Page 3 of Wild Irish

The car skips across the right lane, crashing through stone and brush, rattling every bone in my body as it bounces down the side of a hill through a field of sheep. I pump the break and pray that they get out of the way in time.

The car finally comes to a stop with one last jarring lurch.

This. Is. Not. Happening.

I bang my forehead on the steering wheel and scream at the top of my lungs until my throat is raw from the force of it. All the pent-up emotions I’ve been suppressing for the past six months rip through me in a tidal wave of grief.

To make matters worse, what was a blue sky only moments before has turned a threatening shade of gray. One fat raindrop hits the windshield, followed by another, until the clouds open up and the rain is so heavy I can’t see two feet in front of me.

I scream again. Louder this time. Shouting every swear word in my vocabulary, including a few that I’m pretty sure I just made up.

“Ye all right in there?”

My stomach lurches to my throat at the deep voice outside, and the rapping of knuckles against the passenger side window.

I let out a small squeal when the door opens, and the large, very wet form practically dives into the car, slamming the door behind him.

He’s dripping wet, his white V-neck t-shirt plastered across his chest and abs. Large fingers drag through dark hair that’s long at the top and shaved shorter at the sides. One glance and I know the guy is trouble. Sexy, tempting, Irish trouble. The kind of guy Maeve would have fallen for.

Wild and rough.

My breath catches when his gaze lands on me. Blue eyes hold mine, and a small frown plays at the corner of his full lips.

I try to pull in even breaths, but my pulse speeds up, and heat races across every inch of my skin.

“Are ye hurt? I heard ye screaming.” He reaches out and brushes his fingers across my forehead, causing a warm buzz to travel across my skin, straight to my core. “Did ye hit yer head?”

I must have, because that’s the only reason I can think of for the reaction I’m having to him.

He drops his hand, the muscles of his jaw clenching as he studies me.

“Yer lucky ye didn’t hit any of Davie’s sheep. The wall he might forgive ye for, but his sheep are another matter.” The musical lilt of the man’s Irish brogue makes something in my stomach flutter.

Focus, Delaney. I’m starting to think I may have a concussion or brain damage, because I can’t string a coherent thought together. Not with the way his gaze roams down my body then back to my face, eyes hungry, like I’m about to be his next meal.

Yeah, the guy is trouble all right.

“Did ye lose yer tongue?”

“What?”

“So ye can speak.” He lifts a dark eyebrow, and the corner of his mouth twitches up.

Arrogance radiates off him. He knows he’s hot, and I’m pretty sure he knows the effect he’s having on me.

I clear my throat and pull my gaze away from his face, but not before I notice the hint of a dimple in his left cheek. It’s almost hidden by his scruff, but it’s there.

“Ye all right?” he asks again. His voice is dark, deep, and it vibrates in the pit of my stomach. God, that accent should be illegal.

“Yes.” I shake my head, looking around desperately for my phone. “I just need to call a tow truck…and the rental center before it closes…or the insurance company.”

I don’t even know who I’m supposed to call. I’ve never been in a car accident before, let alone while in a foreign country. I unclip my seatbelt and turn to search under the backseat, but the minute my foot leaves the brake, the car starts to roll.

“Jaysus, woman.”

The car jerks to a stop when he pulls the emergency break up. And the way I’m positioned, the movement causes me to fall backwards, landing straight in his lap.

He grunts with the impact.

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