Kate Hoffmann - Riley

Though she’d tried to limit the depth of her affection for Riley, the attempt had been a pitiful failure. With every minute that she spent in his presence, she grew more attached, more certain that he was the man she was meant to find.

It had all been such a whirlwind, her feelings coming so quickly. And she’d tried to tell herself that this somehow diminished the truth in what she felt. It wasn’t love, but merely an infatuation. And yet, every instinct told her the opposite. She was falling in love with Riley and she could do nothing to stop herself.

There had been so many moments when the words had come to her lips, when she’d nearly blurted them out. How would he react if he knew her true feelings? Was this still a holiday romance to him, an affair that would come to an end when she got on the plane to go home? Or was he feeling something deeper? She groaned softly. Though the physical part came so easily between them, the emotional part was messy and complicated.

“I know you want this,” Riley whispered in a singsong voice.

Her eyes still closed, she reached out for the mug but found only empty air. “Are you withholding my coffee for sex? You are a desperate man, Riley Quinn.”

“I’m a happy man,” he countered, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

She pushed up, bracing her hands beneath her and opening her eyes. He’d already showered, his dark hair falling in damp strands over his forehead. All he wore was a pair of jeans, zipped but not buttoned at the waist. “Morning,” she murmured.

“God, you are pretty in the morning. Your hair is sticking up in little spikes. And your eyes are all sleepy.”

Nan reached up and combed her hair with her fingers. She knew exactly how she looked in the morning and she certainly wouldn’t describe it as cute. “Are you going to give me that coffee? Or would you like me to smother you with this pillow?”

He held out the mug. “I walked down to the pub and brought up some soda bread and a fruit salad that Katie made. And orange juice.”

“You brought me breakfast?” Nan smiled. “Come here. That deserves a kiss.”

He leaned over and collected his reward, lingering as his tongue touched hers. It was the perfect way to wake up, quietly and romantically, not jarred to consciousness by an obnoxious alarm clock. “What time is it?”

“Just after ten,” he said. “Early.”

“I could spend my entire vacation in this bedroom,” she said.

“I thought you liked running around like a mad woman.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I spent months mapping out everything I wanted to see. I got all the guidebooks and made lists and researched everything. And now-” She giggled. “I don’t give a feck!”

“Bravo,” Riley said. “I also have some news for you. I did a little more detective work and I found out where Carey Findley lives. You remember, Tiernan Findley’s father.”

Nan sat up. She’d been so caught up with Riley that she’d pushed her search aside. A twinge of guilt twisted at her heart. Was it that easy to forget everything that brought her to Ireland?

“Carey Findley lives about thirty kilometers from here in a town called Kealkill. I put in a call but he wasn’t home, so I left a message.”

“What did you say? Did you tell him about me?”

“I just asked him to contact me at the pub. That’s all. Now we just have to wait for him to call.”

Nan wrapped her arms around her knees and stared down at her toes. “All right. I guess that’s good. When he calls, we’ll go visit him and then we can talk about the letters he wrote to my mother. How long do you think it will be before he calls back?”

“We’ll give him a day or two and if he doesn’t call, we can take a drive over to his place and visit.” Riley reached out and smoothed his hand over her cheek. “So, what are we doing today?”

“Your choice,” she said. “Take me somewhere interesting. Show me something wonderful. Somewhere Irish and historical. Can we go kiss the Blarney stone?”

“No,” Riley said. “Absolutely not. There are so many better things to do than hang upside down from the top of a castle and kiss a stone that thousands of people have put their lips on. From here on out, your lips belong exclusively to me.”

“Yeah, kissing the stone doesn’t sound very appealing.” She took another sip of her coffee. “What have you been doing with yourself since you got up?”

“I’ve been working on a song I want to sing tomorrow night.”

“Sing it for me now.”

He shook his head. “No. Not until I’m ready.”

“Do you just sing at the Hound?”

“No. All over Ireland. A lot in Dublin. Sometimes with my band, sometimes alone. Every now and then, we sing in London. I’ve written some songs for other singers and they’ve been successful. One was just used in an Irish film.”

“So you like what you do?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes. And sometimes I think I ought to quit singing and get on with my real life. Become an upstanding citizen with a respectable job that provides a better living.”

“Why?” she asked softly. “If you’re happy, money shouldn’t make a difference. I’ll never become a millionaire working in a library, but I love doing what I do.”

“I was never sure I wanted all the stuff that goes with fame and fortune anyway. You have to spend so much time trying to hang on to it that you never get a chance to enjoy it.”

“I wish I had a talent,” Nan said. “My mother used to be a wonderful artist. I have some of the watercolors she did. And my father could play the piano by ear. But I can’t do anything exceptional.”

“You drive me wild in the bedroom,” he said. “And everywhere else. That’s exceptional.”

“I suspect you have a lot of women willing to drive you wild,” she said, reaching out and running her hand down his bare chest.

“Until you walked out of those doors at Shannon Airport, I’d been perfectly sane for many months.” He grabbed her coffee and took a sip. “I’ve told you about my work, what about yours? You work in a library.”

“I’m the assistant director of special collections,” she said. “I work at a university library.”

“What does that mean? What kind of collections? Comic books? Marbles?”

“I’m second in charge of rare books and maps and old letters and everything that’s not a regular book and is old and valuable. And when researchers come to the library, I help them find what they need. We just had a huge collection of maps donated to the university and I’m in charge of cataloging them.”

“That sounds interesting,” he said.

“You are such a liar,” Nan teased as she took her coffee away from him. “It sounds boring. You thought I was an old lady.”

“I was gravely mistaken. And you set me straight on that.”

She wrapped her arms around her knees, holding the warm coffee between her hands. “Your job is so much more exciting. People scream and clap for you. You make people cry when you sing. I bring people musty old books and make them sneeze.”

“Well, if you could do something different, what would you do?”

Nan leaned back into the pillows and sighed. Though she was naked from the waist up, she had no thought to cover herself. She was completely comfortable with Riley. And thrilled when he looked at her body with such obvious appreciation.

“When I was younger I wanted to be a heroine. Like Jane Eyre or Elizabeth Bennet. Before that, it was a princess. I lived inside books so I figured working in a library was a good choice for me.” She paused, wondering how much more she could reveal without appearing completely ridiculous. But this was Riley. He seemed to accept her exactly the way she was. “I wrote a children’s book last year.”