Page 44 of Hot Set

“Tight?”

He spins so we’re face-to-face. “No, Gilly. I did not sleep with her.” His lips press together until they’re white. “I’m only telling you this next bit because she’ll be in our lives, and I want nothing between you and me that isn’t the whole truth.”

“I don’t think I want to hear this.” I try to slide away from him, but he grabs my wrists so I’m held captive.

“I did kiss her once.” He bobs his head to the side. “Off camera. It was my doing. I learned real quick that was a mistake. So, there you have it.” I close my eyes, and he releases me.

“Did you ever bring her here?”

He slaps the water, spraying it all over the floor. “Why in the name of sanity would I do that?” Fingers tighten around my upper arms. “Do you hear me? There’s nothing there for me with Niks. Absolutely nothing.”

I work my way back to my end of the tub. “Does she know that?”

Jack pulls his knees up and drops his head onto them. “I feel responsible for taking care of Niks. Don’t ask me to say any more about it, okay? There are things that aren’t mine to share.”

I bristle at the sting of his secret. The burn inside me from the image of Jack kissing Niks in any way close to the way he’s been kissing me is so hot I’m afraid the water in the tub will start boiling. I study the condensation on the ceiling and decide to honor his request not to press. That doesn’t mean I’ll allow my self-preservation to go offline. “Okay.”

Jack lies back, extending his body across the tub. His big hands glide me through the water until I’m stretched out on top of him. Both our chins dip below the surface, and we’re nose to nose. His hands lay claim to every inch of my body, showing me who does matter to him.

“Gillian, you’re the one who’s brought starlight into my life. All I see and want to see is you. Do you hear me? There’s no sun that can rise to make your starlight fade.”

Any protest or further discussion is cut off with a kiss so possessive it turns my body to sea foam. If we go for all ten times today, it just might kill me. The water churns and splashes around us as Jack splits my legs, sliding them to either side of his hips. There’s nothing sweet or careful as I grip the sides of the tub and we join with a ferocity to keep that sun from rising.

It’s like a scene in a spy movie, me hiding in Jack’s car and waiting for an all-clear text to join him in the River View Bistro on Sneem’s main street. I’m so hungry I may start gnawing on his headrest. The only edible things besides cat food in his pantry were a bag of pretzels and peanut butter. We polished those off hours ago.

He didn’t want to sneak into town until after the supper rush. I wonder what constitutes a rush in the tiny town of Sneem, a party of five? Jack’s biggest concern is that a tour bus might pull in for a coffee stop to end their Ring of Kerry day.

The text finally comes.

Walk straight through to the kitchen.

I scan the street, checking for an ambush before bailing out of the car and through the front door of the bistro.The bell on the door is still tinkling when I’m swallowed by a chubby, gray-haired woman a few years older than my mom.

She holds me at arm’s length. “Aren’t you as precious as advertised.” Threading an arm around my back, she shuttles me past a counter to a small table in the corner of the kitchen.

Jack already has a cup of hot tea in front of him. “I see you’ve met Imelda.” He stands and lifts the woman up off the floor. “She’s my second mum.”

Imelda swats his arm, and Jack sets her back on her feet. “Have a seat over there with this darlin’ brute, and I’ll fetch you some tea and pie.”

She waddles over to a counter and fiddles with a teapot.

Jack slides his cup my way so I don’t have to wait. “Bewley’s ginger and lemongrass, my favorite.”

The tea is delicious and does a perfect job of erasing the chill from my vigil in the car. I’d really prefer a dinner before diving straight into pie. Although Lord knows my activities in the past twenty-four hours have burned off all the calories I could possibly gobble down for days.

“Wait until you taste Imelda’s cheese and onion pie.” He smacks his lips. The affection between Jack and Imelda is another layer of proof that Jack O’Leary may be as wonderful as my besotted brain suspects.

Imelda leans her back against the counter, hands flying through the air as she speaks. “I make my pie with filo dough. Picked that bit up when Tim and I traveled to Greece. Makes the crust so light it doesn’t sit like a knot in your belly later.” An old-fashioned dial egg timer dings. “Here we are.”

Imelda plops two plates of fluffy cheese and onion pie in front of us and then scurries back into the restaurant. Jack cuts a corner of my pastry with his fork and feeds it to me.

“This is incredible,” I say, still chewing. “I may never eat anything else as long as I’m in Ireland.”

He digs into his pie. “I plan to make sure you’re addicted so you’ve no choice but to stay put beyond the first season.”

“Mission accomplished.” Cheese oozes from the crust. I capture it before it falls to the plate. Jack stops eating to stare at me. “What?”

“I’m serious, Gilly. I want you here with me. The thought of you going back to L.A. is a fist to my gut.”

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