Page 9

Chapter

Eight

Tenley

S eeking out the Death Valley Irish hadn’t been easy. It had meant a lot more research and a number of late-night stakeouts, which, the majority of the time, led to nothing.

Then, one afternoon, out of the blue, a little over a week ago, I struck gold.

I’d been working non-stop trawling the internet, updating my file on what little else had come to light. Or, late night stalking the joints that I knew were frequented by the Death Valley Irish. When I’d gone to my refrigerator and found nothing but a stale block of cheese and a half-used carton of sour milk, I knew it was time to get showered and dressed to go out and grocery shop.

I was on my period, craving all things chocolate and cranky as… well, a menstruating woman without a sugar fix.

Walmart was out of my patience league that day as it was midweek, school vacation time and would only be overrun with flustered mothers with a zillion kids, running riot, squealing and crying because they can’t have the toy they’re clutching like their life depended on it, with sticky hands. The toy that’s made of nothing other than the cheapest of plastic and quite possibly a dangerous choking hazard.

Instead, I go to a local grocery store that I know will have everything I need albeit not quite as cheap. But hey, my sanity is worth the extra few dollars.

I’d already piled my cart up with fresh milk, bread and enough micro meals for the week. Candy bars and sweet treats to kill my cravings for the next three cycles, leaving me with one thing still to get.

I was while trying to decide between butter pecan or mint chocolate chip ice cream I sensed someone standing behind me.

“Sorry,” I said, moving to the side so that they could get access to the freezer shelf.

“Can’t make up your mind?” The deep voice, with a distinctive Gaelic almost lyrical lilt, tickles the side of my face.

I turned to see who the sexy as fuck voice belonged to, only to come face to face with the man himself, Paddy Dunne. The insta-shock had me taking in such a deep unexpected breath that I almost choked on my own tongue.

“I’m guilty,” he offered standing firmly to my side.

“Guilty?” I manage to splutter out with a rushed exhale.

“Procrastinating.” When he turns to face me, I get the full view of the man that is rumored to be the King of the Death Valley Irish. “What are your choices?”

“Me? Erm. Pecan or mint chocolate,” I reply, still quite not believing that after all the stalking I’ve been doing, I’m here, at this instant, in a grocery store conversing with the man I have been tracking for two weeks with no avail.

“Now that surprises me, that does,” he smiles, his green eyes alight with flirtatiousness and devilment. “I would have had you down as a Cookies and Cream kinda girl. Although looking at you from this angle, you’re far from a girl. You’re every inch a woman and a beautiful one at that.”

Oh my fucking God. Is he chatting me up?

Damn, maybe his eyesight isn’t that good, or he’s not got laid in a while.

What the fuck was I to do? My gut instinct was to run, fast. My head told me that this could be my chance that would lead me to an in, with the YOMC.

But the man is the epitome of danger. However, when it comes to a story, I’ve never been one to walk away from a lead. Not even one like this that could go disastrously wrong in a nanosecond, with me ending up hurt or even dead, dumped on a roadside in the middle of fuck-knows-where-ville.

“Flatterer,” I giggled back, batting my eyelids. Thank God I’d taken time that day to put on make-up, styled my hair and wore clothing that showed my figure off better than the sweatpants and over-washed slogan t-shirts I’d been wearing the previous week.

“Not at all, I’m only speaking the truth,” he offered back as his eyes roamed down my body, head to toe, blatantly undressing me with his eyes as he did so. “So, what will it be?”

“Wha… what?” I stammer; my skin flushed from his scrutiny. Damn it, I can’t resist, can I? I only go ahead and do the very same thing.

Full head of red hair with a matching beard that was well trimmed but still full. Lips that could no doubt have you melting to the touch and teeth white as snow peeking out as his lips move into a knowing smile.

His shoulders are broad, the round neck fitted t-shirt he’s wearing clearly outlines his firm upper body, the cuffs tight around his biceps. Lean hips, but thick, strong thighs and an unnerving and dominating posture.

“Which one are you going to choose?” he asks eventually after giving my overactive mind enough time to take all of him. Including time to calculate how many inches were involved when it came to the impressive bulge at the crotch of his faded blue jeans.

“Nuts,” I shake the image of a large ten-inch purple-veined penis with smooth walnut-sized balls out of my head. “Butter Pecan nut flavor.” I blush even though my slip-up was on purpose. Well, two can play the flirting game. “You?”

“Ah well, yah see,” he leans into the freezer and hands me a tub of the Pecan. “However much I deliberate, I always end up going for the same one.” He plucks out a tub of vanilla.

“I never would have had you down as a vanilla kinda of boy. Although looking at you from this angle you’re far from a boy,” I had thrown back a similar flirtatious compliment as he had to me. Before I can comment any further, he’s taken the few steps needed to bring him closer to me.

“I’ll let you into another secret.” He gets so close to me that I can feel the heat radiating from his body when he places his mouth close to my ear. He whispers, “When it comes to fucking, trust me I’m far from vanilla and I’m more than willing to prove it to you if you ask me nicely.”

Those words make my body rage with lust, and if it wasn’t for the fact that I’m on my period, I’d be tempted. I love it when sex gets a little messy, but period sex, eew! No thank you.

So, I politely decline using the excuse that I’m only on a break from work and have to get back for a meeting. Liar!

However, when he insists on putting his cell number into my contacts list on my phone, I hand it over to him without question.