The Mighty Quinns: Riley Read Free Page B

than kissing the Blarney stone, you know.”
    â€œThis is not how I imagined my vacation going,” she murmured.
    When they reached the first landing, Riley stopped and turned back to her. “I’m sorry if I’ve been acting like a wanker.” He held out his hand and she grasped it. “We’ll begin again. Hello, Miss Galvin. I’m Riley Quinn. Welcome to Ireland. I hope you enjoy your stay.”
    Nan smiled, staring down at their hands, so casually joined. He had beautiful hands, long, tapered fingers. So he was a nice guy at heart. “See, that wasn’t so difficult.” The warmth of his hand seeped into hers and she realized the attraction she’d first felt for him was still there, only multiplied. A tingle snaked up her arm. He was handsome and funny and even a bit chivalrous. If he could sing, he’d be the perfect man. “Thank you,” she said.
    He held on, a lot longer than she considered polite. His thumb gently stroked the back of her hand, turning a benign greeting into something almost sexual. She didn’t really mind. It felt nice. “The car is just up here,” he finally said, his voice soft, his gaze fixed on her face.
    Nan tugged her hand away then stuck it in her jacket pocket for safekeeping. “Lead on,” she said.
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    R ILEY DOWNSHIFTED the car as they approached the interchange, then looked over his shoulder as he turned onto the roundabout. When another car nearly cut him off, he laid on the horn, cursing beneath his breath. He’d never make it back to the pub for the lunch rush, so why bother trying?
    Nan was sitting stiffly in her seat, her eyes wideand her hands folded on her lap as if she were praying. “Don’t worry, I’ve never had a wreck.”
    â€œIt’s a…” She cleared her throat. “It’s a feckin’ miracle,” she finished, imitating his Irish accent perfectly.
    Her use of an Irish curse seemed so ridiculous coming from a proper little thing like her, he couldn’t help but laugh. “There you go. You’ll fit right in with a mouth like that.”
    She grinned. “When in Ireland…”
    Gad, she was pretty, Riley mused. Not at all what he usually pictured when he thought of American women. He’d met a fair number of American students in pubs all over Ireland, but his image had been finely honed early in life, by old episodes of Baywatch —long blond hair, tight bodies and tanned skin. And breasts that seemed a lot larger than those provided by nature.
    Nan was fresh and feisty, with a very simple, straightforward beauty. Her short-cropped black hair curled softly around her face and long, dark lashes ringed vivid green eyes. She was stubborn and opinionated, the kind of woman who would make charming her a tough go, even for the most experienced Casanova. But then, Riley enjoyed a challenge.
    Though he had been anxious to get back to the pub, now that they were on their way, Riley decided to get off the expressway and enjoy the rest of the trip. The local roads back to Ballykirk provided a picturesque drive and he found himself wanting to spend a bit more time with Nan before delivering her to the cottage.
    â€œSo, you mentioned that your family had a pub. Doyou serve lunches there? I’m starving. The food on the plane was awful.”
    â€œBest lunch in all of Ballykirk,” he said.
    â€œAre you the cook?”
    â€œNo. I tend to the bar every now and then.”
    â€œYou’re a bartender.”
    â€œNo. Actually, I make my living as a musician. I write songs and sing. At the Hound and at other pubs around Ireland.”
    â€œYou sing,” she said, as if surprised by the news. “Really? Are—are you famous?”
    â€œDepends on what you consider famous. I’m no Elvis. But people know who I am. They come to see me. They buy my CDs. But I’m not planning a stadium tour anytime soon.”
    â€œMaybe I can