Delaney

Warmth spreads across my skin, starting at my hand, travelling up my arm, then down my chest, straight to my most intimate parts. I moan softly, wanting more, but it leaves me almost instantly, followed by a deep, growl-like voice, “We’re here.”

I startle awake, blinking rapidly as I try to get my bearings.

The guy is watching me, a frown tugging at his lips. My gaze immediately goes to them, which only makes his frown deepen.

He gets out of the car, then pulls my luggage from the back and starts carting it to the small stone cottage. It looks archaic, the walls covered in some kind of ivy, the roof green with moss. The windows and doors look new, and with a bit of gardening it would actually be charming.

But right now, it looks more like the scene from Misery.

Still exhausted, my body trembling with fatigue, I get out of the car, anxiety pitting in my stomach.

What do I even know about this guy? Nothing.

He glances over his shoulder, then stops walking when he sees me still standing by the car. “What?”

“I was just thinking, I don’t really know anything about you.”

With his back to me, I can’t see his face, but by his tone, I’m pretty sure he just rolled his eyes. “What do ye want to know?”

“Your name would be good.”

He turns and gives me a bland stare. “Cillian.”

Cillian. Of course, the man has a sexy Irish name. Kill-e-an. I almost say it aloud to feel it roll off my tongue.

“Cillian what?”

He exhales loudly. “Gallagher.”

“Do you have family around here?”

His eyes narrow. “A brother.”

I nod. That’s a good sign.

“Anything else, or do ye want to stay out here talking all night?”

I shiver as a cool gust of wind whips around me, as if making his point. I nod and start walking towards him.

He grunts, something he seems to do a lot of, then turns back to the door, opening it.

“My name’s Delaney, in case you were wondering.”

“Delaney?” There’s a spark of curiosity when he glances back at me. “Ye’ve got Irish in ye then?”

“My grandmother was born here. Delaney was her maiden name.”

Ignoring me, he sets my luggage in the center of the foyer, then walks down the narrow hall. I follow him, not knowing what else to do.

The house isn’t big, but it’s clean, and despite the medieval-looking stonework on the outside of the building, everything inside is modern. But it looks like he hasn’t been here in a while, and it’s almost as cold inside as it was outside.

I rub my hands over my arms.

“I’ll start a fire.” He adjusts something on the thermostat. “It’ll take a bit for the furnace to kick on.”

“Were you on vacation?” I follow him into the kitchen.

“There won’t be any food.” He tosses his keys and phone on the counter, then opens the fridge. As predicted, it’s empty. Slamming it shut, he lets out an uneven breath.

I can’t tell if the man is mad at me or just mad at life in general. I’m leaning more towards the second one. I’ve seen hints of a softer side, but mostly he’s just snarly.

He disappears down the hall, and returns a few minutes later wearing a dark hoodie and a new pair of jeans.

“I’ll go to the grocery store.” He grabs his keys again.

“You’re leaving me here?”

“Ye need food. And I definitely need a drink.” He rakes his fingers through his hair, causing it to flop to the other side. Ye can stay in my room tonight–”

“Your room? I think you misunderstood–”

“I’ll take the couch.”

“Oh.” Disappointment settles in my chest, and I reprimand myself for it.

He’s a stranger, Delaney. Even so, my panties are wet just from the thought of sharing his bed. Well, that and the deep brogue that rolls from his tongue every time he speaks.

When he brushes past me, I swear every nerve in my body begins to vibrate.

I follow him towards the living room, where he throws a few logs into the fireplace, then crouches to start it. The crackle of flames as it bites into the wood fills the silence, and soon there’s a steady heat coming from the pit.

Cillian stands. Over six feet of lean, hard muscle looms over me. “I left my phone on the counter. Ye can make yer calls. Let yer family know ye’re okay.”

My family. They don’t even know I’m in Ireland. Not that they’d care. My parents are still too caught up in their grief to worry about me.

“Thank you.”

He gives a brisk nod, his expression stoic. Then he pulls out a crumpled paper from his back pocket. I recognize it immediately – the list.

Shit. Even though I know it isn’t there, my hands go to my pockets. How did he get it?

“I think ye lost this.”

Did he read it?

Heat burns my cheeks when I take it from him.

“I…” Licking my lips, I glance away, unable to meet his heated gaze.

What is he thinking?

I can’t read the man, and it’s infuriating.

“I’ll be back soon. Make yerself comfortable. I turned the water heater on, but it’ll take some time for it to heat up. So, unless ye want a cold shower–”

“I’ll be fine.”

He studies me for a long moment before giving a brisk nod, then turning and walking out the door.

I stand there, puzzling over the man.

Cillian Gallagher. Even his name is sexy. He’s got the whole dark, brooding, mysterious vibe going on. Plus, he knows he’s sexy, which is sexy in itself.

I clutch Maeve’s list in my hand. There are more than a couple of items on it I wouldn’t mind crossing off with him.

But right now, I need to figure out what I’m going to do about the car.

Going back to the kitchen, I pick up his phone. I left my rental agreement with the insurance papers in the glove compartment.

Damn it. I probably should have contacted them immediately, but I wasn’t thinking straight. When Cillian gets back, I’ll ask him to call the tow company to get the numbers.

Let yer family know ye’re okay.

I pick up the phone, expecting to find a passcode. But it’s unlocked.

My fingers hover over the numbers. I think about calling my mom, but the last thing she needs is more stress. With Maeve having always been so sick, I’ve tried my best to never give them a reason to worry about me.

And now…

Everything I’ve done in the past twenty-four hours defies who I am. The rules I set in place. Rigid and safe; that’s how I lived, how I ordered my life. Even Matt, with his perfect smile and perfect job, fit into my perfect life.

At least, I thought he did.

“He’s bland. Boring,” Maeve had said. “What you need is wild and dangerous.”

Wild and dangerous. Two words that couldn’t define Cillian more. Maybe Maeve was right, perhaps a tiny taste of danger is exactly what I need. I’ve tried safe, and look where that got me.

Even if it ends in him rejecting me, it’s not like I’ll ever see the man again after tonight.

I bite my lip, tempted to flip through his contacts and pictures. I want to know more. I debate it for a few seconds until the phone starts vibrating in my hand, causing me to jump, and my heart is racing like I’m a naughty child caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

God, I must be on edge.

I cough on a laugh when I see the name that pops up on the screen.

Bloody Fecking Bastard

“Clearly, I’m not the only person he has a problem with,” I mutter, putting the phone down and wondering who Bloody Fecking Bastard is.

I walk around the house, trying to get a better sense of the man. But the place is bare of mementos or pictures. The only thing that gives me any clue about him is the guitar beside the couch.

Yawning, I go to the bedroom. More bare walls. I open his closet. T-shirts and jeans make up the majority of his wardrobe. There’s an old guitar case hidden in the back, the first real clue of who he is.

If I was at home, I’d Google him. Or at least stalk his Facebook page, if he has one. He doesn’t seem like the type to spend much time on social media.

Not knowing what else to do, and completely exhausted, I lay down on the bed, burying my face in the pillow. It smells like him. Or at least what I think he smells like. Something wild and Irish. Woody and masculine, with a hint of a spicy cologne.

I’m going to do this.

Him.

Tonight.

Cross off number four on my list – kiss a stranger.

Then see where it goes from there.

But first, I need to close my eyes.

Just for a second.