Page 9

CHAPTER 9

Jax

W hen I’d been stuck in the rain while trying to clear my head driving in Ireland, I hadn’t expected to, two weeks later, be standing in the middle of a crowded village hall, holding a pint of Guinness in one hand and clapping along to traditional Irish music with the other. If someone had told me I’d not only be attending an honest-to-God Irish ceilidh but actually enjoying it, I’d have bet my best iron it’d never happen.

The ceilidh was nothing like the cocktail parties and charity galas I was used to. It was loud, chaotic, and utterly unpolished .

Children ran around the edges of the room, shouting and laughing, while couples of all ages danced to the music. A long table against the wall was piled high with food—sausage rolls, mincemeat pies made with lamb and chicken, soda bread with smoked salmon (Treasa Dempsey had apparently smoked it with her own fine hands), and enough desserts (apple tarts, Irish porter cake, scones, and a bread pudding) to put a body in a sugar coma.

I loved every second of it.

I watched couples whirl across the floor while a fiddler and an accordion player tore through a tune so fast it made my head spin. Then, when Moyna Cahill—eighty if she was a day—dragged me onto the dance floor, I had no choice but to keep up with her. When she started doing an Irish jig—she had two brand-new hips, and she wanted to test them out—I felt like the poor sod in the back of a workout class, flailing around with no clue what the fuck was going on.

But throughout the celebration, my eyes were always looking for Dee.

That kiss had rocked my foundation, and I wasn’t the rock-the-foundation-with-a-kiss kinda guy.

“Boyo, you have good taste, I’ll give you that.” Moyna slapped my arm when we walked back to the refreshment table to get something to drink.

“What?” I tore my gaze away from Dee, who looked effortlessly stunning in a deep green dress that hugged her curves. She was talking to a group of locals near the food table, smiling and laughing, carefree as fuck, and I wanted her to smile and laugh with me.

“You got designs on our Dee, do you, lad?” Moyna narrowed her eyes at me.

“Me?” I feigned innocence. “You have a fine imagination, Mrs. Cahill.”

“I must be imagining how you can’t stop looking at her.” She rolled her eyes. “Fine, now, go run along and get that lass onto the dance floor. She needs some fun in her life, if you know what I mean.” She dropped her voice to a low whisper. “I think a good lay is just what our Dee needs.”

I gaped at Moyna, and then, because she was grinning wide at me, enjoying my discomfort, I bowed. “You slay me, Mrs. Cahill.”

I turned away from Moyna and bumped into Ronan.

“Moyna ain’t easy to keep up with, but you did a decent job of it, Yank.” Ronan raised his pint at me.

“Tell me about it.” I scanned the room for Dee and now found her by the beer taps.

Ronan sighed. “Go on, then, ask her to dance.”

I knew pretending I didn’t know what he was talking about wouldn’t work. I was smitten with Dee Gallagher, and all of Ballybeg knew it.

Before I could make my way to Dee, Sinead, who lived in a cottage close to the pub and ran the hair salon, grabbed my hand. “Come on, follow my lead.”

The next thing I knew, I was stumbling my way through some kind of group dance, trying not to trip over my own feet as the music sped up. Sinead spun me one way, then the other, her laughter infectious. By the time the music ended, I was out of breath but grinning like an idiot.

My eyes went straight to look for Dee and this time; she was watching me.

I went to her. “How did I do out there?” I asked, nodding at the young man manning the beer taps. He pulled me a red Irish ale, which was my new favorite, though nothing beat a Guinness.

“You didn’t embarrass yourself, but beyond that, I can’t say much.” Her tone was dry, but her eyes were soft.

“What?” I took the beer glass handed to me. “That was my best work.”

She tilted her head with a faint sigh, obviously amused. “That’s the saddest thing I’ve heard in a long time.”

I leaned toward her, my face close to hers. People were watching. Of course, they were. This was Ballybeg, even smaller and gossipier than Charleston, and I hadn’t thought that would be possible.

“Why don’t you show me how it’s done, Wild Cat?”

She blinked. “Wild… what ?”

“When I first saw you, I thought you looked like a Wild Cat. Green eyes. Temper to match. And”—I dropped my voice and brushed my lips against her ear—“so beautiful that I wanted you before you even asked if I was one of them .”

A faint blush crept up her neck, and she watched me with those emerald-green eyes of hers with pure lust that made my dick wake up and say, “ Aye, that one .”

I set my beer glass down and held my hand out to her. “Dance with me, beautiful.”

She stared at my hand like it was some kind of trap. For a moment, I thought she’d tell me to piss off, but then she muttered under her breath, “ I’m a feckin’ eejit ,” and placed her hand in mine.

Her skin was warm, and her grip firm. I gently tugged her toward the open space where the other couples were dancing. The accordion played a lively reel, and the fiddler joined in, the tempo quick.

“You think you can keep up with me, Yank?” Her lips curled into a wicked smile.

“I can only hope.”

She began to move, and I fell all the way for her.

Dee Gallagher didn’t just dance; she commanded the floor. Her feet tapped and kicked in perfect rhythm, her movements sharp and fluid, like the music had been written for her. I did my best to keep up, trying to match her steps without looking like a complete eejit .

She spun under my arm, laughing as she came back to face me. “Not bad, Yank,” she teased, her voice breathless. “But you still have work to do.”

I grinned, stepping closer. “Maybe I’m just waiting for you to take the lead.”

She laughed again, and I didn’t care about the steps anymore. I just wanted to hold her, be close to her, to keep her in this moment where she wasn’t scowling at me or pushing me away.

The music slowed, shifting into something softer. Without asking, I slipped my hands around her waist, and she put hers on my shoulders.

She looked up at me, her eyes searching mine. I could see her vulnerability and her fear of getting hurt, and I tried to soothe her by breaking the moment and whispering, “How did I do this time?”

“You’re not terrible at this,” she murmured.

Then, she rested her cheek against my chest, and I held her like she was the most precious thing ever. We swayed there as if we were alone.

“Dee.” I nuzzled her.

“Yes.”

I looked at her and stopped myself from asking her to be with me, come to bed with me, because she was nowhere near ready for that. She didn’t trust me yet. I’d have to build it, and I didn’t know if I would be able to, considering I was just passing through.

“I’m starving,” I exclaimed.

She laughed. “Come on then, let’s feed you.”

Later, when the crowd thinned, and the music softened to a slower tune, Dee and I found ourselves sitting on one of the benches near the edge of the room. She was nursing a pint of cider, her legs crossed and her gaze fixed on the dancers.

“You’re good with people,” she said suddenly.

“A compliment from Dee Gallagher,” I said dramatically. “That’s… wow !”

She punched my shoulder. “Stop it. It’s just that the regulars at the pub…the villagers, they like you. You don’t seem like someone who’d be at home in a place like Ballybeg, but…you fit in better than I expected.”

“You don’t know the half of it, Wild Cat. I’m pretty surprised at how much I like being here.” I felt like we were on a precipice, and it was time to take the leap. “I should’ve left a week ago.”

Dee smiled shyly. “You mean when Paddy fixed up your car?”

“The son of a bitch told me he’d keep it a secret.”

“This is Ballybeg. There are no secrets here.” Dee chuckled. “So, why did you stay?”

“Lots of things. Ronan’s food. I love the room. The view. The people.” I paused and stroked a finger down her cheek. “But mainly you .”

She licked her lips as tension bloomed in her face. “I’m not your fuck and forget kind of…I’m not .”

“I know.” A woman who stayed engaged to a man like Cillian O’Farrell and only left him when he cheated on her was the kind who didn’t believe in one-night stands.

“I can’t give you what you want.” She sounded as if she was desperately trying to not only convince me but herself.

I tilted my head. “And what do I want, darlin’ Dee?”

She met my gaze, her expression somber. “Whatever it is you’re looking for, Jax…I can’t give it to you.” Her voice was laced with quiet finality, which saddened me more than I thought possible.