“Captain Mack, sniper on the south corner of the building ahead.”

“Keep him in your sights, Gunny.” Mack Magnus led one squad of his men toward the village from the south, while two other squads flanked the village from the west.

His point man had the best eye for spotting trouble. If not for Gunnery Sergeant Roy Tyler’s eagle eye, they’d have lost a lot more men in the thirteen months since they’d deployed to Camp Leatherneck in the Helmand Province of Afghanistan.

This particular night they were operating on intel indicating a Taliban stronghold had been established in the small village nestled in the rocky hills. They’d spent the better part of the day maneuvering into position to storm the village at night when the enemy slept. The problem usually arose when the Taliban surrounded themselves by innocent civilians—women and children. They knew the American soldiers would balk at destroying an entire village if innocents were involved.

Cowards. This particular faction had recently lit a teenaged girl on fire and thrown her out of a speeding vehicle in front of a checkpoint to make an example of people who sided with anyone but the Taliban.

Embedded news reporters had a field day with the horrific images. No one could get to the girl without taking on live fire. By the time they reached her, she’d been burned to death, her screams something he’d never forget.

The squad halted outside the walled village and waited for the other squads to maneuver into place. Then one-by-one they slipped over the wall and dropped down on the other side, moving through the village to the largest building at the center where a Taliban meeting was said to be taking place that night.

Earlier, they’d watched from the nearby hillsides as vehicles entered the walled village, some were trucks loaded down with men in turbans, carrying Russian-made AK47s. Others were vans or cars. For a small village where most inhabitants didn’t own a motorized car or truck, it was a lot of movement.

Mack had waited until dark before giving the order to move out.

Now inside the compound, they moved toward the target. Gunny climbed to the top of the building where the sniper sat and dispatched the man before he could fire a single round. The man must have fallen asleep at his post. He’d never do that again.

As the squads moved on the main building at the center of the village, the first shot rang out.

“Let’s rumble,” Mack said into his mic as the other squads moved into position. With his night vision goggles in place, he took the lead, moving building to building, firing on Taliban sentries.

Gunny dropped down from the sniper’s position and joined Mack and the rest of the squad rushing the building.

Mack reached for a concussion grenade clipped to his vest, pulled the pin, kicked in the door to the building and tossed the grenade inside.

He ducked to the side of the door and held his hands over his ears as did the others. The grenade went off with a muffled whomp. His feet vibrated beneath him and the wall he leaned on shook.

Then he moved into the building and stepped over the bodies of two men and gathered the guns they’d carried, handing them back to Gunny, who would quickly strip the bolts out of the weapons and slam the stock into the wall to break it against any future attempt at use against American forces.

The deeper he moved into the structure, the more he realized there were no other men but the original sentries.

“Got trouble on the south side of the village!” Someone shouted into his headset.

Sounds of rifle reports came to Mack through the thick walls. Mack pointed to the exit and shouted, “Go! Go! Go!”

As he emerged from the building, he nearly tripped over Lance Corporal Jenson lying on his side moaning, his hand clutching his thigh drenched in blood.

A bullet hit the building over Mack’s right shoulder, dusting him in powder and pebbles from the stucco.

He dropped to his haunches and glanced up through his night vision goggles. On the top corner of the building down the street from where he crouched, he saw the green heat signature of a warm body and the bright flash of bullet rounds. Mack raised his rifle to his shoulder, held his breath and squeezed the trigger. The man on the roof tipped over and fell to the ground.

Mack shouted, “Gunny, stay here and help Jenson.”

“Yes, sir.” Gunny bent over the lance corporal, administering a quick field dressing and light tourniquet to slow the bleeding.

Mack moved through the maze of streets and walled yards, following the sound of rifle fire, hurrying to join the others.

As he rounded a corner, something dropped in front of him and rolled.

“Grenade!” he shouted and threw himself back around the corner, knocking into the rest of his squad.

A loud bang shook the earth.

“Sir.” A slender hand shook his shoulder and a voice with a light Irish lilt said, “Sir, we’ve just landed at Dublin International Airport. Are ya all right?”

Mack blinked awake and sat up straighter, taking a moment to orient himself to his environment. “Dublin?”

“Yes, sir.” The diminutive, older woman sitting beside him smiled. “You were having a wee bit of a bad dream.”

Mack ran a hand down his face, wishing he’d had time to scrape the day’s growth of beard off before heading straight for his brother’s bachelor party. Hell, he’d like to have slept a day or two before the events. He’d pulled every string to fly out of Afghanistan a day earlier than the remainder of his unit re-deploying stateside.

“Are ya here on business or pleasure?” the woman asked as the plane taxied down the runway to the terminal.

He hadn’t talked the entire trip, closing his eyes as soon as the plane took off from Frankfurt. He’d arrived at Ramstein Air Force Base and made a mad dash to the international airport at Frankfurt, Germany, to catch his flight to Ireland. Exhausted and in need of rest, he’d leaned back in his seat and gone right to sleep. Now that he was in Ireland, he was expected to be awake and ready to celebrate Wyatt’s wedding festivities.

Mack swallowed a groan. “I’m not here on business or pleasure. I’m here for my brother’s wedding.”

“A wedding, is it?” The woman smiled and patted his hand on the armrest. “A fine place for a wedding. There’s no better place in the world than the Emerald Isle. Their wedding will be truly blessed.”

“Sure.” Mack didn’t have a whole lot of faith in wedded bliss lasting. The odds of most marriages ending in divorce were too high for him to take the leap. He couldn’t believe his brother was willing to commit himself to the institution. Mack wondered if he’d knocked her up and felt obligated to marry her. Having been on maneuvers for the past few months, he hadn’t had time to talk with Wyatt about his engagement or the upcoming wedding.

Hell, none of his brothers had met the woman. She might not even be right for Wyatt. With him in the army, the chances of this marriage lasting were even slimmer. All the more reason for Mack to make the effort to get there before the wedding. He needed to talk to Wyatt and remind him it wasn’t too late to call it off.

“Your brother is a lucky man to have found love in Ireland.”

“He didn’t actually find his fiancée in Ireland. They met in San Antonio, Texas, in the U.S. I don’t know why they decided to have the wedding in Ireland. I think she has relatives here.”

“The wedding is in Dublin?”

“As far as I know.”

“I met me husband in Dublin when I was a young lass. He swept me off my feet and carried me away to a castle.” She stared out at the terminal as the plane rolled to a stop at the gate. “If you have the opportunity to visit Cahir, please, come stay with me in my castle. Me husband and I converted it to a bed-and-breakfast to help with the expense of upkeep. Now that me husband is gone, I manage it mostly by meself. Castle O’Leary B-and-B is its name.”

“Thanks, but I think we’ll be staying in Dublin the entire time, then I’m headed back to the States.” Ah, the States. He planned on taking the full four weeks off, relaxing somewhere on a beach in California near the Marine base. He might even fly out to Texas to his little stretch of heaven in the hill country. The hundred acres of scrub he’d purchased with his signing bonus.

The woman held out her hand. “Me name’s Katherine O’Leary, but me friends all call me Kate.” She handed him a business card. “If ya ever find yerself in need of a place to stay in Ireland, come to Castle O’Leary. I serve a fine Irish breakfast each morning.”

To be nice to the woman, Mack took her card and slipped it into his wallet as the seatbelt sign blinked off. He stood, grabbed his backpack from the overhead bin and stepped out of the way for Kate to stand in the aisle as they waited for the doors to open and the flight to offload.

“Is someone meetin’ ya here, or will ya be takin’ the train into the city?”

“I’m supposed to have a ride.”

“A ride, is it?” She giggled. “Just so you know, in Ireland a ride means sex. It’s a lift you’ll be wantin’. Well, then, Dia dhuit.” Kate smiled and translated. “That’s Gaelic for God be with you.”

“Thank you,” Mack said, not certain how to respond to the older woman who’d just set him straight on sex. “And Dee a dwaht to you,” he added awkwardly.

The door opened to the jetway and passengers shuffled out like cattle in a chute. Mack couldn’t wait to get his feet on solid earth and a beer in his hand. After thirteen months in an alcohol-free combat zone, he was ready to relax.

As Kate, an Irish national, went one way, Mack joined the long line of foreigners waiting their turn to process through customs. After another forty minutes, he was finally headed toward the door marked Ground Transportation. If his ride—he chuckled—lift wasn’t there, he’d hire a rental car and get himself to the hotel.

That’s when he remembered…he didn’t know what hotel they were staying at. The e-mail he’d gotten from Wyatt had been vague. Fiona’s cousin would be waiting for him near the exit for his terminal.

Hell, he’d been in such a hurry to catch his flights he hadn’t stopped to ask who Fiona’s cousin was or what he looked like. In a terminal full of people coming and going, he could spend a lot of time searching for the cousin.

He stood staring through the exit door and looking back over his shoulder in case he’d walked by the cousin and didn’t know it. He felt stupid for not asking for a name or description.

A man walked by carrying a sign with a name on it. Mack started to follow him, until he turned and Mack could read the sign. O’Brien.

He resumed his position near the exit and waited, tired, a little on the grumpy side and ready for that beer.

A woman stepped into the terminal wearing a white, calf-length trench coat, sunglasses and a scarf over her hair. The little bit of legs Mack could see below the coat were trim, smooth, well-defined and gorgeous. He couldn’t tell what color hair was beneath the scarf, nor the color of her eyes beneath the sunglasses. The manner in which she carried herself was enough to make Mack look twice. She could be a runway model the way she strode across the floor, one foot in front of the other, the trench coat in no way disguising her tiny waist and slim hips.

A woman like that had to be high-maintenance and completely full of herself, and most likely boring in bed. Basically, an ice princess. Though she was wonderful eye-candy, Mack was not the least interested.

He glanced back at the entrance, wondering when his lift would show up, starting to think he might have to find his own way there.

“Excuse me, sir,” a lilting Irish voice said. “What is yer name?”

Mack’s insides tightened, and he turned to face the woman with the voice that tugged at something primal.

The ice princess stood in front of him, her full, lush red lips pressed into a thin line. Then she snapped her fingers in his face. “Are you addled?”

“Addled?”

“Do you not speak English?” She stood so close Mack could see several wisps of deep auburn hair sneaking out from beneath the scarf.

He wanted to reach out and yank the scarf from her head and let the dark red hair free. “Yes, I speak English.”

“American, eh?” The woman drew herself up on her heels almost but not quite eye-to-eye with him. “Perhaps you could help me. I’m looking for an American named Mack Magnus.”

So she was his ride…er, lift. A thrill of annoyance and desire speared through him. Her attitude was beginning to get under his skin along with the desire to pull her into his arms and kiss the lush red lips until he smudged her lipstick.

“Silly name, if you ask me.” The ice princess glanced around and back to him, her head dipping as if she was looking him over from head to toe. “You sort of fit the description I was given, but I assumed he’d be a bit more…”

“Handsome?” Mack fought the smile pulling at his lips.

Her brows lifted above the rims of her sunglasses. “The word I was looking for was intelligent.”

Mack chuckled. “It just so happens I know Mack Magnus.”

“You do? Could you point him out for me?” Again, she looked around at the crowd of people moving in and out of the terminal.

“I could…on one condition.”

Her brows disappeared below the edge of the big sunglasses. “Condition?”

He nodded. “Show me your eyes.”

Her lips pursed, making Mack want to kiss them even more. “And why should I show you my eyes?”

“I’m curious as to what color they are.” He reached up to touch the scarf covering her hair. “Red hair should have green eyes.”

She snorted. “My eyes have nothing to do with you or my finding Mr. Magnus.”

“I guess you don’t want to find this Magnus person.” He nodded toward the rush of people. “Go on. Find him yourself.”

The woman squared her shoulders and performed an elegant spin worthy of a runway model and marched away.

After a full two minutes of weaving in and out of the crowds gathered around the baggage carousels, she returned.

“Fine. I’ll show you my eyes if you’ll point out Mack Magnus. Only briefly, because I don’t normally take off my sunglasses in public.” She turned her head left then right, before removing the sunglasses. “There. Are you happy?” She blinked up at him, her eyes a smoky shade of blue that contrasted brilliantly with her deep auburn hair.

“Beautiful,” he said, mesmerized by them.

For a long moment she stared back, the blue of her eyes deepening. Her tongue darted out to swipe a glistening path across her lips and she pressed the hand holding her glasses to her chest. “Are you always this bold?” she whispered.

“Always.”

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and her gazed lowered to his mouth.

He could swear he’d seen those eyes somewhere. Recently. His brows drew together as he tried to remember. “Do I know you?”

She sighed and slid the glasses back on her face. “No. Surely, had I met you before now, I’d remember you for the attractive, yet unfortunately rude and obnoxious, American you are. Now, please point to Mr. Magnus. I have much to do and collecting him is cutting into my time.”

“Then you’ll be happy to know you’ve been talking to the man with the silly name all along.” He swept a low bow in front of her. “I’m Mack Magnus.”

“Jazus, Mary and Joseph.” Her smooth tones slipped into an earthier Irish accent and she planted her hands on her hips. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

“I would have, but you were on a tear to be as rude and obnoxious as you claimed I was being.”

“Jeekers, come with me.” She spun on her heels and tripped over Mack’s backpack where he’d dropped it on the floor.

He reached out, snagged her hand and yanked her into his arms to keep her from falling flat on her face. The scarf slipped from her head and the sunglasses fell from her face. Her hair tumbled about her shoulders in wild disarray.

Fourteen months in the desert was a long time to go without holding a woman in his arms, a long time without the taste of a woman, without the feel of the soft curves of her body…Mack groaned. The urge to kiss her won and he lowered his lips to hers, claiming them in a searing kiss.

Deirdre Darcy gasped and Mack’s tongue swept through the gap between her teeth to caress hers in a long slow glide of wet, sensuous heat. Her fingers curled into his shirt, dragging him closer when she should have pushed the bloody bastard away. Damn him for being so good-looking and cocksure.

When she’d entered the airport, her gaze had found him in an instant. Though she knew plenty of beautiful men through her experiences as a model, she hadn’t met one with as much ruggedly masculine charisma as Mack.

As he lifted his lips from hers, he whispered, “Definitely beautiful.”

Her heart fluttered and she swayed toward him, wanting a replay of the kiss, not nearly satisfied with just one.

Lights flashed and the click of cameras surrounded them.

“What the hell?” Mack straightened, setting her upright on her feet.

“Feckin’ papparazi.” Deirdre lifted her scarf up over her hair and snatched her sunglasses from where they’d caught on her sleeve, slipping them over her eyes. “If you want a lift, come with me now.”

Before he could take a step toward the door, a woman shoved a microphone in his face. “Sir, are you Deirdre Darcy’s lover?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He pushed the microphone away from his face and matched Deirdre’s steps as she exited the terminal.

A man carrying a camera jumped in front of Deirdre, blocking her path. “Ms. Darcy, we understand you’re attending a wedding this weekend. Is it yours? Is this man your fiancé?” He snapped several pictures, the flash blinking again and again.

Glad for her sunglasses, Deirdre ignored the question and started around the man. He moved to the side, blocking her yet again. This was exactly the kind of situation she’d hoped to avoid and was dead tired of dealing with.

Mack stepped up beside her and pushed himself between the man with the camera and Deirdre, gripping her elbow in his massive paw. “You’re blocking the lady’s path.”

Much larger than the reporter, Mack towered over him, glaring down his nose like an angry bull.

The man’s eyes widened and he stepped aside.

Deirdre marched to the parking garage where she’d left her car, her lips twitching at the way her path cleared with the big American by her side. She could get used to this. Perhaps she should hire a bodyguard when she went out in public. A big one with rock-hard muscles and hands that could hold her like she was lighter than a feather. A guard who could kiss like the feckin’ devil himself.

She stumbled. If not for Mack’s hand on her arm, she’d have gone headfirst into the side of her car. Straightening, she stared up into Mack’s deep-blue eyes and gulped. She swallowed hard before she could get words past her vocal chords. “You can store your bag in the boot.” Without waiting for his response, she clicked the button releasing the lock on the lid of the boot.

Mack let go of her arm. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll be better once we’re out of here.” She shook free of his grip, walked around to the right side of the vehicle and slid behind the steering wheel.

Once Mack had stowed his bag and slid into the passenger seat, Deirdre eased the shift into reverse and backed out of the parking space.

“Deirdre Darcy.” Mack tapped his finger to his chin and finally shook his head. “Name rings a bell, but I’ve been too long in the sandbox to remember why. Suppose you enlighten me.”

“Sandbox?”

“Afghanistan.”

She knew Wyatt’s brothers were in the military, but she hadn’t stopped to think of where. That they’d been in hostile countries, possibly being shot at, hadn’t crossed her mind. Suddenly her status as an internationally known public figure seemed unimportant to the point of trivial. “I guess you could say I’m a celebrity in Ireland.”

Once they were out of the parking garage, she pushed the scarf off her head, leaving her sunglasses in place, not ready to reveal her thoughts through her eyes. Every photographer she’d ever worked with had told her that her eyes were the windows to her soul. Every emotion she felt was revealed. For some reason, she didn’t want her every thought on display for the handsome man in the seat next to her to see. He was too confident, cocky and annoying by far. And his kiss had left her confused and, for the first time in a decade, needy.

“Celebrity?” He turned toward her. “Actress? Newscaster? No, don’t tell me. Weathergirl?”

Deirdre frowned. “None of those.” She nodded toward a billboard sign at the side of the highway. “See that sign?”

Mack’s glance darted to the sign as they drove past.

In larger-than-life size and brilliant contrasts of dark and light was a woman in a white evening gown with a plunging neckline. She stood in front of a shiny black Mercedes, her deep auburn hair twisted up in an elegant chignon at the back of her head.

Deirdre waited for recognition to dawn.

“Sorry, what was it you wanted me to see? Great car, by the way.”

“The woman on the sign. Jazus, Mary and Joseph, you are thick.”

“She wasn’t bad.” Mack shrugged. “A little too highbrow for me.”

“You dunce! That’s me. Deirdre Darcy. I’m an international model in high demand by every major advertising company in the global market.” She glanced at him. He really had no clue who she was. “Oh, that’s right, you’ve been rolling around in the sand for how long?”

“Thirteen months.” He winked at her. “I knew it was you. Are you on very many billboards?”

“I’ve been modeling for nearly a decade.”

“Sorry. I’m not much into high fashion. I’m a blue jeans and T-shirt kind of guy when I’m not in uniform.”

Why she was letting his sad lack of recognition get to her, she didn’t know. Most days she wished for the solitude and anonymity of one who hadn’t made a living by having her face plastered over every billboard or television commercial. But Mack’s complete disregard for her… Her what?

Self-importance? Her foot left the accelerator as she contemplated her thought. Mack didn’t give a kiss of the Blarney Stone for her career or her superstar status. Once she got past her own arrogance, she could appreciate his open honesty. Although he’d been a bit too honest. He’d called her obnoxious. She’d never been obnoxious a day in her life.

Okay, sometimes her red hair got her into trouble. She shook her head to clear her musings. “Which one of Wyatt’s brothers are you?”

“I’m the older brother. The other two are younger.”

“And all of you are in the U.S. military?”

“We are.” He smiled, staring straight ahead as if revisiting a good memory. “Not all of us are in the same branch of the military. Wyatt joined the Army Special Forces. I’m in the Marines. Ronin is a SEAL and Sam is an Army helicopter pilot.”

“Are there any more of you?”

“We have a sister. She should be on her way here.”

“Is she also in the military?”

“No, she chose to join the U.S. Foreign Services. She works at the embassy in the Ukraine. Much to our father’s disappointment.”

“Why?”

“She’s the baby he always tried to protect. And you know the troubles they’re having in Russia now.”

Deirdre nodded. “I can understand his hesitation.”

“Abby has always had a stubborn streak.” Mack smiled. “But she loves her job and she’s good at it.”

When he talked about his little sister, Mack’s smile deepened and he looked more relaxed, less stressed. Positively gorgeous. And gorgeous usually meant one thing. Trouble. “I’m sure if your sister got into trouble, her big brothers would come bail her out, right?”

“Damn right. Speaking of parents…have mine arrived?”

“They settled into the hotel and are getting some rest after their long flight from the States.”

“Good. I know Mom will love being here. She always wanted to come to Ireland.”

As Deirdre drove through the streets of Dublin, she reflected on how close the Magnus family seemed. A twinge of regret tugged at her. In her global travels following her chosen career, she’d lost the closeness she’d grown up with. The camaraderie of a close-knit Irish family. Sure, she got together on occasion with the rest of her large, extended family, but she didn’t have that connection they all seemed to have. Perhaps she’d been away too long.

Fiona had been the one cousin she’d kept in touch with most and she’d grown up in America. Fiona’s mother was Irish, Deirdre’s aunt, her father had been in the military. She’d been like Deirdre, constantly on the move, never content to stay in one place. When Fiona had informed her she wanted her to be her maid of honor at her wedding in Dublin, Deirdre couldn’t say no.

What she hadn’t counted on was how much work was involved in the maid of honor position. Though had she known, she still would have accepted. Fiona was a wonderful woman who deserved every happiness.

A little twinge of something akin to envy tweaked beneath the surface as Deirdre made arrangements for the informal wedding at a very old church a friend of the family was able to secure on short notice for the event.

Who knew ordering flowers and arranging for a pianist would spark such a strong tug of longing in herself and a deepening dissatisfaction with her career and the direction her life was heading?

Fiona had been a career woman set in her independent ways when she’d met and fallen in love with Wyatt Magnus. A whirlwind of a romance and three months after they’d met they were scheduled to marry in Ireland and honeymoon in Crete.

Deirdre sighed. Why did some people make falling in love appear so easy? One minute you’re happily pursuing your career, the next you’re falling all over yourself to please your man.

Fiona’s Magnus brother must be as handsome and appealing as the one in Deirdre’s car. In that case, Deirdre could understand Fiona wanting to stake her claim before another woman discovered her goldmine of a catch.

“We’re staying at the Fitzpatrick Hotel, a four-star hotel close to the church. I believe you’ll be comfortable there.”

“Sweetheart, I could be comfortable on a stone floor as long as the temperatures don’t get above one hundred, no one is shooting at me and sand isn’t getting stuck in those really hard to reach cracks. For your information, if we ever go beyond that kiss back there, I can promise you that we won’t be making love on a beach. I’ve had enough sand in my shorts to last a lifetime.”

Deirdre’s pulse quickened at an image of herself making love with the American on a sandy beach, warm waves washing over their naked bodies. She quickly squelched the image and lifted her chin. “I’ll keep that in mind. But for the record, we will never hook up or make love. You’re not my type.”

He chuckled. The deep rumble in his chest setting her heart to racing. “And what type is that?” he asked.

“I don’t know what it is, but I’ll make sure you’re the first to know when I do.”

“Ah, a woman who doesn’t know what she wants. Perhaps you haven’t been with a man who can show you exactly what it is you need.”

She shot him a surprised look. “Cocky much, Yank?”

He shrugged. “Just saying, you haven’t been with a real man if you still don’t know what you want in the way of sex.”

She snorted. “Oh dear, and I suppose you would be the expert to show me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Good. Because I’d have to call you an arrogant braggart.”

“I wouldn’t want you to sink to name-calling.” He grinned and leaned back in the seat. “You have an international image to uphold. Besides, I’m not into high-maintenance women, and you, sweetheart, have high-maintenance written all over you.”

She relaxed against her seat, a smile lifting her lips. “You say that like high-maintenance is a bad thing.”

“That’s right. I’m just here for the weekend and then I’m on to my much-deserved vacation. I only have time and energy enough for a quick fling with the low-maintenance type. No strings attached.”

And in a flash, her heartbeat jumped at the American’s suggestion of a fling. Not that he wanted one with her. She was high-maintenance, and he wasn’t going to be around for long. Then he’d be off to the States for a vacation then back to some far corner of the world to be shot at or worse.

However, if she wanted to have an affair with a gorgeous man, she’d be hard-pressed to find a physical specimen as gorgeous as Mack. It had been over a year since she’d been with a man, and he’d been less than a gentleman, wanting only to be with her because of her status in the fashion industry. How refreshing would it be to make love to a man who only wanted a willing woman, not a leg up in his business?

The weekend was looking to be more interesting by the minute. As with most celebrations in Ireland, the pre-wedding and wedding activities promised to be entertaining. With a roomful of Magnus brothers, it could be even more entertaining.

“As the best man, am I required to do anything besides stand with my brother and make the first toast to the happily married couple?”

“Seriously?” She glanced his way. “You’re the best man. You’re supposed to be in charge of the bachelor party, not just going there for a drink.”

Mack frowned and sat up. “I forgot about that part. I had really hoped to have a drink and call it a night.”

“Hard to believe,” Deirdre muttered.

“Seriously, how hard can it be? You know a stripper I can hire on short notice?”

“I do not!” Deirdre exclaimed.

“Well, damn. I’m already falling down on the job. What about a bar where we can go get shit-faced drunk?”

“You won’t be pissin’ the night away on the eve of my cousin’s wedding.”

“It’s tradition. My brother needs to celebrate his last night as a bachelor.”

“And my cousin doesn’t need to celebrate her last night as a single woman?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’ll be sure to line up a stripper for her.”

“I thought you didn’t know any strippers.”

“I only know the male strippers. I assumed you meant female.”

He shot a sideways glance her way and winked. “Like I said, you are high-maintenance.”

Her belly clenched at that wink and her fingers tightened on the steering wheel. The man had a way of making her body hum with just a look. Feckin’ American. “For your information, I’ve already arranged for the bachelor and bachelorette parties to be held at the Donegal, a small pub in the heart of Dublin. We will have the place to ourselves.”

“That won’t do at all. The bride and groom need to celebrate separately.”

“And they will. The women will be in the back room of the bar and the men will be in the front. Quite separate.”

He glanced her way. “You’ll be there?”

She lifted her chin. “I’m the maid of honor. I have to be there for my cousin.”

“Hmm.” His gaze shifted forward. “Save a dance for me, will ya?”

“There’ll be little burnin’ up the tiles tonight.”

“There will be if there’s music.” He gave her a sexy smile. “Save the dance.”

Her knuckles turning white on the steering wheel, she pulled in front of the hotel where they had booked a quarter of the rooms for members of the wedding party. “The pub is within walkin’ distance, a block and a half in that direction.” She pointed as she turned off the engine and pulled the keys from the ignition. “You’ll have just enough time for a shower and to change clothes.”

“Is there a dress code?”

She glanced across at him, loving the way he looked in denim. “Something better than jeans will do. Meet me in the lobby in one hour and we’ll walk to the pub together. I’d like to be there before the rest of the wedding party to make certain everything is in place.”

“Are you sure you weren’t a drill sergeant in a previous life?”

“No, but I have four younger cousins I used to keep after school.” She slid out of the vehicle, hit the button to unlock the boot and handed the keys to a uniformed valet. She waited for Mack to gather his bag and join her on the sidewalk, before she continued. “I know how to handle bold little boys.”

Mack leaned close to her, his lips near her ear. “Just so you know. I’m not a little boy.” He kissed the side of her throat, captured the back of her neck and kissed her full on the lips before straightening.

Her heart thundering against her ribs, Deirdre couldn’t force a word past her vocal cords. The man was entirely too bold…and big…and sexy as hell.

Then he winked and her knees wobbled.

“See you in an hour,” he promised.