Makena

The moment I open my laptop, it starts ringing with an incoming video call from Quinn.

“Crap,” I say on a sigh.

I’d ignored her last two attempts, and if I don’t answer this one, I don’t doubt she’ll send one of her four overprotective brothers to hop on the next flight to Ireland to make sure I’m all right.

Snuggling into the couch with my steaming cup of herbal tea in hand, I take a deep breath and prepare myself for my cousin’s onslaught of questions.

“Finally.” Quinn lets out an exasperated breath as her image pops up on the screen.

Even in the not-so-flattering light of the distorted iPhone camera, my cousin is gorgeous. Unlike my plain, girl-next-door look, she has a type of exotic beauty without even trying. Long, dark strands of hair have fallen from the messy bun on top of her head, framing her heart shaped face, and hang loose down her slender neck.

“You look tired,” she says, leaning closer and batting her ridiculously long eye lashes, that just happen to be God-given, at me.

“And you look beautiful, as always.”

“I have a date tonight.”

“Jefferson, again?”

She makes a face. “God, no. Did you know he’s still living in his parent’s basement?”

“So are you.” I laugh.

“That’s not the point.” She rolls her eyes. “I have every intention of moving out as soon as I can afford a place of my own.”

Which won’t ever happen if she doesn’t learn to control her outrageous spending habits. She’s six years younger than me and I’m pretty sure she already owns more Gucci and Louis Vuitton purses than all the Kardashians combined.

“Have you met any hot Irishmen yet?” She wiggles her brows, and her image freezes mid-lift, then cracks, and distorts, before resuming the feed.

“I’ve only been here for a few days.”

Her eyes narrow. “Please tell me you’ve at least left the house.”

“Of course, I have.” I’d gone for a few walks around the property, and Nora drove me to the grocery store yesterday. But I know that’s not what my cousin is referring to. “How is Colleen doing?” I ask, changing the subject, because my cousin has no limit to nagging me about my non-existent love life. “Is she settling in okay?”

It still feels weird knowing someone else is living in my house, sleeping in my bed.

“She’s almost as much of a recluse as you, but I convinced her to come over for family dinner this Sunday.”

I groan, knowing how overwhelming Savage family dinners can be. “You really think that’s a good idea?”

I love my cousins, but their overbearing personalities and eccentric antics can be a lot for anyone to handle.

“I’ll make sure everyone behaves.”

“When have any of your brothers ever behaved?”

Quinn laughs. “Hey, I’d take being around my brothers any day than sitting all alone in my pajamas night after night.”

I glance down at the tattered sweatshirt and sweatpants I’ve been wearing for the past two days and wince. “It’s cold here, and it’s not like I’m going anywhere. I have my books, that’s all I need.”

Quinn snorts. “Colleen said there’s a great little pub in town with live music. If you’re lucky, she said sometimes Wild Irish performs there. Did you know they’re from the next town over?”

Am I the only person who’s never heard of the group?

“You know who they are?” I ask.

She gives me a look like I’ve lost my mind. “Are you kidding me? Who doesn’t?”

“Um…”

“You’re kidding, right? They’re only the hottest Irish band since U2-”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Cillian Gallagher is so my celebrity crush right now,” she continues, fanning her face exaggeratingly. “Too bad he’s already taken. They all are, I think. Except for Hayes, but from what I hear he’s a bit of a player. Still...” She winks at me. “He’s got this whole rugged, bad boy charm that could melt even your panties.”

I snort. “Yeah, because that’s what I need right now.”

“Maybe it’s exactly what you need,” she says seriously.

“Do I have to remind you about my ex?”

“Chad was an asshole. Big difference. What you need is someone who’ll break you free from your vow of celibacy.”

“I don’t need the complication of a relationship right now.”

“Who said anything about a relationship? I’m talking about primal, toe-curling, life-altering orgasms.”

I chuckle. “God, you’re so bad.” But her words pull my memories back to the conversation on the plane, and the gorgeous man whose number is still in my phone.

“What’s that look?” Quinn asks, squinting at me from the screen.

“What look?” I can’t help the blush that creeps into my cheeks.

“That one.” She points a finger. “There is a guy, isn’t there? You’ve been holding out on me.”

“No. I just…”

“I knew it. Spill.”

“It was nothing. Just some guy on the plane-”

“But he was hot?”

“Yes.” I sigh, and admit, “He was hot.”

I can’t close my eyes without seeing his face. His deep dimples that cut into both cheeks. His bottomless dark green eyes that sizzled with both flirtatious humor and dark, unbridled passion.

“And?”

“And nothing.” I shrug. “He gave me his phone number, but-”

“You’re going to call him.” It’s a demand, rather than a question.

“No. He’s from Dublin. That’s like two or more hours away from where I am. And even if it wasn’t, I…”

“You’re scared.” Her eyes soften.

I take a slow deep breath. “Maybe.”

“At some point, you’re going to need to move on.” Her gaze sharpens on me, and she adds, “Chad did.”

“I don’t need a reminder.”

“I’m worried about you.”

“And I’m not like you. I don’t need a guy to make me happy.”

“Wow.” She pouts at me through the screen.

It’s my turn to apologize. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know what you meant. And I’m not telling you to jump into another long-term relationship. Just go have some fun.”

“Sex.”

She laughs. “Yes. I mean have you Googled Irish men? Holy hell, they’re freaking gorgeous. I mean, look at that guy from Outlander-”

“He’s Scottish. Actually, I think he’s really British, but-”

“Okay, then Jamie Dornan. The Fifty Shades guy.”

I’ll admit he’s hot. “Pretty sure he’s from Northern Ireland.”

“I thought that’s where you are.”

“No. I’m in the north of Ireland.”

She stares at me blankly.

“Totally different country. Google it.”

She shakes her head. “Whatever, he’s still Irish. And you’re still single.”

“And never dating an actor again, thank you very much.”

“How about a musician? I can see if Colleen can set you up with-”

“Don’t even think about it.”

The look that she gives me tells me she has no intention of listening to me.

“I mean it, Quinn. I don’t need you meddling. I’m fine.”

She gives a heavy sigh. “All right.”

“It’s late here. And I’m still not used to the time change.”

“I get it, you’ve had enough of my pestering. I need to start getting ready for my date tonight anyways. Some of us actually enjoy having a social life.”

“Love you, Q,” I say, before signing off.

As soon as I shut my laptop, a bout of loneliness creeps into my chest. For the first time since I’ve been here, it hits me how far from home I really am.

Standing, I place a log on the fire, then go into the kitchen and pull out the bottle of Chardonnay I bought when I went to the store with Nora, sitting down with my Kindle and begin to flip through my extensive to-be-read list, before settling on an erotic short story.

It’s not my typical read. I usually prefer the classics, or even a good mystery. Maybe it’s all the sex talk with Quinn, but my curiosity as well as my body are piqued by the steamy blurb.

Three large glasses of Chardonnay in and a second novella read, I find myself glancing every few minutes at my phone, thinking about Shane. Or rather, fantasizing about him. Those large hands, cocky smile, the way his green eyes roamed hungrily down my body. It wasn’t difficult seeing his face as I read through the sexy parts of both books, wishing I could be as free and uninhibited as Quinn and the heroines in the stories.

I don’t even know the man’s last name. But there’s no denying the chemistry that sparked between us.

Call him, my brain screams, which is usually so rational, echoed by a hell yes from my body, which hasn’t been quite so inhibited lately. Or, at least not since that sexy, giant of a man woke it up a few days ago from what seemed like an eternal sleep.

I pick up my phone and scroll through the numbers, pressing his name quickly before I lose the nerve to make the call.

What am I doing?

It rings once, and I’m about to end the call, when it clicks straight to voicemail.

“Leave a message.” The brogue flows through the receiver and straight to my core.

Even his voice has my panties wet.

There’s a beep before I have a chance to end the call.

“Hi, um…” Shit, shit, shit. Hang up, my brain demands, suddenly unable to produce vocal sounds. “This is…Makena…from the plane. You, um, gave me your number…”

Oh my God. I sound like a rambling idiot. Even I can hear the slur of my words. He’s going to think I drunk called him. Which I had.

I groan, covering my mouth when I realize it’s audible.

“Okay, well, I guess if you get this…call me back.” Which is not likely going to happen after the way I just blundered through the message.

I end the call and toss my phone on the couch, groaning again.

And that is one of the reasons I’m going to end up being celibate for the rest of my life.

Which is probably a good thing, since the one thing Quinn and I have in common are failed relationships. The only difference between her and I is that she hasn’t seemed to learn that the best way to not have your heart broken is by not putting it out on the line to begin with.

Maybe I am more like my mom than I thought.

And that thought scares me almost as much as being rejected and betrayed again.

No more, Makena. Time to stop being a coward.

Finishing the last of the Chardonnay, I make a promise to myself. If Shane does call back, I’ll take him up on his offer. Sex. No strings attached. No conditions and no promises of tomorrow. Just uninhibited pleasure.

What could it hurt?

No one knows me here. I’m in the middle of Ireland in a town with a population of less than five thousand people. There are no paparazzi falling me around waiting for a shot of Chad Hollister’s crazy ex.

It’s the perfect place for me to finally let go of my inhibitions.

Crawling into bed, I sigh, knowing it’s an easy pledge to make, since it’s highly unlikely the man will even call me back.

At least I can fantasize about him, which is probably a hell of a lot safer than letting the man between my thighs. But, hell, I know he’d feel good there. Instead, I settle for my vibrator and the images of the green-eyed Irish god that woke something inside of me I thought long dead and buried.