Page 8 of Gorilla in the Groove (Shamrock Safari Shifters #3)

Kinsale turned out to be an enormously pretty little town set into the coastline, full of brightly-painted buildings and fronted by a water walkway that went past the harbor and out of town.

Despite a wind that insisted on blowing her ponytail into her mouth no matter which direction she faced, Irina thought she could live on the hill above the water and take the walk every single day of her life without a single regret.

She said as much to Mick as they left a fish and chips restaurant right on the marina, and he laughed.

"Sure, but it's only glorious today. When it's lashing buckets of rain and hurricane winds, you'll think differently about the walk, at least."

"Hurricanes, really? I didn't think Ireland got them."

"We get the tail end of loads of 'em," Mick said airily. "Most of them aren't hurricane-force by the time they reach us, but a few are, and they're massive auld storms even if they're not. They come whipping right up the harbor here and it's miserable."

"I think I could stand it, for this view when it wasn't raining.

" Irina nodded out at the serene harbor, chock full of sailboats of varying sizes and a single yacht that wasn't quite big enough to qualify as a cruise ship.

The hills beyond were green, glimpses of James Fort visible off to the right, and hints of rainbows playing high in the air as rain sprayed down and then gave up.

"My family and I spent our summers here," Mick said fondly. "It's not a bad place to grow up, at all."

"So you're from…Cork? I mean, the city? Or…?"

"I am so. Mam and Da bought a wee little holiday house here back when somebody could afford to do that, and an even littler boat.

We'd come down the minute school let out and stay until we had to be dragged back in.

I spent my summers on the water." He flexed his hands, an almost nervous gesture, and Irina lifted her eyebrows.

"But you don't like it?"

"Do I look like I'll swim, or sink?" Mick asked with a crooked smile.

Since he looked like he had about two percent body fat stretched over millions of large muscles, Irina had to admit, "Sink. But that's what life vests are for!"

"And my whole family wears them religiously," he promised. "And so will you, out on the water, yeh?"

"Yeah, of course. I'm a good swimmer, but I bet it's cold."

"You would bet correctly. There she is, then." He nodded toward the sea of small sailing boats, and Irina squinted first at them, then at him.

"There what is?"

"Oh. The Fossey . Our boat," Mick said, and then Irina caught the name painted across the bow of a small sailing yacht.

"Oh, I didn't realize you still had her! She's very pretty. How big is your family?"

"Five of us. Two can sail her, if they know what they're doing, but usually we'd crew her with three while two stayed out of the way."

"It's been a long time since I've sailed," Irina said dubiously. "I'm not sure two is enough, if one of them is me."

Mick leaned down toward her, lowering his voice.

"Don't tell anybody, but she's got an outboard motor for when we got lazy or the wind died.

Which it does like clockwork about half seven in the evening," he added, straightening up.

"We used to do the races and it was always a hope and a prayer to get across the finish line before the wind quit, or you'd be waiting for a tow home. "

"Or rocking the boat to try to force fill the sails," Irina said in delight. "Not that it ever got us far. Then paddling the last little bit into the berth."

Mick cackled, bumping his shoulder against hers.

Well, his biceps against her shoulder, because he was a good foot taller than she, but the thought counted.

"You have sailed. But we won't get stuck out there, 'cause we've the motor to rely on.

Are you dressed warmly enough? It's cold out on the water. "

"Probably not," Irina admitted. "Do you have a sweater I can borrow, on the boat? And by 'borrow' I probably mean 'swim in,' since you're three times my size?"

"My ma's probably left something there, and she's not that much bigger than you. If you're too cold, we won't go out far."

"Perfect. I don't want to miss the chance to sail in Ireland, though.

" Or to spend more time with Mick Mahoney, Irina admitted to herself.

They could sit on the wharf and feed french fries to the screaming seagulls, for all she cared.

She just…liked his company. Adored it, somehow.

Wanted to keep it as long as possible. She had never thought of herself as a woman who liked really big guys, but there was something about Mick's huge reassuring presence that she didn't want to give up, even having just met him.

He offered his hand as they walked out to the Fossey, helping her into the boat without an ounce of obvious effort.

She landed lightly on the deck and put her hand on his chest, pretending it was to keep her balance and not just because she wanted to touch him.

"Are you just naturally impossibly strong? "

"Yes." Mick smiled down at her, brown eyes warm and inviting. "But I also do power lifting. I have exactly one move: pick something heavy up over my head and drop it again."

"I'd say you've got more than one move," Irina said dryly, and to her delighted surprise, color scalded Mick's cheekbones. "Oh, come on! You can't possibly imagine you're not charming and attractive."

"It wouldn't be my first way of describing myself, no. 'Walking wall.' 'Giant lump of a man.' 'Feck, he's big.' That would be more what I'd say."

"Hey." Irina frowned up at him. "Don't do that. Don't get down on yourself. How we talk to ourselves is how we start thinking about ourselves, and you're obviously great, so don't be mean to you."

She should probably take a little of her own medicine, and stop thinking she didn't belong in an international dance competition, but before she could scold herself, Mick's smile blossomed again, shyer than before. "Little but fierce, are ye?"

"I am," Irina said with determination. "So don't make me have to tell you again."

"Aye, aye, ma'am." Mick actually saluted, then went below in the boat to find both a sweater and a life vest for Irina, as well as a vest for himself. "Will we take her out?"

"I don't know, will w—oh, wait, I mean, yes!" Irina beamed. "I'm learning Irish."

Mick laughed. "You're learning Hiberno-English, anyway."

"What on earth does that mean?" Irina asked as they began preparing the boat for launch.

"The Roman word for Ireland was Hibernia, which I think meant 'you'll freeze your feckin' tits off.

'" As Irina shouted with laughter, Mick grinned and admitted, "It meant 'land of winter,' anyway.

And for some reason when the differences between Irish-influenced English and British English started getting talked about, we called it Hiberno-English. Naturally."

"Naturally," Irina agreed. It was tricky navigating getting out of the docks, at least for someone who hadn't sailed in several years.

Mick was confident, though, and within several minutes they were out on the water, wind driving them merrily toward the mouth of the river. "I do need the sweater, so thank you."

"Anything for you," Mick said cheerfully. "Are you warm enough now?"

Irina considered saying she was frozen to the bone, just because she hoped Mick would pick her up like a teddy bear and snuggle her.

But she was actually fine, so she thought she'd better hold off on the freezing line until she really was.

"I'm good for now, thanks. This is beautiful," she added wistfully.

"I'd forgotten how much I liked sailing.

" The water was a little choppy from the wind, reflecting deep blue and grey all around them, with green tints nearer to the shore.

Dozens of other sailboats were out, dotted across the harbor and river mouth like oversized whitecaps against the blue, and the air smelled fresh and clean.

"You'd like Sequim," she said dreamily. "We sail like this there, too.

Different landscape, though. Big mountains, instead of your hills. "

"Hey now," Mick said, like he was trying to sound offended. "We've mountains! Proper ones!"

"How tall is Ireland's tallest mountain?"

"A thousand meters!"

Irina did a quick calculation in her head and laughed out loud. "Oh. Yes. That's a very nice mountain, I'm sure."

"Why, what's Washington's tallest mountain?" Mick asked, indignant.

"Mt Rainier. I don't know what it is in meters, but it's about fourteen and a half thousand feet. That's…" Irina squinted toward the sky. "I don't know, like maybe four and a half thousand meters?"

"Oh." Mick visibly took that in, then chuckled, his broad shoulders shaking. "All right, I see your point about Carrauntoohil, then. Christ, everything's bigger in the States, isn't it?"

"Not me!"

"You," Mick said warmly, "are perfect the size you are."

Irina ducked her head and blushed. "Um. Thanks. I was always annoyed I didn't grow another three inches taller, to be honest."

"Maybe you've got a late-stage growth spurt ahead of you yet!"

"I'm twenty-three," she said, amused. "I doubt it."

"I think I grew another couple centimeters when I was about twenty-five," Mick said, not as if he expected her to suddenly do the same, but as an idle bit of conversation. "Or maybe I just got broader. I got bigger, anyway."

"I've known a couple of boys who finished growing in their twenties," Irina agreed. "None of them as tall as you. Hopefully you're not going to get another inch taller when you're, what, thirty?"

He glanced her way, eyes sparkling. "Is that a subtle way of asking what age I am?"

"Not subtle enough, apparently!"

"I've just gone twenty-eight last month."

"I guess I could have looked that up on the internet," Irina said. "I mean, apparently you're a famous DJ."

Mick wrinkled his face. "I do have a Wiki entry, it's true."

"Oh my God! Really?" Irina dug her phone out, looking him up, and shrieked with glee as she found a short but thorough bio on Mick 'The Mouse' Mahoney, under a category of 'Irish DJs,' known not only for his house music, but for a popular streaming channel that had an astonishing number of subscribers.

"Holy crap, you're like famous-famous! I'm sorry I've never heard of you! "

"I'm only famous to some people," Mick said with a grin. "Don't worry about it. You can probably name a load of Irish dancers I've never heard of."

"I probably can, yeah. Well, that's pretty cool. I'm not Wiki-worthy, myself." Irina tucked her phone back in her pocket and turned her attention to sailing and the sea again, watching a large yacht speeding toward the harbor. "Ever play on one of those?"

Mick followed her line of sight, frowning. "They're moving too fast. But yeah, a couple of times. Like a moving house party."

"Holy crap, really? What's it like onboard?"

"Opulent," Mick said after a moment's thought. "Surreal, kind of. It's not even like a cruise ship. Everything's obviously higher-quality than that, unless you're staying in the poshest cabins on a cruise ship, maybe." He flashed a grin at her. "I never have."

"I've never been on a cruise at all, so you're already one up on me. They really are moving too fast, aren't they?" Irina asked idly, watching the larger ship approach. "We should turn aside or that wake is going to drown us."

"Not drown," Mick said in a low voice. "That's what the life vests are for.

But you're not wrong." Working together, they tacked the boat as the yacht bore down toward them.

Irina caught glimpses of other sailing boats also furiously tacking, and even heard shouts rise against the speeding yacht.

Her heart began to hammer as she realized the size of the waves being displaced by the yacht's bow.

Mick, all at once, said, " Feck . We're not going to make it," and Irina braced for the wake racing toward them.

The Fossey tilted precariously, caught exactly wrong by the yacht's wake, the little boat threatening to tip over even as she threw herself toward the rising side as if her weight might be enough to counterbalance it.

Mick said, " Feck !" again, and, very fast, "I'm really sorry about this. Try not to panic."

Then the weight of the Fossey shifted dramatically as a gorilla threw itself to the rising side, and settled the boat back into the water safely.