Page 10 of Taming Irish

“Sleep with someone I don’t…careabout.”

I grunt. “Ye’re telling me that yelovedevery man ye were everwith?”

“Yes.” Her chin juts out defiantly. “I lovedhim.”

It takes me a moment to realize what she’s saying. “Ye’ve only been with oneman?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, butyes.”

I give a low whistle. “That explains alot.”

Her eyes narrow at me. “It’s better than being a walking, talking STDbillboard.”

“Ouch.” I grip my chest and chuckle, despite the way her words get under myskin.

I barely know the woman, but I hate the way she seesme.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters. “That was rude. You seem nice, but I’m not looking for anything right now. I just need…” She makes the mistake of looking at me, because her gaze tells me exactly what she needs. But she’s too caught up in right and wrong to takeit.

“Trust me, love. I know what yeneed.”

She snorts, then sighs. “How could you, whenIdon’t even know?” Vulnerability flashes in hereyes.

Even though I know I shouldn’t press her, that it’s probably best for both of us if I just walk away, I place my palm out and demand, “Give me yerphone.”

Suspicion makes her lips purse. “Why?”

I try and keep my tone light, which I don’t usually have a hard time with. But there’s something pressing inside of me, insisting that I don’t let the woman walk away without at least getting her number. “Do ye argue witheveryone?”

“Just over-demanding strangers who don’t know when to back off,” she says with a half-smile, which is a small improvement from the glare she’d been spearing me with a few secondsbefore.

I chuckle. “Tell me to go away and I will. But first, give me yer phone. I only want to add mynumber.”

She hesitates, resistance in her eyes, before pulling her iPhone out of her back pocket, her fingers whitening around it in a death grip. “I don’t want yournumber.”

“I think ye do.” I take her hand, using her thumb to unlock the screen. The air between us heats at the contact, but I don’t make a big deal about it, knowing anything more than a slight touch will most likely have her calling for security to have my ass dragged back into first class. I wink at her. “Ye wouldn’t have given the phone to me if ye weren’tslightlyinterested.”

“If it’s the only way to make you go back to your seat, then give me yournumber.”

Bullshit.

I chuckle under my breath, seeing the red creep back up her neck, filling her cheeks. Her eyes narrow, but there’s a fire in them despite her iciness. The woman sizzles with an untapped passion, and hell if I don’t want to be the one to liberateit.

After I type in my digits, I hand the phone back to her, letting my fingers linger longer than necessary on hers. Yeah, there’s heat there. Scorching, blisteringheat.

“It was nice meeting ye,Makena.”

Her breath comes out small and shaky, and she gives me a small nod, which is my cue to leave. Because even though I have the luck of the Irish on my side, I know there’s no chance in hell she’s about to let me give her anything more than mynumber.

As I walk back to my seat, ignoring the flirtatious look the stewardess gives me, I doubt I’ll ever hear from Makena. And if I’m honest with myself, it’s probably for the best. Because I know how it would end. The exact way she’s afraid of. With her heartcrushed.

I may be a cocky bastard, but I’m not a completeasshole.

And despite her sharp tongue, it’s not difficult to see that the woman isvulnerable.

But her confession that she doesn’t have a musical bone in her body has my thoughts racing. Because I know a secret that most men don’t. Every woman can make music, it just takes the right musician to play her. And if I could teach her hownotto get her emotions involved, I’d love to hear the melody that sweet little body of hers so desperately wants tomake.

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