Read Love and Shamrocks: Ballybeg, Book 5 for Free Online Page A

before the tart liquid hit her tongue, she contemplated putting it down, walking away. She took a swig, felt the burn as the alcohol snaked its way to her stomach. Torture at its finest.
    It went down far too quickly.
    Seán watched her, curiosity still reflected in his eyes, but no judgment. He drained his pint and cocked an eyebrow. “Another round?”
    “Yeah,” she said. “Same again for me.” If she was going to get wasted, she might as well do it in the company of a handsome man.
    Two G&Ts later, Clio felt good. More than good. Finally, the horror of the past few months was receding, even if it was a temporary reprieve.
    Seán took her hand, his fingers curling protectively around hers. With his other hand, he caressed her arm, tentatively at first, then with more pressure. Lust, hot and achy, spread lower. Her breathing was slow and steady without a hint of a wheeze.
    “Do you want to get out of here?” He stroked the crook of her elbow in a movement so sensuous she almost gasped aloud. “I have a hotel room for tonight.”
    A hotel room. X-rated visions danced before Clio’s eyes, and her heart skipped a beat. How long since she’d had sex? A year? Longer? The thought of Seán’s fingers working their magic on more skin than she could expose in a public place made her shiver in anticipation.
    “Well?” he prompted, looking directly into her eyes. “What do you say? If you’re not interested, no worries. I can call you a taxi.”
    He was giving her an out, but where would a taxi take her? To her mother’s empty house? She had nowhere else to go. Her skin crawled at the thought of being alone in the house and a night spent tossing and turning in terror. In contrast, the idea of a night spent in a warm bed with a gorgeous companion was seductively appealing.
    “Yeah,” Clio said, “why not?”
    If her path to hell wasn’t paved with good intentions, she’d settle for good sex. 

Chapter Four
    ORLA WAS TROUBLE. Seán had suspected she was trouble when he met her by the fountain, oozing sex appeal and vulnerability. He’d known she was trouble when she slid onto the barstool next to his, wafting perfume and attitude.
    He had a nose for troubled females and an instinct for avoiding women encumbered by baggage. He’d bet his vinyl collection that Orla was both. What was it about her that made him throw his usual caution to the wind? The reckless, restless feeling that had been building inside him all day? Or a more primitive instinct?
    His stomach somersaulted as he watched her sashay across the lobby, her spiky heels clicking against the marble floor. The subtle swing of her hips emphasized her firm, denim-clad buttocks.
Oh, boy
…Seán’s mouth was dry as parchment. Since the afternoon, thoughts of Helen Havelin had intruded on his peace of mind. He needed to quash them with a sledgehammer. What better way to forget than in the arms of a sexy woman?
    And Orla was sexy. She wasn’t beautiful, not in the classic sense. Chin too narrow, nose too large.
But those eyes
…He let out a low whistle. They were the nearest thing to jade he’d ever seen.
    One of her heels skidded on the slick marble. He reached forward and grabbed her arm, steadying her.
    She turned, raised those fabulous green eyes, and his breath caught. “This is the second time you’ve stopped me landing on my face.”
    A hint of a smile teased the corners of her mouth. Her full lips were a natural dusky pink hue. He wanted to kiss them, to nip her delectable little earlobes, to explore the soft skin of her neck.
    He enveloped her dainty hand in his large one, tentative but possessive. “You sure about this? If you’d rather go home, I can make arrangements.”
    “Getting cold feet?” Her voice was low, sultry, teasing, and—in direct contrast to her shabby clothing—flavored with an accent acquired at an exclusive private school.
    “Hell, no. Merely trying to be a gentleman.”
    She looked him straight in the eye, chin