Chapter 16

Avery sat in the front of the pick-up van, happy to let Cathal do the man-to-man thing about the engine. There were limits to her girl-powers, and negotiating repair prices for an antique car in a foreign country with a native whose accent was indecipherable was where she drew the line.

Freaking hell, she had wanted that kiss so bad. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. Nobody had nearly-kissed her like that before, and if that was a sign of things to come…

Cathal got in beside her, but instead of filling her with the usual sense of comfort, his presence set her on edge. They trundled over potholes that made his arm press against hers, winding her nerves tight. Butterflies had nothing on the Sturm und Drang happening in her stomach.

But Cathal seemed oblivious to the storm brewing inside her, so oblivious he even talked breezily across her, to the driver. His hand didn’t wander in search of hers, nor did his leg idly slacken against hers. It was as if nothing had happened.

No—it was as if he was determined to forget that it had.

The road to Tralee seemed interminable but finally the driver—she never quite caught his name in the mumbled conversation, and she’d built up a dislike for him anyway—announced they could get out as they were at their destination, a B&B they’d previously booked. She waited on the gravel path to the B&B for Cathal to catch up after he’d paid the man.

“He’ll take it and repair it in Killarney, and it’ll be ready the day after tomorrow. He’s not sure about some parts, but Jimmy says he’ll come over and get it sorted.” Cathal sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I dragged you through all this when I know you’re tried. It’s my fault. I should have rented a proper car before I asked you to come along with me.”

“It’s okay,” she said hurriedly because this sounded, sickeningly, like he was trying to say goodbye. “You didn’t have much choice. And for the record, I admire creative solutions.”

“Yes, but all things considered, you’d have been better off on Brenda’s bus. I was trying to make it up to you and then I just made it worse.” He huffed with an impatience clearly directed at himself.

“Cathal,” she said, seeking and holding his gaze. “I’m telling you it was no problem.”

“You would say that.”

How long was he going to self-flagellate? “I wouldn’t, actually. I’m as capable of kicking up a stink as anyone else, as you discovered yesterday. But we’re in this together.”

This earned her a rueful tilt of his mouth. It was a beginning. “I’ll fix this. I’ll get a proper car.”

“Great. So, let’s get set up for the night. We should check into our rooms.”

He stood before her, his blond hair whipping in the breeze. He took a step closer, so intent on her face he looked possessed. Laying one hand on her shoulder, he leaned in. She gazed into his eyes, questioning him, trying to decipher the meaning of each flicker of his irises as he scanned her face.

Then everything changed. He stiffened, landed a soft peck on the cheek, and withdrew. The hope mounting up in her stomach plummeted. She was left with only the memory of his beard gently scraping her skin, the sensation of his warm lips. She felt lightheaded and sickened.

A voice came from behind her, a female voice. Asking something. She swung around. The proprietress—a tiny woman of around seventy—was pottering down the path toward them, the obvious cause of Cathal’s swift withdrawal. The old woman’s limbs looked to have the wiry strength of the perpetually hardworking, and her eyes were sad in a face that must once have been stunning.

“Sorry we’re late. We got stuck on the road,” Cathal explained. “Our car broke down.”

“Oh dear. Well, I’ve got a spot of late supper in the living room for you. You must be starving, the pair of you.”

Cathal nodded. “You’re very kind. We are, thanks.”

“I’m Mrs. Nolan,” the old woman explained on their way into the house, which was warm and smelled of fresh pastry and revived Avery. “Well, I’ll leave you to it so. I’m off to bed.”

The squeaking of stairs faded to silence and they were alone again, standing awkwardly in a quaint living room with a coffee table between them. Avery hung her head. This was so confusing. In her dream version, he would come around the table and pull her in for a kiss. The kind that would make her world disappear. The kind that was more than just a kiss, that would make her body heat up and her ears pump as her heart went berserk. The kind that would make her show him how much she wanted it because she just couldn’t control herself. There was that option.

Or they could sit down and eat ham sandwiches and drink tea and pretend for the third time tonight that nothing had happened.

He smiled at her, his eyes sparkling, the color of the moss they’d lain on in the sunshine outside Kilmalkedar church. She thought he must be hypnotizing her with some ancient Irish charm, because she couldn’t seem to take her eyes off him. He seemed no more capable than she of breaking the gaze and he was looking at her in a more intense way, not flirtatious, but something much deeper.

She wasn’t wrong. She hadn’t imagined it. All those feelings she’d sensed from him today added up to genuine desire. He wanted to know her, to completely unravel her in the way she desired to be unraveled.

As he moved closer, her heart leapt into her throat. Her belly did a flip-flop and she warmed all over. When he reached for a strand of her hair, she was burning. Had he any idea what he did to her? Could he tell from the look in her eyes that all she wanted was to be caught up in his arms? That she wanted his powerful body on top of her, beside her, inside her, as he took her?

But his face was so vulnerable. She’d never seen any man’s face this vulnerable. What he didn’t know was that she could no more resist him than she could turn off Star Wars: A New Hope halfway through. She let out a high-pitched sigh that could have been a mewl.

It activated him. His hand wove its way to her neck and the feeling of his strong fingers supporting her made her shudder. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to feel a pulse of excitement shooting from her belly to her toes and back up again. He leaned into her, brushing his lips against hers, just for a few seconds but enough to discover the fullness of his lips, the softness, and his taste.

It was better than she had imagined because it was so devastatingly real. And it was him. And it was happening now, and he wanted it. Every cell of her body received that message from him. And she wanted him back. So badly.

He threaded his fingers through her hair so tenderly that she surrendered her defenses to him. His lips were so unbearably perfect in the way he captured her mouth that she couldn’t stop kissing him. As his tongue darted between her teeth, she twisted her fists into the fabric of his T-shirt. Her mind shot off in a million forbidden directions, thinking beyond tomorrow.

She looked up into his flushed face, knowing her need was written plain on her face, her skin heated, her mouth parted, her shoulders heaving in delirious breaths. There was no way he could be in doubt. She wanted him to go wild, yank her closer. She couldn’t think straight—all these desires fogged up her brain. She needed to obliterate all distance between them.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you all day,” he said, nuzzling her hair.

“I know.”

He pulled her into him again, crushing her into him. It gave her a foretaste of that full body contact she craved.

But mid-meltdown, he pulled away. “You must be starving. Come on, eat something. I put you through enough torture today.”

No, this is torture.

“You have to eat if you’re going to get up at six and climb six hundred steps tomorrow,” he insisted. He backed off to the sofa and sat hunched over, elbows on knees, clasping his hands together tightly, not succeeding in hiding his trembling arms and rapid breaths.

And when she caught his gaze, he absolutely failed in concealing that heated look—the look of hunger that had nothing to do with food. If she hadn’t already realized how important this mission was to him, and how much he’d already sacrificed for it, she might have read the situation all wrong. But she was so slouch—she’d figured it out. She’d figured him out and it wasn’t personal. He had a job to do before he allowed himself to fall into the abyss of pleasure with her. She got that. She respected that. She was like that too.

Even if it made her feel like her body was in carbon freeze.

He’d better freaking make it up to her later.