I moved to Ireland for a year to film the movie that would change my life. What I didn’t expect, was that dark and dangerous Brennan Murphy would throw my very calculated existence into chaos. I had worked too hard to bury my secrets and it would take a lot more than heated words and scorching looks to get me to give into the temptation of throwing it all away for him.
How can I want a woman so bad when she represents everything I despise? I can’t get her out from under my skin and I’m not entirely sure I want to. But there’s more at stake here than meets the eye. I’ve got responsibilities and she’s got secrets. Together, we’re destined for disaster, but I’m willing to risk it all for her, the problem is, I don’t know if she’s willing to risk anything for me.
I stepped over a couple of bushes and stumbled forward into the dark trying to keep up with him. I heard him rustling up ahead, at least I hoped it was him, and hopped over a shrub to find him prying open a window on the other side.
A grunt was all I received as a response. I watched him pull the window up, finally getting it open enough for one of us, most likely me, to shimmy through.
He silently motioned for me to step closer, while bending over and offering his knee for me to hoist myself up on.
“Not much for talking, are ya?”
Again, no response. I shrugged and hopped up on his knee. I grabbed a hold and pulled myself in, landing ever so gracefully in a heap on the hard wood floors in my bedroom. “Ow. Shit.”
“Fine. Just stop calling me Princess.”
I heard a snort from the direction of the window, then silence. The flimsy curtains billowed all around me making my progress getting upright painstakingly slow. I had no idea if he had just left me there, or if he was going to stick around. I finally managed to disentangle myself from the curtains and peered out the window, not seeing a single damn thing. I didn’t know whether to be pissed or happy. He had clearly taken off the second he had deposited me inside my house. “Jerk,” I whispered to myself.
Shit. He was still there. I stuck my head out the window a bit farther and looked both ways this time. I found him inspecting the dirt around the window. “What are you doing?” Crickets. “Hey, you. I asked you a question. The least you could do was give me the decency of answering me.”
“The least I could do? I think I just did a whole hell of a lot.”
“Oh wow, you speak.” I was pushing him, I knew it, but I just couldn’t stop myself. “I could have made it home fine on my own, buddy. It would have taken longer, but I would have gotten here and then, when I couldn’t get in, I would have found this window and got it open. I totally would have pulled that off. So, yeah, talking to me is the least you could do, since I’m teaching you some manners and all that.”
He stood up to his full height and for the first time, I realized I may have poked the bear a little too hard. Not one to back down, I figured I might as well go all in. I leaned fully out of the window and tried to arch my back so I could get past the fact I was staring his chest dead on. “I don’t even know your name. Who does that? Who gives a stranger a ride, in the middle of the night, in the pouring rain, helping her break into what he assumes is her house without, at the very least, introducing himself?” Finishing with a flourish, I jabbed my pointer finger at him, catching him dead center.
He grabbed my hand for the second time that night and swung it out of the way. He leaned in so close that he gave me a screen from the rain. “I don’t care what you think. I don’t want to be here and I don’t feel like telling you my name. What I am gonna tell you is that you have had someone in your house in the past few hours. So here’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna walk real slow, hugging the walls, around to the side door. You’re gonna unlock it and let me in. Then you’re gonna let me look around while you call the police. Then when they get here, because the great Samantha Lane summoned them, I’m going to leave and pretend this night never happened and you’re going to never set foot in my pub again.” He lowered even closer to me so I could practically feel his anger. “Are we clear, Princess?”
If I wasn’t scared shitless, he would so get a piece of my mind. “Crystal.”
Holly Mortimer is a wife and mother of two daughters, residing in Stratford, ON. She started writing in high school in an Ancient Egyptian History class, penning her first piece on Cleopatra and her many loves. Her teacher immediately asked her if she had any interest in writing soap operas when she graduated and the rest is history.
She has just completed her second novel, Ignite and is currently working the third book in this series.She loves reading, watching movies and playing with her kids, dog and family, when she’s not daydreaming about her current book obsession.