“What's for lunch today, chef?” Donal asked, strolling into my kitchen as if he didn't have a care in the world.

Kathleen, one of my assistants, shook her head and rolled her eyes as Donal brushed past. Having worked for Dublin Rugby for the past two seasons, she'd spent the last hour bringing me up to speed on the guys on the team and who among them I should avoid. Donal, according to her, was close to the top of the list. Apparently, Marla hadn't been exaggerating when she'd said he was a hopeless flirt. What she'd left out, however, was the fact that he was a notorious manwhore.

While disappointed to hear my forbidden object of desire was unscrupulous when it came to where he put his dick, I wasn't actually surprised to hear it. Working first for a famous model and then a celebrity chef, I'd spent enough time around young, attractive men who had more good looks than sense, and they all seemed terminally incapable of keeping it in their pants.

Boys like Donal are a dime a dozen in L.A., I reminded myself as I stole a covert glance. Such a pity, too, because he really was a fine specimen of male beauty.

While I had my hand shoved up a chicken's ass, Donal reached across my work station to grab a handful of chopped carrots and popped them in his mouth.

“Don't you have practice or something?”

“I'm injured,” came his easy reply.

I'd always assumed an injury was akin to a death sentence to a professional athlete, but Donal didn't seem too put off by his. Then again, maybe it was a brain injury. Given the way he'd completely disregarded all my previous directives to stay out of my kitchen, it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that he'd suffered brain damage somewhere along the way. After all, without helmets to protect their melons, rugby players were notorious for suffering from the side effects of repeated concussions.

Not that it was anything to joke about, but something about this guy got under my skin, so before I could stop myself, I asked, “Someone hit you too hard in the head? Mess up your hearing?”

Ignoring my jibe, he answered, “Nope, fecking Achilles. I'm cursed, I tell you.” Pulling out a chair and dropping onto it, he continued, “But that's okay because it means I get to hang out in here with you.”

“Or, you know, out there.” I pointed toward the door.

“Nah, it smells like feet and sweaty balls that way.” He inhaled deeply and his lungs filled with air, tightening his already snug t-shirt. “It smells like heaven in here.”

“Is that what that is?” I asked with a chuckle. “And here I thought it was just my grandma's roast chicken.”

Donal groaned and his stomach growled. “You're killing me, woman. That's my favorite meal in the entire world.”

“Is it?” I asked absentmindedly, opening the oven door and shoving a third roasting pan inside.

“Yup.” When I turned to acknowledge his statement, he'd leaned forward to rest his meaty forearms on equally meaty thighs. “I like eating other things too.”

Did he just? Oh my god, he didn't—did he?

I stared at him in amazement—and not the good kind—while his face split into a smug, shit-eating grin and a dimple indented the right side of his face. “You should see your face right now,” he said laughing.

“You're lucky I don't smack that look off yours,” I threatened, my finger pointed as I drifted away from the hot wall of ovens, conscious of not getting too close to him. “I can't believe you just said that.” I crossed my arms over my chest with a huff.

Donal reclined in his chair, one arm flung over the back while the other rested lazily on his thigh. “Relax chef, I'm just joking.”

“You don't joke about … about … that with someone you don't know well.”

Donal's smile dropped and his eyes turned speculative. “You can't even say it, can you?” He raised an eyebrow in silent challenge, while I uncrossed my arms and clenched my fists at my side.

“I can say it. I simply choose not to. That's the difference between you and me. I'm an adult, while you're a child.”

All at once he surged out of his seat and stalked toward me. When he was close enough that I could smell the woodsy, intoxicating scent of his aftershave, his eyes flicked between mine, his gaze probing, while I prayed the overwhelming lust I felt whenever he was this close didn't show on my face. After several charged seconds, Donal shook his head and moved to step around me, his big body brushing up against my smaller one. Before passing, he leaned close and whispered, his Dublin accent coming through strong, “I assure you, Lauren, I am all man.”

And then he was gone, leaving me standing there with my jaw hanging open and my mind whirring. I didn't want to wonder what that amazing body of his could do, but now I couldn't stop the images from forming. Paired with what Kathleen had told me earlier, I didn't doubt the veracity of his claim, but I wasn't about to be next on his list of conquests. He might have thrown down the gauntlet, but I wasn't going to pick it up.

* * *

Leaving the kitchen, I made way toward the complex's exit and to my bus stop immediately outside its gates. It'd been a long morning and afternoon and all I wanted now was to get home to my dinky apartment, take a long shower, and put my feet up.

Unfortunately, someone had other ideas.

“Hey, wait up!” Donal called, jogging to catch up with me. “I want to talk to you.”

Since his comment about being all man earlier in the week, I hadn't seen Donal even once—and that was just fine by me. When he wasn't around, I was able to forget the strange pull he had over me and instead focus on doing my job. Aside from a food delivery gone wrong the day before, it had been a blissfully quiet 72 hours.

Hefting my bag higher on my shoulder, I slowed my stride and waited for him to catch up. “You better make it quick,” I said, glancing at my watch. “My bus will be here in 10 minutes.”

“You don't drive?”

“I haven't had time to look for a car, much less get my license. As far as I can tell it's a bitch of a process and since I'm only here for another eight weeks, it's not worth the effort.”

“Ah, right,” he said, scratching his chin thoughtfully.

“Nine minutes.” I tapped my watch face.

“Right. So … I wanted to apologize for the other day.”

I suppose I could have made him squirm for a bit, but I didn't have it in me. Maybe some other time when I wasn't feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders I would have, but not today. “Thank you.”

“The thing is, I like you, Lauren. And I'd like to get to know you better.”

I tried to ignore the way my stomach dropped to my knees and my heart galloped in my chest when he said my name. Tried, and failed. “I don't think that's a good idea.”

Donald crossed his arms and scowled down at me. “Why not?”

“Well, for one, I'm pretty sure we have absolutely nothing in common. And second, I'm only here for a few more weeks.”

“Which is all the more reason for you to give me a chance. I was born and raised in Dublin. I can show you around. This way when you go back to … where are you going back to?”

“L.A.”

“Cool, I used to live there,” he said, catching me off guard. Before I could ask what he was talking about, he barreled forward. “This way, when you go back home, you can tell everyone about the real Dublin. Not the one you see on postcards and in the movies.”

“What if I want that Dublin?”

“Fine, I'll show you that one too.” His eyes sparkled, and for a moment I wondered if this was what he looked like as the clock wound down in a match and Dublin was up by a few points. Because this was the look of victory narrowly won—smug, yet relieved. Except he hadn't won anything yet.

I peered at him through narrowed eyes. “You're awfully persistent, aren't you?”

He laughed. “You haven't been around professional athletes much, have you?”

“Honestly, can't say that I have.”

“For future reference, we are some of the most hard-headed, determined assholes you'll ever meet. Once we decide on a goal, nothing—save serious bodily harm—will keep us from it.”

“So you're saying if I took out your kneecaps, I'd have some peace and quiet in my kitchen?”

Donal pulled the knit cap featuring the team's shamrock logo off his head and ran his hand back and forth through his hair. Dropping his chin, he looked up at me with a flirtatious grin. “Admit it; you missed me.”

“I admit nothing,” I replied, fighting the tug on my lips that threatened to become a full-on smile.

“Aha! There it is. I knew it.”

I turned my head away with a laugh. “I maintain my earlier position.”

Donal took a step forward and placed his large, warm palm on my arm. “Come on Lauren, humor me.”

My smile dropping, I brought my face back around and studied him. Eyes the color of Santa Fe turquoise looked back at me with open sincerity. And just like that, I couldn't remember why I was trying to shut him out. Donal exasperated me to no end, but he also made me laugh … and it'd been awhile since I'd been able to do that. I also didn't really know anyone in Dublin and the truth was, without seeing my friends back home and spending time with my mom every couple of days, I was beginning to feel lonely. Letting him show me around the city didn't have to turn into anything else. It didn't have to mean anything. I wouldn't let it.

“Okay, fine. What do you have in mind?”

“First, you don't have to sound so thrilled, and second, what about grabbing a cup of coffee? There's a place I like about a kilometer from here.” Somehow, without me realizing what was happening, he managed to slip the backpack from my shoulder and heft it onto his own back.

“Oh, you mean now?” I asked in bewilderment. I'd just assumed he meant we'd go to coffee at some point in the future, not this very minute.

Donal chuckled and shook his head. “Yes, now. Unless you have somewhere else you have to be?” He raised an eyebrow in question.

“No, nowhere else,” I admitted on a sigh, barely managing to keep the loneliness from seeping into my voice.

“Perfect.” He rested his hand on the small of my back as he led me to the crosswalk and in the direction of the coffee shop. “I have to warn you though. This place doesn't do fancy drinks. You want something with whipped cream and chocolate sauce, I'm not sure we can be friends.”

I laughed and rolled my eyes. How little Donal knew about me. “No, that's fine. I take my coffee black … like my heart.”

“Nice. Beautiful and witty.”

“Donal …”

“What?” he asked with an exaggerated bat of his long eyelashes.

He looked ridiculous. Ridiculous and utterly charming. During the short time I'd known him, Donal often behaved like a big old kid shoved inside a man's body, but his complete lack of guile and artifice was a refreshing change of pace from the people I'd been surrounded by in LA. Back home, everything was all about keeping up appearances and not letting anyone ever see the real you.

“You are too much,” I told him, shaking my head and chuckling.

“That's what she said,” he muttered under his breath before winking and tossing me a mischievous grin.

“You can't turn it off, can you?” I nudged him with my elbow.

“Much to the exasperation of my family, no. The truth is, my dad's kind of famous and if you want to get any attention in my family, you have to find a way to stand out. For me, that was being the clown, the one who never took anything seriously.”

Even though his words were flippant, his tone wasn't. This was possibly the first time Donal Casey had allowed me to see a serious, more subdued side of him. I didn't enjoy the somber notes with which he spoke of his childhood and family, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't appreciate that he could dial down the playfulness for a moment to have an actual adult conversation.

“You have any siblings?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“No,” I answered. “My parents were a bit older when they finally had me—their miracle baby—so it was just the three of us until my dad died in a car accident when I was 18.”

“I'm sorry, that's horrible.”

“It was a long time ago, but thank you.”

“Are you still close with your mam?”

I smiled wistfully. “Yeah, it's hard being away from her right now, but it's with a larger goal in mind, so …” I shrugged.

“And what's that?” he asked, his hand brushing against mine. “Your goal, I mean.”

Part of me wanted to think the quick caress had been accidental, while the other part longed to have him hold my hand in earnest. I knew that was just my loneliness talking, but I couldn't help it. I hadn't been with anyone since Javier and I didn't mind admitting—at least to myself—that I missed the connection we'd had. Not enough to do anything untoward with Donal, mind you, but that didn't stop me from imagining what it would be like for him touch me the way a man touched a woman. There were more reasons than not why that was a terrible idea, but sometimes you had to give your fantasies a long leash to remind yourself you were still alive and capable of feeling. But that's all it could ever be—a reminder that I hadn't lost my capacity for desire. Someday another, more appropriate man would come along who would make my body tremble and my soul tingle the way Donal did, and then I'd grab the opportunity by the horns. For now, I forced myself to push aside these wayward thoughts and focus instead on the conversation at hand.

“I want to open up a food truck,” I told him eventually. “I don't have a clear vision yet for what type of food I'd serve, but I'll get there.”

“What's the absolute best meal you make?”

Without pause, I answered, “Sweet potato chili.”

“Soup truck maybe?”

“Yeah, maybe. I've thought about that for a while, but I'm worried with the weather in SoCal, a soup truck would be too limiting. Customers don't really want a big bowl of chowder, for example, when it's 100 degrees outside.”

“No, I'd imagine not,” came his thoughtful reply. “If not soup, what else do you like to cook? From what I've tasted this week, you have the ability to combine unexpected flavors in a fun, novel way.”

Shocked over his heartfelt compliment, I stopped walking and turned to face him. “Wow, thank you, Donal. That might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me.”

Donal looped his large, calloused palm over the back of his neck and his gaze fell to the floor. “You're welcome,” he said to his feet. “I just think you're talented is all.”

I stepped close and squeezed his arm. “I mean it. Thanks. I've been feeling pretty shitty after the way my last job fell apart, so it means a lot to hear someone say they like what I do.”

“What happened there, exactly? I heard the guys saying something about you being on TV?”

“You haven't Googled me?” I asked playfully.

“Can't. I don't actually know your last name,” he admitted sheepishly. “I've been trying to figure it out ever since we met, but no one will tell me. Especially not Marla.”

I laughed, my earlier melancholy dissipating. “You really are too much.”

He shrugged and his eyes flicked between mine for a few seconds. “What's your last name, Lauren?”

“Andrews,” I replied, my throat going suddenly dry. Something about the way he'd asked for it—the intensity I heard in his voice at such a simple question—had warning bells going off in my head.

Donal took a step closer, and then another. Separated by less than a few inches, he dropped his head forward. “I'm going to kiss you now, Lauren Andrews.”

I could have stopped him. I should have stopped him. Instead, I licked my lips and said okay.