Page 22 of Taming Irish

I pick up my phone and scroll through the numbers, pressing his name quickly before I lose the nerve to make thecall.

What am Idoing?

It rings once, and I’m about to end the call, when it clicks straight tovoicemail.

“Leave a message.” The brogue flows through the receiver and straight to mycore.

Even his voice has my pantieswet.

There’s a beep before I have a chance to end thecall.

“Hi, um…”Shit, shit, shit. Hang up, my brain demands, suddenly unable to produce vocal sounds. “This is…Makena…from the plane. You, um, gave me yournumber…”

Oh my God. I sound like a rambling idiot. Even I can hear the slur of my words. He’s going to think I drunk called him.Which Ihad.

I groan, covering my mouth when I realize it’saudible.

“Okay, well, I guess if you get this…call me back.” Which is not likely going to happen after the way I just blundered through themessage.

I end the call and toss my phone on the couch, groaningagain.

Andthatis one of the reasons I’m going to end up being celibate for the rest of mylife.

Which is probably a good thing, since the one thing Quinn and I have in common are failed relationships. The only difference between her and I is that she hasn’t seemed to learn that the best way to not have your heart broken is by not putting it out on the line to beginwith.

Maybe I am more like my mom than Ithought.

And that thought scares me almost as much as being rejected and betrayedagain.

No more, Makena. Time to stop being acoward.

Finishing the last of the Chardonnay, I make a promise to myself. If Shane does call back, I’ll take him up on his offer. Sex. No strings attached. No conditions and no promises of tomorrow. Just uninhibitedpleasure.

What could ithurt?

No one knows me here. I’m in the middle of Ireland in a town with a population of less than five thousand people. There are no paparazzi falling me around waiting for a shot of Chad Hollister’s crazyex.

It’s the perfect place for me to finally let go of myinhibitions.

Crawling into bed, I sigh, knowing it’s an easy pledge to make, since it’s highly unlikely the man will even call meback.

At least I can fantasize about him, which is probably a hell of a lot safer than letting the man between my thighs. But, hell, I know he’d feel good there. Instead, I settle for my vibrator and the images of the green-eyed Irish god that woke something inside of me I thought long dead andburied.

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