Page 14 of Trying Sophie

“Lemme open the boot and we can put your stuff in there.”

Lifting the hatchback and hauling my bags in to the trunk, Declan’s shirt rode up his back, treating me to a momentary flash of sculpted muscle and lean waist I pictured myself licking. Shit, I was in so much trouble.

“Here, hand me that other one,” he said, reaching for my last bag.

“I’ve got it,” I insisted.

He smiled and a million butterflies came alive in my stomach. “I don’t think so Sophie.”

Mutely, I let him take the bag from my loosened grip and when his hand rested atop mine, it was like I’d been zapped with an electric current where our skin connected. It was over almost as soon as it began. When he took the luggage from me, I was sad to see he didn’t seem as fazed by the touch as I’d been.

Satisfied nothing in the trunk would shift once we hit the road, Declan slammed the door and made his way to the driver’s side while I moved toward the passenger side, realizing belatedly I’d gone to the wrong side of the car when I saw him opening the door.

“Oops, other side,” I mumbled, as my cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment. “Excuse me,” I murmured as I tried to pass between him and the vehicle behind me.

My legs brushed up against his and my body tingled where our clothed skin had connected. His rock-hard thigh twitched and my head shot up. When I saw him gazing down at me, heat and desire written all over his face, I sucked in a short gasp.

We stared at each other for what felt like eons while a million thoughts flashed through the part of my brain that still managed to function. Every inch of Declan O’Shaughnessy was the worst sort of temptation and yet acting on my attraction to him—getting involved with him—was completely out of the question. My life right now was complicated enough. Adding a fling to my itinerary was a terrible idea, even if I was starting to wonder if that hadn’t been my grandma’s intent when she’d sent Declan to fetch me. I hadn’t come to Ireland for romance but this … itch … wasn’t likely to go away without a good, thorough scratching.

As if he could read my mind, the right side of Declan’s mouth hitched up, showing off a devilish dimple in his cheek. When he spoke, his voice had dropped low, velvet over gravel.

“Hi there,” he said, his glittering eyes coming to rest on my lips.

Lips that I licked nervously as the heat from our bodies radiated outward and swirled between us.

I took a deep breath and scooted past him as quickly as I could in the tight, confined space. As I made my way around the back of the car to the actual passenger side door, I tried to steady my rapidly beating heart. Once settled in my seat with the belt latched, I avoided making eye contact. When I thought it was safe, I glanced up to find him staring back at me with the same devilish grin he’d worn before. And then his eyes traveled up and down my body in a thorough perusal that warmed me from head to toe. I wanted to look away but it was like my head wouldn’t obey the directive my mind had given it. Finally, Declan let out a short huff that I took for a laugh, shook his head, and turned to start the car.

“Get it together, man,” he muttered under his breath and I didn’t think I was meant to have hear it.

As I tried to think of polite conversation topics that could downplay the charged silence that filled the cabin, Declan’s voice interrupted my thoughts.

“Tell me about yourself, Sophie.”

Was it my imagination or did he linger over my name? Whatever it was, the way my name sounded on his lips was intoxicating. I released a gust of air I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

“What do you want to know?”

He chuckled and I watched, transfixed, as his tongue darted out and he licked his lips before speaking. “You could start with what you like to do in your free time.”

“Okay, well, I’m a travel writer.”

I stopped, not sure what to say after that. My subconscious yelled at me to expand on my statement but Declan’s flirty looks had rendered me tongue-tied.

“Oh aye, your granny’s always telling me about your adventures. ‘My Sophie’s in Spain running with the bulls,’ she’d tell everyone, proud as can be.” He paused, then asked, “Did you really do that?”

“No,” I laughed. “I didn’t. Very few women actually do the run, although I think Kelly Osbourne was one of them. I could have if I really wanted to … but no. At first I thought it sounded like a lark, but then I was doing all this research for my story and one click led to another and the next thing I knew I was staring at pictures of people who’d been gored and I just couldn’t get the lurid, bloody sight out of my head.” I shuddered. “I ended up backing out. I never even made it to Pamplona.”

I chuckled under my breath.

No, instead I’d stayed in San Sebastián where I’d spent a lovely weekend in the company of a handsome, dark-eyed Spaniard who led food tours through the Parte Vieja’s pintxo bars.

“Oh, that’s good then. Maureen goes on and on about what a smart girl you are and all I could think was you’d have to be an eejit to do something like that.”

He winked and my heart fluttered.

“Ha!” I laughed, a little too loudly in the small space. Then, steadying my volume, added, “Well, yes. I came to that same conclusion, and when I heard how disgusting the area gets for those eight days, I just didn’t have it in me. Maybe if I’d been 19 or 20, but I’m too old for that sort of thing. Hence, no running of the bulls.”

“What’s your best trip then?” he asked.

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