Praise for Kate Hoffmann

from RT Book Reviews …

“Hoffmann’s deeply felt, emotional story is riveting.

It’s impossible to put down.”

— on The Charmer

“Fully developed characters and perfect pacing make

this story feel completely right.”

— on Your Bed or Mine?

“Sexy and wildly romantic.”

— on Doing Ireland!

“A very hot story mixes with great characters to

make every page a delight.”

— on The Mighty Quinns: Ian

“Romantic, sexy and heartwarming.”

— on Who Needs Mistletoe?

“Sexy, heartwarming and romantic … a story to settle

down with and enjoy—and then re-read.”

— on The Mighty Quinns: Teague

Dear Reader,

With this book we begin another MIGHTY QUINNS trilogy. Ten years ago, the first Quinn book hit the shelves and to be honest, I never thought I’d still be writing them after all this time. But obviously, there’s something about a sexy Irish hero that people find irresistible. I’ll admit, I’ve got a bit of a weakness for them.

I guess you do, too!

I’ve set Mighty Quinn stories in Boston, New York and even in Australia. But, fittingly, I think, I’ve put the books that mark a decade of hot Quinn heroes back on the Emerald Isle again.

Although I have only a few drops of Irish blood running through me, there’s something about that beautiful country that I find really compelling. It’s my hope that you’ll feel the same sense of wonder I did, in the pages of this book.

Once you’ve been charmed by Riley, watch for his equally irresistible brothers, Danny and Kellan, to show up in the Blaze lineup in November and December 2012.

Happy reading,

Kate Hoffmann

About the Author

KATE HOFFMANN began writing for Mills & Boon® in 1993. Since then she’s published sixty-five books, primarily in the Blaze® lines. When she isn’t writing, she enjoys music, theater and musical theater. She is active working with high school students in the performing arts. She lives in southeastern Wisconsin with her cat, Chloe.

The Mighty Quinns: Riley

Kate Hoffmann

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To Birgit Davis-Todd, who gave me the idea for the

Mighty Quinns over ten years ago. Thank you!

Prologue

THE LIGHTS IN THE SMALL bedroom had been put out a half hour before, but the three brothers were too occupied with the raging storm outside than with falling asleep. Riley Quinn sat at the window, watching as the rain slashed against the glass. The rosebushes in the garden were bent so low by the wind coming off the sea that they touched the ground.

“Jaysus, it’s bucketing out there,” Riley said. “Noah and his ark will be floating by any second now.”

“Do you think this is like the storm that made Ma fall in love with Da?” Danny asked.

Daniel, the youngest of the three Quinn brothers, sat in the center of his bed, the covers pulled up to his chin. The eight-year-old had an imagination that never seemed to stop. He could see dragons and sea serpents wherever he looked and though he was a bit of a baby, Riley was beginning to like him more as he got older. Danny could fashion all sorts of wild things, using his little pocketknife to carve monsters and ogres and bloodthirsty insects. His rucksack was always filled with blocks of wood and bars of soap, just in case he imagined something to make.

“I suppose it was,” Riley said, plopping down on the bed next to him. “Da said it was blowing so hard he couldn’t stand up straight.”

“Do you think our ma was selkie, like da says she was?”

“No,” Riley said. His father had always been fond of telling fanciful tales of the night he’d met their mother. “And she wasn’t a mermaid or a faerie, either. She was just our ma, only younger.”

Riley missed those bedtime stories, filled with characters from Irish myths and legends. There had been time for them back when life was much different around the Quinn house. Before his father had been sacked from his job, before he’d decided to buy in to the Speckled Hound, an old pub in Ballykirk.

Long hours serving the local crowd and occasional tourists meant that Eamon and Maggie Quinn were never home to put their boys to bed. Riley’s older sisters, Shanna and Claire, did all the cooking and cleaning around the small white-washed cottage. The boys took care of the garden and milked the cow and tended the chickens they kept.

“We should go out there,” Riley said. “Let’s see if the wind will knock us down like it did to Da.”

“Will you two just lay off and go to sleep?” Kellan looked over from the book he was reading. “Blathering about the weather isn’t going to change it. And if you go out there Da will whip your arse until you can’t sit down.”

Kellan was the eldest, and the most clever of the three. At age twelve, Kellan was almost a teenager and Riley and Danny usually deferred to him. But Kell had been a real puss-face lately. All he seemed to care about was school and exams and making his grades.

“Piss off,” Riley muttered. “This is our room, too, and we can talk as long as we want.”

Riley had never been much concerned about his schoolwork. Except when the music teacher, the beautiful Miss Delaney, came round to their room. He loved to sing and the days she brought instruments along, he was always the first to try them, able to play by ear in a matter of minutes.

She’d even lent him a fiddle, which he’d been teaching himself how to play, and she’d promised to bring a guitar once he’d mastered three tunes. But what he truly loved was the songs she taught—old Irish songs, children’s songs and ballads and pub tunes. And then, she’d sing in the simple and sweet style called Sean Nós, her beautiful, clear voice ringing through the room, unaccompanied by instruments.

“Listen to that,” he said, leaning closer to the window. “The storm is singing.” He hummed along with the sound, then added words to the tune.

The only good that had come out of his parents’ work at the Hound was that the five Quinn children were expected to help out on the weekends, which was when the pub hosted local musicians. Rather than dragging his feet to work, Riley arrived early so he could finish his tasks in time to sit in a dark corner of the pub and listen to the music.

Riley pushed away from the window and crawled into the bed he shared with Danny. “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “The storm can’t get us.”

“Sing me a song,” Danny said, snuggling beneath the worn bedspread.

“What do you want to hear?” Riley asked.

“The barley song. I like that one.”

“‘The Wind That Shakes the Barley,’ it’s called.” Riley sang the song softly. “‘I sat within a valley green, I sat me with my true love. My sad heart strove to choose between, the old love and the new love.’”

“Why are there always girls in the songs?” Danny interrupted.

“I guess people like to hear about love,” Riley said. He really didn’t understand it, either. He would have preferred songs about battles or murder or even aliens. But most of the songs he knew were about love and sadness. And someone was always dying. “Da says if you can sing a sad tune, the lassies will love you.”

“Go to sleep!” Kellan shouted.

“Feck off!” Riley and Danny said simultaneously. They started to laugh, then pulled the bedcovers over their heads.

“Stupid gits,” Riley whispered.

“Sing the rest of the song,” Danny begged.

Riley continued, the sound of the wind and rain his only accompaniment. He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever like a girl enough to sing her a song. And if he did, would she follow him around the same way the girls followed Kellan?

Love was much easier to understand when it was words in a song than when it happened in real life.

1

THE LINE FOR Customs and Immigration snaked around the room and out the sliding glass doors into the hallway. Nan Galvin searched for a clock, not sure about the local time. Back home in Madison, Wisconsin, it was five in the morning. Here in Ireland, at Shannon Airport, it was … “Eleven o’clock,” she murmured, catching sight of a clock on the wall.

She smiled to herself. Though she’d planned hundreds of exciting trips in her head and flipped through travel books during her lunch hours, this was the first time she’d actually gotten on a plane and flown across an ocean. Everything around her seemed exotic, from the shape of the trash cans to the voice over the loudspeaker to the signs written in Gaelic.

“I’m in Ireland,” she said, smiling to herself.

The line moved and she pulled her luggage along with her, getting ever closer to the row of desks and dour-faced immigration officials.

Her mother had visited Ireland, the summer after her college graduation. Twenty-seven years ago, Laura Daley had stepped off a plane, just as Nan had just done, ready to begin a wonderful adventure in the land of her ancestors. Nan could only imagine the young woman her mother had been. Laura Daley Galvin had died of cancer when Nan was eight.

This trip was a way to discover the other side of her, she’d decided. After her mother’s death, she’d cared for her father, keeping house, excelling in her schoolwork, living at home while she attended college and after she took her first job. As time went on, she’d become more like him—a quiet homebody, satisfied to find adventure between the pages of a book rather than in the real world.

A year ago, she’d buried Jim Galvin beside her mother. But it was the discovery of a trunk full of her mother’s memories that caused Nan to reevaluate the person she was. The contents provided a window into the woman Laura Daley Galvin had been—adventurous, curious, spontaneous. And a packet of letters revealed a lasting friendship with an Irish woman named Carey, a woman that Nan was determined to meet.

She’d decided to start saving for an adventure and, to her surprise, it had taken her only nine months to save enough for ten days in Ireland. What would she discover here? Would she have an adventure as her mother had? Was there anything left of Laura Daley inside of her?

Somewhere, outside the terminal, a driver was waiting for her, ready to whisk her away to the pretty little seaside town of Ballykirk in County Cork and the beautiful country cottage she’d rented over the internet. Nan glanced at the clock and winced. He’d been waiting for three hours.

“Next!”

Nan stepped up to the desk and slapped down her passport and the immigration form she’d completed on the plane.

“Tiernan Galvin?” the agent said.

She never used her Irish given name, mostly because no one in Wisconsin could pronounce it properly. So, she’d adopted her father’s nickname for her—Nan. “Yes,” she said. “Tiernan Galvin.”

“Are you here on business or pleasure?” the woman asked.

Nan couldn’t help but smile. Just the sound of the woman’s Irish accent fired her imagination. Her mother had loved this land so much that she’d given her only child a strange Irish name. Maybe she’d even walked through this very same gate at Immigration. “I’m here on vacation,” she said. “Pleasure.”

“Are you visiting anyone in particular?”

“No one. Well, actually, his name is …” From her jacket pocket Nan pulled out the email she’d printed out and showed it to her. “His name is Riley Quinn. From Ballykirk. But I don’t know him. I’m just staying in his family’s house. Guesthouse. He’s picking me up. At least he was supposed to three hours ago. The plane was late taking off and now this line has gone on forever. God, I hope he’s still there.”

The woman examined Nan’s documents, then nodded.

“If you have anything to declare, go through the red channel. If not, the green channel,” she said. “And welcome to the Republic of Ireland. Enjoy your holiday.”

“Thanks,” Nan said. “I will.”

She followed the green signs and walked out into the baggage claim area. When she found the correct carousel, her luggage was already making its way around on the conveyor. She grabbed her bag and hauled it onto the floor at her feet. Hoisting her carry-on bag to her shoulder, Nan started toward the exit, her suitcase rolling along behind her.

She passed by a line of drivers holding cards with names on them and she searched for hers. When she didn’t find it, Nan walked outside into the late-morning sun.

A row of cabs waited at the curb but there were no other cars or drivers with signs for arriving passengers. Nan cursed softly. What was she supposed to do now? Renting a car was ridiculously expensive and well outside her budget. She’d already paid to use the car provided with the guesthouse.

Though the drive to Ballykirk might be a wonderful adventure, Nan wasn’t sure she could steer and read a map at the same time while driving on the wrong side of the road. There was adventure and then there was adventure. She dragged her luggage over to the first cab in line and leaned into the passenger side window. “How much to go to Ballykirk?”

The driver regarded her with a scowl. “It’s a two-hour round trip. About a hundred and forty kilometers. That would be two-hundred thirty euros.”

“I only have American dollars,” she said. “I haven’t converted my money yet.”

“Oh, I don’t take dollars,” he said. “Don’t really know the conversion rates. You could convert your money inside, but those money changers are all a pack of thieves.”

Nan sighed. “How about a credit card?”

He shook his head. “That I won’t, dearie. Check one of the other lads, they might. Try the bus. Or you can hire a car.”

“All right,” she said. “Thanks.”

This wasn’t exactly the way she’d pictured the start of her vacation. She’d planned so carefully, right down to the last dollar and the last minute. Not only had her plane been late taking off from Chicago, but she’d also nearly missed her connection in New York. Then they’d had to wait three hours until a storm system passed before leaving New York. The meals on the transatlantic flight were barely edible and she’d been stuck beside a crying child for the entire trip to Shannon. And now she was hungry and had a headache that made any more stress difficult. She had Riley Quinn’s phone number. She’d call and find out where he was. But first she’d have to get some change for the pay phone.

“Money first,” she murmured to herself.

“Do you have a light?”

Nan turned to find a man standing behind her, an unlit cigarette between his lips. Her breath caught and she stepped back, her gaze fixed on his handsome face. This was exactly how she’d imagined Irish men … except for the cigarette, of course. He had shaggy dark hair and chiseled features and eyes that were so blue they were almost gray. The shadow of a week-old beard darkened his features, making him look a bit dangerous. “What?” she croaked.

“A light?” he repeated.

Faded jeans hugged his long legs, and a T-shirt and a leather jacket hid wide shoulders. Dangerous, she thought to herself. And wild. And slightly disreputable. Not the kind of man she was usually attracted to. So why had her breath suddenly left her body? “No,” she murmured. “I—I don’t smoke.”

He groaned, shaking his head. “Oh, you’re one of those.”

“Those?”

He shook his head. “Americans. Now you’re going to tell me all about the health hazards and how secondhand smoke affects everyone and how—”

“No!” she interrupted, insulted by his assumption. This always happened to her. People assumed that as a librarian, she was fussy and prudish and hyperorganized. But this man didn’t know she was a librarian and still he was judging her.

She was on vacation. No one knew her here. She could be whoever and whatever she wanted and she didn’t want to be that person who shushed students at the library and told them they couldn’t have sex in the stacks. She wanted to be worldly and adventurous and maybe even a bit alluring. “I just don’t carry matches because I don’t smoke. And I rarely have need to start a campfire or … light some dynamite. And if you want to kill yourself, I’m not going to stand in your way.”

He stared at her for a long moment, an odd look on his face, her attempt at humor falling flat. Then he chuckled. “Sorry. I’m a little touchy. I gave up the cigs a year ago but when I find myself getting irritated or tired, I go back to old habits.” He broke the cigarette in half and tossed it to the curb.

“Isn’t that littering?” she asked.

“I prefer to call it minding my health.”

She stepped off the curb to pick up the discarded cigarette. But an instant later, he grabbed her arm and yanked her out of the way of a fast-approaching taxi. The taxi tires screeched and she screamed, slamming hard into his chest as she stumbled.

He held tight, pulling her away from the traffic, his body warm and hard with muscle. She drew a deep breath and the scent of his cologne teased at her nose. Though he was a complete stranger, she felt safe in his arms. In truth, she felt more than safe. She felt alive, every nerve in her body tingling with excitement.

“Careful now,” he said, his voice soft, his concerned gaze scanning her face. “I can’t be saving your life all the time. And it wouldn’t do to get yourself killed your first day in Ireland.”

Nan’s heart fluttered. They were close enough to kiss. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek. His gaze shifted and suddenly, she felt as if he could read her thoughts. Embarrassed, Nan pulled out of his embrace, straightening her jacket and trying to remain calm.

Though there’d been men in her life, she’d never felt such an immediate and intense reaction to any of them. But then, most of the men she dated didn’t look like this one—drop-dead gorgeous. “Thank you,” she said, forcing a smile.

“’Twas nothing any other Irishman wouldn’t do for a beautiful lady,” he teased, his brogue more exaggerated.

Nan glanced nervously down the line of cabs. Had he just called her beautiful? She’d always prided herself in an absolute objective assessment of her strengths and weaknesses, and beautiful was not a term she usually applied to her appearance. He was beautiful. She was ordinary.

“Are you looking to hire a cab?” he asked.

“Do you have a cab?” Maybe now that they’d struck up a conversation of sorts, he’d agree to take her to Ballykirk. “Is that taxi yours?” she said, pointing to a cab idling at the curb.

“No. The bloke who drives it just went inside to use the loo. I’m watching it for him, in exchange for that cig you made me toss.” He paused. “Are you looking for a ride?”

Nan nodded. “Someone was supposed to meet me here, but I think he may have left. My plane was late.”

“Husband?”

“No,” Nan said.

“Fiancé?”

“No!”

“Boyfriend, then.”

“No, just a ride.”

“Well, then, my day has just taken a turn for the better. I’d be happy to give you a ride. I was supposed to pick up some old lady and drive her to Ballykirk, but she never showed.”

Nan gasped. “That’s where I want to go! What a coinci—” She stopped, then regarded him suspiciously. “Are you Riley Quinn?”

The grin faded and he raked his hand through his hair. “Oh, shite,” he muttered. “I’ve stuck my foot in it now. You’d be Nan Galvin?”

“I would be her,” Nan said. He assumed she was an old woman? What had she ever said or done that had given him that impression? “You were supposed to wait at baggage claim with a sign.”

He held out his hands and shrugged. “I figured I’d recognize you when you came out. But you’re not old. I expected some lady with white hair and spectacles and sensible shoes.”

“Why, because I’m a librarian? That’s just silly stereotyping and I—”

“No,” he interrupted. “Well, partly. But there were … clues. You sounded old.”

“We’ve never spoken. We’ve only emailed. How could you possibly guess my age from a few emails?”

“I don’t know. You write old. And you just seemed so …”

“So what?”

“So … prissy. Not in a bad way, mind you. Your spelling was perfect and your emails were so organized and precise.”

“They were not!” In truth, they probably were. Nan prided herself on proper grammar and spelling. It was a professional responsibility that spilled into her personal life.

“You requested that I provide a premium brand of toilet tissue. And that the house be clean of all insects, spiders and bugs, living and dead. I’d call that finicky. Besides, you said you’d wanted to visit the land of your ancestors before you died, so I put two and two together and came up with … well, definitely not you.”

Nan held fast to her temper. It wouldn’t do to make this man angry now. He was her only mode of transportation. “You did say you’d meet me at baggage claim. And you weren’t there. That’s all I’m saying.”

“I got tired of waiting. I’ve been standing around here for two feckin’ hours waiting on you.”

“I was supposed to arrive three hours ago.”

“Well, I was running late. I’ve got things to do today and I’m wasting my time searching for an old lady who doesn’t exist. I have to get back to the pub.”

“I’m sorry to keep you from your late-morning drinking,” she snapped. Yes, he was sexy, but he also could be a bit of an ass.

“My family owns a pub,” Riley explained. “I work there, along with my brothers.”

“And you run a guesthouse?”

“It doesn’t take much running, but, yes, I do that, too—plus lots of other things. Like driving demanding tourists home from the airport.” He shook his head. “You could have told me you were a fine bit of stuff.”

Though she should have been insulted, Nan’s irritation suddenly vanished and she smiled reluctantly.

“‘Stuff’? What do you mean by that?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m saying,” he replied. “You’re beautiful, so don’t get your knickers in a twist if I call you on it.” Riley reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, then handed it to her. “There’s your name. Come on. Spilt milk. I’m in the car park.” He grabbed her suitcase and started across the road. When she didn’t follow, he turned around and strode back, grabbing her carry-on. “It’s this way,” he said. “Don’t expect I’ll carry you, too.”

Nan followed him across the road, hurrying to catch up with his long strides. “Maybe you should have had that cigarette,” she shouted. “Or maybe a big handful of mood elevators would help your negative attitude.”

He laughed out loud. “Now, why would you say that? I’ve been nothing but pleasant since the moment we met.”

“And I haven’t?”

He sent her such a charming smile that Nan couldn’t do much more than laugh herself. “You’ve been a darling,” he said.

It was impossible to be angry with the man, no matter how irresponsible he might appear to be. “Be careful,” she called as he hauled her suitcase up a set of steps. “That’s brand-new luggage.”

Giving her a long-suffering glare, he picked the suitcase up in his arms and continued up the stairwell. “Jaysus, what do you have in here?”

“I’m staying for ten days. I needed my things.”

“And what might those things be?” he asked. “Construction supplies? I won’t be asking you to build your own cottage.”

“I had to bring shampoo and soap and lotion. And all my guidebooks. And I had to bring some things to eat, like peanut butter and my favorite kumquat preserves. And my special tea. I know you won’t have those things here.”

“They let you through with that?” he asked.

Nan stopped short, her hand clutching the railing. “What do you mean? Was I supposed to declare it? They said just meat and dairy products. And plants. The jars have never been opened and I—oh, no. Do you think they consider tea a plant?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Here in Ireland, plants usually don’t have leaves.”

“I have to go back.”

She reached for her suitcase, but he pulled it away and grabbed her arm. “Oh, no, you don’t,” he warned. “We’re not going back inside.”

“But I may have broken the law.”

“So you’re a criminal now. You’re just going to have to live with the shame. Come on, Alice Capone, let’s get the hell out of here before you find another way to waste my day.”

“If I get in trouble, I’m going to blame you,” Nan said.

“Oh, you’ll be fine. It’ll be a grand adventure, your life on the run from the Irish authorities. It’s better than kissing the Blarney stone, you know.”

“This is not how I imagined my vacation going,” she murmured.

When they reached the first landing, Riley stopped and turned back to her. “I’m sorry if I’ve been acting like a wanker.” He held out his hand and she grasped it. “We’ll begin again. Hello, Miss Galvin. I’m Riley Quinn. Welcome to Ireland. I hope you enjoy your stay.”

Nan smiled, staring down at their hands, so casually joined. He had beautiful hands, long, tapered fingers. So he was a nice guy at heart. “See, that wasn’t so difficult.” The warmth of his hand seeped into hers and she realized the attraction she’d first felt for him was still there, only multiplied. A tingle snaked up her arm. He was handsome and funny and even a bit chivalrous. If he could sing, he’d be the perfect man. “Thank you,” she said.

He held on, a lot longer than she considered polite. His thumb gently stroked the back of her hand, turning a benign greeting into something almost sexual. She didn’t really mind. It felt nice. “The car is just up here,” he finally said, his voice soft, his gaze fixed on her face.

Nan tugged her hand away then stuck it in her jacket pocket for safekeeping. “Lead on,” she said.

RILEY DOWNSHIFTED the car as they approached the interchange, then looked over his shoulder as he turned onto the roundabout. When another car nearly cut him off, he laid on the horn, cursing beneath his breath. He’d never make it back to the pub for the lunch rush, so why bother trying?

Nan was sitting stiffly in her seat, her eyes wide and her hands folded on her lap as if she were praying. “Don’t worry, I’ve never had a wreck.”

“It’s a …” She cleared her throat. “It’s a feckin’ miracle,” she finished, imitating his Irish accent perfectly.

Her use of an Irish curse seemed so ridiculous coming from a proper little thing like her, he couldn’t help but laugh. “There you go. You’ll fit right in with a mouth like that.”

She grinned. “When in Ireland …”

Gad, she was pretty, Riley mused. Not at all what he usually pictured when he thought of American women. He’d met a fair number of American students in pubs all over Ireland, but his image had been finely honed early in life, by old episodes of Baywatch—long blond hair, tight bodies and tanned skin. And breasts that seemed a lot larger than those provided by nature.

Nan was fresh and feisty, with a very simple, straightforward beauty. Her short-cropped black hair curled softly around her face and long, dark lashes ringed vivid green eyes. She was stubborn and opinionated, the kind of woman who would make charming her a tough go, even for the most experienced Casanova. But then, Riley enjoyed a challenge.

Though he had been anxious to get back to the pub, now that they were on their way, Riley decided to get off the expressway and enjoy the rest of the trip. The local roads back to Ballykirk provided a picturesque drive and he found himself wanting to spend a bit more time with Nan before delivering her to the cottage.

“So, you mentioned that your family had a pub. Do you serve lunches there? I’m starving. The food on the plane was awful.”

“Best lunch in all of Ballykirk,” he said.

“Are you the cook?”

“No. I tend to the bar every now and then.”

“You’re a bartender.”

“No. Actually, I make my living as a musician. I write songs and sing. At the Hound and at other pubs around Ireland.”

“You sing,” she said, as if surprised by the news. “Really? Are—are you famous?”

“Depends on what you consider famous. I’m no Elvis. But people know who I am. They come to see me. They buy my CDs. But I’m not planning a stadium tour anytime soon.”

“Maybe I can come and hear you sing,” she said.

“Maybe you can,” Riley replied.

She sent him a smile that was so sweet, he wanted to reach out and touch her again. He clutched the wheel until his knuckles turned white, wondering why he found himself so attracted to the American. It wasn’t just the fact that she was pretty in an unconventional way. There was a wide-eyed innocence about her that he found intriguing. Women her age were usually quite jaded, but not Nan. There wasn’t a cynical bone in her body.

As they continued on to Ballykirk, Nan seemed fascinated by each new sight that passed by her window—the churches, the graveyards, the stone walls. When they rounded a curve in the road, Nan threw her arm out and grabbed his shoulder. “Stop!”

“What?” Riley slammed on the brakes and the car skidded. “Jaysus, did I hit something? What was it?”

“That,” she said, pointing over him to a crumbling round tower. “It’s a round tower. I saw these in my guidebooks. They’re called … cloy—cloh—”

“They’re called cloictheach.”

“I didn’t think they’d just be sitting out in the middle of a field. Do you think they give tours?”

“Nah. That one’s just a ruin.”

“Let’s go,” she said. “I want to see it up close.”

He considered her request for a long moment. They were expecting him back at the pub, but his cousin Martin was behind the bar. He could do the job if Riley was late. “All right. I guess we could stop for a bit.”

“I have to get my camera,” she said, searching for the door handle. “It’s in my bag.”

He leaned over her seat and opened the door for her. She jumped out of the car and opened the rear door, then grabbed her carry-on and rummaged through it. When she’d retrieved the camera, she ran up to the drystone wall surrounding the field.

“I’m in Ireland,” Nan shouted, throwing her arms out. “I want to see it all, starting right now.” She pointed to the tower. “I want to see that!”

Riley shook his head. She might be a bit fussy at times, but she was also adorable. He followed her, holding her hand as she scrambled over the wall. They walked across the field, Nan staring up at the old stone structure. “Who takes care of this? Why hasn’t anyone rebuilt this? How old is this one?” She threw questions at him, one after another, not waiting for an answer.

“We have these all over Ireland,” he said. “There’s one just a few kilometers from Ballykirk. It’s bigger than this one. And you can climb up inside of it.”

She pointed to the small window at the top of the crumbling tower. “Don’t you wonder who might have lived here? Who sat at that window and stared out over all this beauty?”

“I doubt anyone ever lived here. They lived in the area around the tower. Some say these were bell towers. Like a warning system for the people who lived in the area or a way to call them to worship. They may have been used for defense. People would shut themselves inside if they were attacked.”

She gently ran her hand over the rough stone wall and closed her eyes. Riley watched her, wondering if she was tired or if she was saying a prayer. “Are you all right?” he whispered.

Nan glanced over at him. “Yes,” she murmured, nodding. “I’m just … all the life this tower has seen. Where I come from, the oldest building is maybe two hundred years old. This is ancient.”

She looked so beautiful, the color in her cheeks high, her gaze bright with excitement, that he couldn’t help himself. He bent close and brushed a kiss against her lips. She didn’t move when he drew back, just stared up at him with wide eyes.

Nan finally drew a breath. “I—I should take a picture. Stand by the door and look … fierce.”

He did as she asked and posed for five or six photos before he grew impatient with her suggestions for posing. “You don’t need another photo of me,” he finally said. “Let me take a photo of you.”

She posed for him and he took his time, watching her through the viewfinder. He’d always been attracted to girls with long hair, but short hair suited Nan Galvin. It was playful and sexy and he could imagine burying his face in it when he hugged her.

“All right,” he said, clicking the shutter. “Got it.”

A tiny smile played at her lips. “I want to remember everything about this trip,” she said softly. As they walked back to the car, she held the digital camera out to him. “That’s a good one,” she said, pointing to the tiny screen. “You look very handsome. Although, you’d look better if you shaved.”

Riley slowed his pace as she continued to review the photos. Yes, she was undeniably attractive. And that sweet body, so slender and delicate, was just as intriguing as her pretty face. But she was also very odd, that one. He jogged to catch up to her and when they reached the car, he pulled her door open and waited for her to get inside.

She turned her gaze up to his and then held out her hand. “Thank you.”

Riley was so surprised he wasn’t sure what he ought to do. He took her fingers in his, deciding that a handshake wouldn’t do. Slowly, he brought her hand up to his lips. “No need for thanks. I was happy to … do whatever it was that I did.” The urge to kiss her again was overwhelming and Riley leaned closer. And then, without considering the consequences, he caught her waist between his hands and pulled her against his body.

Their first kiss had been borne of impulse, quick and fleeting, but this kiss was very carefully crafted. He gently explored her mouth, teasing with his tongue until she opened beneath the assault. She offered no resistance and though the kiss may have surprised her as much as it surprised him, she didn’t back away. When he finally did, she blinked up at him, her hand still resting on his chest.

“Lovely,” he murmured.

Nan cleared her throat and nodded nervously. “I think this is going to be a wonderful vacation,” she said. She climbed into the car and Riley closed her door, then hurried around to the driver’s side.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered beneath his breath. “What are you doing? She didn’t come to Ireland to snog with a culchie like you, ya daft prick.” Still, she must have enjoyed it. She hadn’t slapped him across the face or called him out for such a bold move or even tried to put an end to the kiss. And maybe, if the opportunity presented itself again, he’d give it another go.

When he got behind the wheel, Nan was peering out at the round tower, her eyes watery. Jaysus, this didn’t bode well. Kissing her had made her cry. “Oh, now don’t do that,” he murmured. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you. But I—”

“No,” she said, laughing softly. “It wasn’t the kiss. That was lovely. Very nice. Better than nice. Excellent.”

“Then why are you crying?”

“I—I guess I’d like to think my mom might have been here when she visited Ireland years ago. She loved history. She might have visited this tower and put her hands on those very stones.”

“Well, now you have a picture to show her.”

“She died when I was eight,” Nan said.

Silently cursing his stupidity, Riley turned the ignition and the car started. When it backfired, Nan jumped, pressing her hand to her heart and startling her out of her melancholy. “Nothing a tune-up won’t cure,” Riley said. “She’s a dependable old banger. You won’t have to worry. She’ll get you wherever you want to go.”

“You’re lending me this car?” she asked.

“This is it,” he said, giving the dashboard a pat.

“What is it?”

“This is a Fiat. A Cinquecento. She may be small, but she’s got four wheels and an engine.”

“She has a stick shift,” she said. “Which would probably indicate the opposite gender. And I can’t drive a stick shift.”

“It’s not rocket science,” he said. “I can teach you in just a couple of minutes. Besides, this car barely uses any petrol. Though it does have an oil leak you’ll have to mind.”

Nan tipped her head back and covered her face with her hands. “So the car looks like it belongs to a family of clowns. Please, please tell me the guesthouse isn’t a hovel made of sticks and mud in the middle of some swamp.”

“Bog,” he said. “We call it a bog. And the cottage is very cozy.”

“Those photos you sent were real?”

“It’s my childhood home. My brother Kellan has recently renovated it. He lives there now and again when he’s come down from Dublin. And my sister Shanna decorated it. She likes old things—antiques. It’s just as the photos show. Better even.”

Nan took a ragged breath and nodded. “Okay. As long as the cottage is nice, I’ll be fine.”

He reached out and grabbed her hand, looking for any excuse to touch her again. “Feel better, then? No more tears?”

“I’m good,” she replied.

They rode for a long time in silence, Riley searching his mind for a topic of conversation without appearing to snoop. He wanted to know everything about her. Was there a man in her life? Did she love him? Was she thinking about kissing him again? “You’re a librarian. You must really like books.”

“I love books,” she said. “I always have. Every one you open is a window into a new world.”

“Did you open a book about Ireland? Is that why you’re here?”

Nan shifted to face him. “My mother came to Ireland when she was twenty-two. Right after she got out of college. I came here looking for her.”

“That’s a noble purpose,” he said, hoping that the mention of her mother didn’t restart the tears. For a girl who appeared so fragile on the outside, Nan Galvin was made of steel beneath. “I can’t imagine losing my ma at such a young age. I’m sorry.”

“Me, too,” she said.

“But your father is still alive?”

Nan shook her head. “He died last spring. He was older than my mother. He never remarried. I used to think it was my fault, that he was so consumed with raising me that he didn’t have time for anything else. But once I got older, I realized he didn’t find someone else because my mother was his one and only love. He just wanted to be with her.” She glanced over at him. “Do you believe in that? That everyone has just one person they can love?”

It was a strange question to ask a total stranger, but then Nan never seemed to run out of questions. When she wanted information, she simply requested it. Riley could honestly say he’d never given the notion much thought. But she deserved an answer. “Sure. Why not? It would probably explain why I’m still single.”

“I don’t remember much about her,” Nan continued. “She had red hair and green eyes and the softest hands. She was an art teacher. Her great-grandparents came from Ireland. I think that’s why she named me Tiernan.”

“It’s a beautiful name. But I’ve never heard it used for a girl. It’s usually a boy’s name.”

“I know,” she said. “I looked it up. I guess she liked the way it sounded.”

“So what else have you planned to see?” he asked.

“Everything in and around Ballykirk,” Nan said.

“And why Ballykirk?”

“Because this is where my mother stayed twenty-seven years ago,” she said.

“I wonder if anyone about town would remember her?” Riley asked.

“I hope so,” she said softly. “I really hope so.”

Her voice was so soft, so filled with faith that he had to fight the impulse to stop the car and pull her into his arms and kiss her again. He’d always acted on his instincts, but this time, Riley decided to let his attraction to her simmer for a time. She’d booked the cottage for ten days.

He had plenty of time to woo her and he intended to take full advantage of any opportunity she offered.

BY THE TIME THEY neared Ballykirk, Nan had decided that Riley Quinn was the sexiest man she’d ever met. It wasn’t only the dark good looks. He had an endearing combination of boyish charm and masculine confidence that she found completely irresistible. Though kissing a stranger was rather scandalous for her usually conservative approach to men, it wasn’t difficult to understand her motives. He was just so kissable.

Her coworkers had teased her about vacation romances and Nan had laughed them off, but now she had to consider the possibility. She wasn’t the same person she was at home. From the moment she set foot on Irish soil, she’d felt a sense of freedom. If she could kiss him after knowing him for an hour, what would happen after a day?

Though Nan had had a few long-term relationships in the past, she couldn’t say she’d ever been in love. Perhaps her reluctance came from watching her father’s loneliness increase with every year that passed. In her world, lost love had the capacity to bring a great deal of pain, sometimes lasting a lifetime. So she’d never taken the risk, never completely surrendered her heart.

As for Riley, his charms would only go so far. Even if he was bent on kissing her again, she had no intention of falling in love with him. There was absolutely no future in it. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy a vacation romance.

As they raced down the country roads, Riley pointed out interesting sights and accompanied his travelogue with witty stories about the local folk. Irish music blared from the car’s speakers and every now and then, he’d sing along, in a beautiful tenor voice.

As the warm August breeze blew through the open windows, Nan realized that she’d told the truth at the immigration desk. She was here for pleasure. But a different kind of pleasure—the kind that filled her senses, that made her body come alive and her mind open to new possibilities. The kind that only a man’s touch might bring.

Nan had always read that Ireland was a land filled with magic and now she understood why. From the moment she stepped out of the airport, she felt as if she’d been carried into another world. All around her, the colors were brighter and the sounds more beautiful. The air smelled sweet and the man sitting beside her had captured her imagination.

As they reached the coastline, Nan got a good view of the water, the road running along the edge of the rugged, windswept hills. Every gothic novel she’d ever read came to mind and she imagined the heroines standing alone on the cliffs, their skirts buffeted by the ocean breeze.

“That’s Ballykirk down there,” Riley said, pointing to a small gathering of whitewashed buildings on the waterfront.

But instead of continuing on to town, he turned up a narrow lane, taking her higher into the hills. “I thought the cottage would be closer to town,” she said.

“It’s not far,” he said. “A brisk walk is all. And there are bicycles at the cottage. And you’ll have the car.”

“The car I can’t drive,” she said.

He glanced over at her and grinned. “Just point it down the hill and take your foot off the brake. You’ll roll right into town.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Let’s get yourself settled and then I’ll give you a lesson later this afternoon. You’ll be tearing up the road in no time.”

He made one more turn and a pretty thatched-roof cottage came into view, its whitewashed exterior bright in the noonday sun. Riley pulled the car to stop on the road, outside a low drystone wall that surrounded the front yard. “Here we are,” he said. “Home sweet home.”

Nan looked out, then turned to him and smiled. “It’s so cute,” she said, overwhelmed with both relief and delight. “It’s so much prettier than the pictures.” She hopped out of the car and walked up to the iron gate. A garden filled with colorful blooms flanked the narrow front walk and she drew a deep breath of the perfumed air. As she looked more closely, she saw little cast-iron animals, peeking from beneath low-lying leaves.

“Look at this,” she said, bending down and pointing to one of the sculptures.

“Hedgehog,” Riley said. “My brother makes those. He has a blacksmith shop in town.” He opened the trunk of the car. “Go on. The door is open. I’ll bring your bags.”

She ran up the walk, flung open the rough plank door and stepped inside. The entrance led into a simple living area with a worn wood floor. Rag rugs were scattered about and a huge hearth dominated one wall. Opposite the front door, and next to the back door, the kitchen was tucked into a small room with an adjoining bathroom. A collection of shabby chintz furniture, the colors a pretty contrast against the rough white walls, was gathered around the hearth.

Both bedrooms were tiny, but like the rest of the cottage, quaintly furnished. She circled around the old iron bed, her hand smoothing over the handmade quilt, then she threw open the window set in the thick wall. The breeze swept away the stuffy air and Nan fell back onto the bed, completely pleased with her surroundings. “It’s perfect,” she whispered.

“This used to be my room.” Riley stepped through the doorway and placed her suitcase on the other side of the bed. “My brothers, Kellan and Danny, and me had this room, and my ma and da had the other. And my two sisters, Shanna and Claire, had the loft above us.”

“It’s cozy,” she said. “I love it.” She sniffed. “What’s that smell?”

“Peat. We burn it in the hearth. The cottage doesn’t have heat, but it’s August so you shouldn’t be chilly. But if you are, you can call down to the pub and I’ll come up and start a fire for you. Or there are some portable heaters in the closet.” He stood next to the bed, watching her, his hands shoved in his jean pockets. “I guess I’ll leave you then. Unless you’d like to come down and have lunch. Your rent includes a meal a day. The pub serves lunch and dinner, but I could probably find you breakfast as well.”

She circled around the bed, her hand running along the contours of the iron bed. “I think I’ll unpack first. And then maybe take a nap.”

“A kip,” he said. “That’s what we call it here.”

“A kip,” she said.

Riley chuckled. “There you go. Well, when you’re ready, just follow the road down to the village and you’ll find us at the end of the street right near the water. The Speckled Hound.”

“All right. And later we’ll have our driving lesson?”

“We will.”

They stood, staring at each other silently for a long moment. Nan held her breath, wondering what was going through his mind. Was he thinking about kissing her again? And if he did, would she be able to keep herself from kissing him back? She waited, hoping he’d try. When he stepped toward her, she released her breath in a soft sigh.

“About what happened earlier …?” he murmured.

She nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“I probably shouldn’t have done that. I was just having some fun.”

“You’ve kissed a lot of girls just for fun?”

He nodded slowly, his gaze still fixed on hers. “Yeah, I have.”

“You’re very good at it.”

He chuckled softly. “I get my share of practice.”

“And is there a girl—a special girl—that you kiss more often than other girls?” Nan asked. “Maybe one that you’re going to be kissing for the rest of your life?”

Riley chuckled. “No. There was, but …”

His voice trailed off, leaving her curious. “But?”

“She took off a few years ago. She wanted a wee bit more out of life than a part-time barkeep and a singer with a mediocre voice could give her. She lives in Galway now with her husband.”

“Then you’re free to kiss anyone you want.”

“That I am,” Riley said. He took another step closer. “Would that be an invitation?”

Nan drew a deep breath. She wanted to scream her answer. Yes! Kiss me again, throw me down on the bed, rip off my clothes. “I’m not sure. If it was, would you accept it?”

“Well, why don’t we just give it a try?” He reached out and smoothed his hands around her waist, then drew her closer. His mouth came down on hers, softly at first. And then his tongue traced a path along the edge of her lips and Nan opened her mouth, her tongue meeting his. She was already familiar with his taste, but she wasn’t expecting the rush of desire that coursed through her.

Suddenly, the kiss wasn’t enough. She wanted him to touch her, to pull her body against his, to overwhelm her with his own need. She splayed her fingers against his chest, his body all hard muscle beneath her touch.

It was obvious from the way he slowly seduced her with his mouth that he knew exactly what he was doing. He kissed her exactly the way a woman would want to be kissed, deeply and romantically, and Nan did her best to keep up.

Riley turned her around and pressed her back against the wall of the bedroom, catching her hands and pinning them on either side of her head. Nan felt vulnerable, exposed, her desire evident in every ragged breath she took. Her heart slammed inside her chest, blood rushing through her veins and setting every nerve afire.

When he finally stepped back, she nearly collapsed onto the floor. She’d never really been kissed like that before. Was it an Irish thing? Did Irish men practice more than American men? Or had she just spent too much time with men who didn’t really know what they were doing?

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She swallowed hard. “Yes.”

He cupped her cheek in his hand. “I’m going to leave you now. I’ll see you later?”

“Yes,” she said. Strangely, one-word answers were all she could manage.

He gave her one last kiss, then strode out of the room. Nan stood numbly against the wall and listened as the car started outside. The sound of the engine faded into the distance and it was only then that she allowed herself to breathe normally.

Stumbling to the bed, she quickly sat down, clutching the quilt in her fingers as she tried to regain her composure. Oh, she’d had a lot of expectations for this vacation. But she’d never once dreamed that this would happen. She pressed her fingertips to her lips and closed her eyes, instantly recalling how incredible he was. Then with a groan, she flopped back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling.

Her mind was racing, trying to put order to her thoughts. This was how Heathcliff had kissed Cathy, how Rhett had kissed Scarlett. It was epic in its sheer sexual power. It was pure fantasy. And she wanted to experience it, again and again, until she’d had enough.

Was this why her mother had found Ireland so enchanting? Maybe Laura Daley had come to Ireland and had a wonderful romance, swept away by an Irish boy with dark hair and sexy blue eyes. And maybe they’d had to part, their desire impossible to satisfy with an ocean—and half a continent—between them.

Nan scrambled over the bed, crossing her legs in front of her, and rummaged through her carry-on. She found her camera and flipped it on, then held it at arm’s length and took a picture of herself.

The photo came up on the display screen and she studied her image. She didn’t look any different than she had when she left home yesterday. Her hair was still the same dark, short-cropped style, and her skin was still impossibly pale. Maybe she was just more attractive to Irish men than American men.

Her stomach growled and she pressed her hand to her belly. She should have been ready for a nap, ready to recover from a case of jet lag. But instead, Nan felt energized. She threw open her suitcase and pulled out her shampoo and soap. She’d take a shower, get dressed and walk down to the village for a late lunch—with Riley.

With a laugh, she jumped off the bed and stripped out of her clothes. “I love Ireland,” she murmured. “And I adore Irish men.”

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