better than my brother,” he admitted with a face-saving smirk.

  She took the goblet and sat on the blanket next to the fireplace. “What is this?”

  “Cider,” he said as he sat across from her. “From my own orchard.”

  She took a sip and murmured her approval. “Very nice.”

  He drank as well, watching her over the rim of his cup. He took a big gulp before setting it aside. “May I ask a question?”

  “Of course,” she said.

  “Why did it take you so long to return?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “After that day on the bridge, I thought you would come to find me.”

  She shrugged and looked away. “The leprechaun gave me what I wanted,” was all she said, though it felt like a lie to say it.

  “Then why return?”

  Her eyes met his. “Maybe I found out I wanted something else.”

  “And that took a year?” he persisted.

  “A year?” she echoed. Apparently time passed differently in her dream world. “I didn’t realize it had been so long.”

  His eyes deepened. “It felt like an eternity,” he confessed softly.

  “For me, too,” she admitted.

  His gaze trailed over her face and down over her body. “And now here you are. We are alone. It is highly improper and yet…,” he trailed off suddenly, glancing back into her eyes.

  “And yet?”

  “It is like it is meant to be,” he finally finished. She looked away and he was instantly contrite. “Forgive me. That is much too bold to say.”

  She shook her head. “No, no. It’s not that.”

  “Then what is it?”

  She sighed. “I don’t belong here, Kian. That’s why I had to leave.”

  “And will you leave again?”

  She studied him for a long moment before she pulled the coin from one of her pockets. It was the coin she retrieved in the forest, her magical passport home. He spotted the gleam of the gold in the low light in the cabin. With an impish smile, she tossed it right into the fire. So what if she couldn’t get back home? Why was she fighting to get back to that rat race anyway? Late night TV was repetitive. So she didn’t have a bagel every morning. Carbs were bad for her anyway. And the only thing she really did on her smartphone was play games.

  So she’d give in to this mental break and they’d keep her in some padded room somewhere. They’d pump her full of sedatives and she could stay in this beautiful, wonderful dream forever.

  Kian scooted closer to where she sat. He lifted her hair from her shoulder, smoothing it along her back. “You are truly lovely,” he murmured, staring deeply into her eyes.

  “You’re the first person who has ever said that to me,” she admitted softly.

  “Impossible,” he said before he bent his head towards hers.

  For a split second, Siobhan was afraid she’d wake up lip to lip with her pillow before she could taste the wine of his kiss. But his mouth covered hers, warm and firm and commanding, as though it was happening for real. Tentatively she reached up to cup his face in her hands. The stubble on his cheek tickled her palm, so she raked her fingers through his thick hair. He moaned against her lips as she clasped a handful. He responded in kind, pulling her even closer as he kissed her deep and true.

  Outside the storm raged. Thunder crashed while lightning lit up the sky. It matched the thundering beat of her pulse as it raged in her ear when he eased her back against the blanket. His strong, hard body covered hers. It was the most realistic dream she’d ever had, so she indulged each and every sensation as her hands trailed across his broad shoulders and strong back. She could feel every contour with her delicate, sensitive fingertips, which dared to dance lower toward the curve of his hip. The minute her hand made contact, he pulled away, breathless and surprised.

  “This is madness,” he muttered as he stared down at her face. “You have cast a spell on me, Siobhan.” His finger touched the top of the shirt, which bared the enticing flesh of her chest for him. “Every night for a year, I have dreamt about you. About this. And now you are here, just like a dream.”

  She chuckled softly. If only he knew. “So don’t wake up,” she suggested in a sultry, low voice.

  He kissed her again, this time deepening it almost instantly to explore her mouth with his tongue. She met his passion with equal response. It only drove him crazier. She cried out when his hand cupped her breast and he trembled against her. “Siobhan,” he whispered.

  Her entire body reached for him when he said her name, as if he had staked his claim. “Say it again,” she begged.

  “Siobhan,” he muttered against her lips. “Siobhan, Siobhan, Siobhan.”

  “Siobhan!”

  Siobhan opened her eyes, blinking away the harsh daylight. She was still at O’Shannon’s, head down on the bar, lying in a puddle of her own drool. She frowned in confusion as she sat up.

  She hadn’t gone home at all. She had fallen asleep right there on that bar, still in her uniform.

  Gus stared down at her with concern. Clearly the upcoming holiday was stressing out one of his best waitresses. “You okay?”

  She nodded as she struggled to get her bearings. The dream had felt so real. Now she couldn’t tell which end was up.

  “Maybe you should go home. Get some sleep. Take the night off if you want.”

  “No!” Her sharp refusal took her manager by surprise. “I mean… I can’t. Bills, right?”

  “Right,” he agreed reluctantly. “All right, then. You win. Go tidy up in the back.”

  “Thanks, Gus,” she said as she raced to do exactly that.

  Her favorite new customer showed up, right on schedule. He sat at station three and proceeded to drink a bottomless glass of beer while he played solitaire. She passed him several times, studying the odd little man. But the more attention she paid him, the more he ignored her.

  Finally she sat in the ch
air opposite him. “You know, you’ve been here every night for days and I don’t even know your name.”

  He glanced at her through the corner of his eye but said nothing.

  She pressed on anyway. “I’m Siobhan.” He grunted in response as he continued to play his game. “I love your costume. Very authentic. Are you from the Old Country?”

  Again he said nothing as he moved cards from one pile to the other.

  “And those gold coins,” she said. “Wow,” she added with an emphatic, wide-eyed smile. “I have never seen anything like that before. Where… where’d you get them?” He cast her another sideways glance before he reached for his pipe. “Great pipe, too. Looks old.”

  He grunted before he put it back on the table. “It’s a gean-cánach pipe.”

  Her eyes widened and her heart stopped. “What did you just say?”

  “A gean-cánach pipe,” he said again, speaking slow.

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Because that’s what it is.”

  “And how do you know what a gean-cánach is?”

  He sighed and rolled his eyes. With a perfect Jersey accent, her customer said, “Because that’s what the guy called it when he sold it to me,” he explained. “Look, lady. I’m trying to create some atmosphere. Sprinkle a little fairy dust. I get laid like a motherfucker this time of year. Every wannabe Irish lass wants to get her hands on the pot of gold at the end of my rainbow. You’re kind of killing my vibe, here.”

  She stared at him, incredulous. “Wait. What?”

  He glared at her. “Beat it, toots.”

  “So the coins aren’t magic?” she asked, though it tasted like crazy the minute the question left her