His Wicked Celtic Kiss Read Free

God.
As soon as the words left her mouth, Julie wanted to recall them. The unlady-like snort was a nice touch
.
Lorcan laid his hands flat on the counter and leaned forward. A subtle whiff of his expensive cologne assaulted her senses, the scent making her light-headed.
    “A date,” he nodded. “I’m all for it. Why not? You get off at six on Saturday?” His deep voice rolled huskily.
    Julie couldn’t speak. Her body and voice froze into inaction. She gazed into his eyes, which were large, expressive, and an indescribable shade of blue-green she’d only seen once before, on a late-night travel show about diving in the Spanish waters off Cortina. His mouth was cradled by the most devastating dimples she’d ever seen.
    Lorcan reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. Her eyes widened. No—he wasn’t going to—he did. He kissed it. Those full, sensuous lips roved over her knuckles, nibbling delicately on each one. Turning her hand over, he kissed her palm. Those half-hooded gorgeous eyes looked at her with such heat they melted the last vestiges of the frozen effect. Now she felt as if she were on fire. She sucked in a deep breath and exhaled. She couldn’t do this.
    “I don’t think so, but thanks,” she answered in as steady a voice as she could muster.
    He dropped her hand, and for a split second, appeared to be shocked. Lorcan recovered quickly. The smile he flashed seemed rigid and didn’t go all the way to his eyes.
    “Fair play. Another time, then.” Lorcan winked and sauntered toward the back apartment.
    Julie exhaled a shaky breath. This was for the best. Placing past self-loathing issues aside, she had no idea why he asked her out. Better to nip this in the bud. He was too much of everything she had ever wanted in a man—physically speaking—with his perfectly proportioned face and six-foot-plus tall, athletic body. Her reaction to his touch confused her, and she didn’t need that in her life at the moment. She watched him step into the hall, his tight jeans accentuating his lean musculature. Yes, everything she ever wanted, but would never have.
    • • •
    Lorcan entered the small connecting hall between the bakery and the apartment. Laughter drifted out from the back rooms. He leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath. She refused him?
This is a first.
Not to sound
too
conceited, but when he made an overture toward a woman, rejection had never been the end result.
    Because Lorcan Byrne was an indisputably handsome man.
    This wasn’t arrogance. He knew it was all part and parcel of being the lucky recipient of a DNA jackpot courtesy of his parents. Lorcan didn’t consider himself vain, hardly gave his looks much thought, but through the years he hadn’t shied away from using them when the situation warranted it. Sometimes … No,
often
in his previous occupations, it had come in handy.
    When he was a wee lad in Dublin, the older ladies who lived in the same row of ramshackle flats as his family would pinch his cheeks and openly admire his beauty. Lorcan discovered a teasing wink and a broad smile would warrant an extra biscuit or a bag of crisps as a reward. Occasionally, if he was lucky, a few pence would be pressed into his hand, and then he’d treat his best friend, Sully, and his cousin, Ronan, to sweets at the corner shop.
    Whether he charmed candy from old ladies or, as he grew older, sex from the young ladies, Lorcan had learned that good looks opened many doors.
    But not with Julie Denison. She’d practically slammed her door right in his face.
    When they’d gone out to dinner with Nick and Ronnie some weeks back, she hadn’t even looked at him, barely spoke to him, and when she did, it had been a snide remark about his job running the club, The Playpen. She’d called it the Bada Bing, and referred to him as an Irish Tony Soprano. Actually, he’d been amused by her curt, wry remarks and overall sense of humor. The lass showed spunk. He liked that, and to be honest, he