Kate Hoffmann - Her Irish Rogue

“I thought we could eat in the kitchen. It’s nice and warm in there.”

Claire glanced up to see a shadowy form standing in the doorway, broad-shouldered, a hip braced against the doorjamb. Her heart fluttered and she cursed inwardly at the unbidden response. All right, there was definitely a spark. But that didn’t mean she had to fan it into a raging inferno. She smoothed her hands over her blouse and forced a smile. “Of course. And thank you.”

“For what?” he asked.

“For making me dinner.”

“You haven’t tasted my cooking,” he replied with a low chuckle. He held open the door to the butler’s pantry and Claire walked through the cabinet-lined room to the kitchen.

Unlike the rest of the house, the kitchen was sleek and modern, with granite countertops and stainless-steel appliances. But an old stone hearth burned brightly with a peat fire, the scent familiar to her now. She walked over to it and held her hands out. “Why am I so cold? The winters in Chicago are brutal, but I don’t feel the cold like I do here.”

“We live on the ocean. It’s damp,” Will explained. “That’s why it feels colder. There’s no getting away from it.” Will pulled a stool out from beneath the huge worktable that dominated the center of the kitchen. He nodded his head. “Have a seat.”

Claire perched on the stool and watched Will as he moved around the room. She was glad to see that he wasn’t going to too much trouble, choosing to make sandwiches. “Do you always cook for your guests?” she asked.

Will shook his head. “Never. When we have guests, our cook and housekeeper, Katie Kelly, comes in and does breakfast. Beyond that we don’t serve meals.”

She cupped her chin in her hand. “So why are you doing it now?”

He glanced up at her, sending her a devastatingly charming smile. “After what you’ve been through today, I figured you’d need it. And your only other alternative is the Jolly Farmer and that’s noisy and smoky and filled with blokes who haven’t seen a woman as flah as you in a very long time.”

“Flah?”

“Beautiful,” he said.

Claire felt a blush warm her cheeks. It was such an offhand compliment that she wasn’t sure how to take it. Did he really think she was beautiful or was he simply humoring a guest?

“So, what brings you to Trall?” he asked.

She hesitated before she answered, unwilling to tell him the truth about her quest. Perhaps, if he’d been a woman, she’d unload her entire sad story. But he wasn’t a woman. He was an incredibly attractive man. “Family history,” Claire quickly replied. “My grandmother, Orla O’Connor, visited the island a long time ago. She told me about it and so I thought I’d see it for myself.”

“There’s not much to see,” Will said. “There are some shops in the village and there’s a stone circle on the west side of the island. Most people come here for the Druid spring, though.”

“My grandmother told me about that.” She glanced up to find him staring at her. He held her gaze for a long moment, then turned back to his meal preparations.

“Beyond the stone circle, it’s Trall’s only claim to fame.”

“I thought you were famous,” Claire said. She let her eyes drift down, from his broad shoulders to his narrow waist, and then lower. Though his jeans were slightly baggy, she could see he had a nice butt. “At least, that’s what Captain Billy told me.”

“No,” Will said, glancing over his shoulder. “That’s just a load of rubbish. As for the spring, it’s a silly legend that brings tourists to the island, so no one disputes it.”

“But everyone knows about it.”

“I suppose,” Will said. “Everyone benefits from perpetuating the legend, I guess. There aren’t that many of us left on the island so we welcome the visitors. Just over five hundred now. We’re kind of like one big family. Sometimes a wee bit dysfunctional, but a family nonetheless.” He set a plate with a ham sandwich in front of her and followed it with a mug of steaming soup, then went to the refrigerator and grabbed a couple of beers. “You drink Guinness? I have wine, too. Or bottled water?”

“Beer is fine,” Claire said.

He opened a bottle and set it down in front of her, then opened his and took a long drink. He had beautiful hands. Claire had always found that she could tell a lot about a man by his hands. His fingers were long and tapered, the kind of hands that might touch a woman with expert effect, dancing over her body until she cried out in—

“You said you were from Chicago?”

Claire swallowed hard. “Y-yes,” she said.

“The Windy City?”

“Ummm. Have you ever been to Chicago?”

“I have,” Will said. “I remember the lake. A big lake. So big you couldn’t see the other side even from the top of that tall building.”

“The Sears Tower. That’s Lake Michigan,” Claire said, munching on the ham sandwich. “What were you doing in Chicago?”

“Business,” he murmured. Will studied the label on his beer bottle, scratching at it with his thumbnail. Claire found herself watching his hands again, her pulse quickening. “A very exciting place, that.”

She cleared her throat, determined to steer the conversation in a different direction. “Tell me more about the spring,” she said.

“The water is said to be blessed by the Druids, although there’s only one Druid on the island and I have cause to doubt her credentials. They say if two people drink from the same cup, they’ll share eternal love.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “Couples usually come here before they go see a marriage counselor, hoping to find answers to their problems. And honeymooners like to come, too.”

“And do you know where this spring is?” Claire asked.

“There are springs all over the island.” He gave her a sly look. “It doesn’t exist. It’s just a legend. We Irish love our legends.”

She took a sip of her beer. “But if it doesn’t exist, then why do people keep coming?”

“If you had a chance at eternal love, wouldn’t you go after it?” He laughed softly. “That was a rhetorical question.”

“So no one really knows where it is?”

“Oh, I’m sure some might think they’ve found it. But I’ve never seen proof that any of the water on this island does more than quench a man’s thirst.”

He smiled and Claire felt her stomach flutter. This island was already working its magic upon her. She felt alive and uninhibited, as if anything were possible. She wanted to jump out of her chair and kiss Will Donovan again. Her fingers ached to touch his rumpled hair and her body craved his warmth. There was just too much about him that she found attractive.

“How’s the sandwich?” he asked.

“It’s very good,” she said. “Everything here is… good.” And Claire had a very distinct feeling that it would get even better before the night was over.

2

SHE WAS BEAUTIFUL. Perhaps the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. Will watched her as she took a sip of her wine, then snuggled back into the pillows on the opposite end of the sofa.

After dinner, they’d moved to the front parlor where Will had opened a bottle of cabernet and stoked the fire in the hearth. Though business had slowed down once the warmer days of summer had ended, for once, Will was grateful not to have other guests to tend to. Right now, he wanted to focus all of his attention on Claire.

She was different than any woman he’d ever met. Since all the publicity that followed his appointment as one of Ireland’s most eligible, it had been difficult to meet women who were really interested in him and not his money. In fact, all the energy spent trying to discern a woman’s true motives had made dating a chore.