Page 4 of Three Irish Kings
He smells good, like some kind of pinewood cologne, and my nostrils flare as I inhale, my knees going weak. He’s even morehandsome up close, the long line of his nose straight, his jaw chiseled, shaven clean.
His bright green eyes are focused right on mine.
Maybe he knows something. I mean, there are a lot of Irish in this area, a lot of talk about the possibility of a mob, though I doubt every Irish person is interested in crime.
“And I’m not even dancing.” I gesture toward the dance floor. “Saw the end of your performance over there.”
He barks out a laugh. “Just passing time,aghrá.”
The Irish term of endearment isn’t lost on me. My father is Irish.
“Passing time?”
“Until I met someone more... interesting.” He steps closer to me.
Oh.
Is he flirting?
My cheeks heat up, and my chest warms up.
Why today of all days when I have to focus on work?
Wait! He is here, I am here, he might know something, I need to get to meet people.
So, why not make the most out of this chance?
Might as well enjoy myselfandtry to get some inside info at the same time.
I give him a slow smile. “And have you?”
“Aye.” He looks down into my eyes, offering me his hand. “You want to dance?”
I giggle, and it makes me sound more like a lovesick teenager than I’d like to admit.
“I don’t even know your name.”
He shrugs. “Names are overrated. You could call me shitheel, and I’d come when I’m called.”
I laugh out loud this time. “Maybe you’re right, but if I’m to dance with someone, I’d like to know their name.” I extend my hand. “Isla.”
“Lovely to meet you, Isla.” He draws out the pronunciation of my name. “I’m Darren, but everyone calls me Dare.”
“Dare? As in truth or dare?”
He grins. “Might have a couple legendary stories about that party game.”
I lean closer.
He smells like sandalwood and honey and whiskey. It makes my knees weak, despite my determination.
“I’d love to hear them over a drink.”
His eyes tick down to my cleavage and back to my face, then he puts a finger to his mouth as if we’re in on a secret. “Normally, I wouldn’t say no to a woman in a red dress, but I’m not actually supposed to be drinking.”
“Why not?”
“Working. Mingling. You know the drill.”
