Page 7 of Ireland

When he merely watched her, she narrowed her eyes. “Which part of what I said did you not understand?”

“It’s my table.” His gaze shifted to where a previously unnoticed jacket matching his slacks draped a trumpet case.

She stood in a rush, her face hot with embarrassment. He stood with her, and she saw he was an inch or two taller than Gideon’s 6’2” height, putting her at eye level with that wickedly alluring mouth. She turned to move somewhere else.

“Behind,” Sam warned, skirting her to set two beautifully presented Old Fashioneds on cork coasters. “One for the lady and one she bought for you.”

Ireland scowled at the bartender. He waggled his brows in response.

“If you want him to enjoy that,” he told her, “you should sit back down and keep his fan club at bay.”

Sam headed back to the bar.

Her unwanted companion collected his drink but remained standing. “Thank you.”

Ireland’s attention went to his forearm. Golden skin coursed with veins over flexing muscle. It shouldn’t be sexy. It was just an arm for chrissakes.

“The place is packed,” he pointed out casually. “You’re leaving the only open seat, and you’ve got a drink it’ll take a while to enjoy. You’re welcome to stay, but let me be clear: while I very much enjoy an exchange of harmless flirting with a beautiful woman—and you are, without question, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen—I’m not looking for a hookup.”

It wasn’t remotely fair that a man who looked like a golden god had that voice, too. The combo was a one-two punch to her common sense.

She stood there, staring at him for a long moment, refusing to be disappointed or flattered by what he said.

But she was more than a little curious. And too reckless for her own good.

Ireland sat.

“You weren’t supposed to know that drink came from me,” Ireland said wryly as he settled back into the loveseat. Picking up her tumbler, she tipped it slightly in a silent toast. “It’s meant as a thank-you for sharing your talent. I’m not looking for a hookup, either.”

One corner of his delectable mouth lifted with amusement. “Ah, well, I appreciate the compliment. And I’ll enjoy the drink far more with your company, so thank you for staying.”

A gentleman. And unbelievably sexier for it.

He brushed a wayward lock of his thick hair back from his face. The color was a sumptuous blend of sable, toffee, and honey. Women paid a small fortune to get hair like that, but she would bet Mother Nature was his colorist. Her fingers itched to run through it, to learn its texture and feel the warmth transferred from his body.

Ireland took a larger-than-usual swallow, rolling the liquor around her tongue with a near-silent hum of pleasure. His smokey eyes watched her with a focus so intense it gave her butterflies.

“Where did you learn to play like that?” she asked, hoping his answer was long so she could listen to his voice again.

“On street corners, mostly.”

Ireland blinked, processing that. “You’ve had no formal training?”

“I didn’t have the means, so I was fortunate to find exceptional and generous mentors.”

She leaned back in her seat, taking in the implications of what he’d said. “Wow.”

“Lady Luck does find me on occasion, however rarely.” His smile was as faint as his drawl but carried the same high impact. “Possibly, she was waiting for just this moment when I’d have the only empty seat available for the most stunning woman alive. If so, I have no complaints whatsoever.”

“Well, aren’t you a charmer?” she managed to say with some semblance of elan. That sense of profound awareness continued to ripple through her, lapping like waves against the shore, and Ireland knew she was in over her head.

She’d only ever encountered his level of self-possession in Gideon and his closest friends, who knew better than to flirt with her or risk her brothers’ wrath. It was a revelation to experience such dynamic confidence in someone she found herself powerfully attracted to.

Until now, and too often, the men she dated had unrealized dreams and unappeased ambition. They hadn’t “made it” yet and worried they never would. This man knew exactly who he was and what he wanted.

“What brings you to New York?” she asked.

“The culmination of years of meticulous planning.” He flashed a devastating smile. “Although, most would simply call it ‘work.’”

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