Read The Mighty Quinns: Riley for Free Online

had a wonderful romance, swept away by an Irish boy with dark hair and sexy blue eyes. And maybe they’d had to part, their desire impossible to satisfy with an ocean—and half a continent—between them.
    Nan scrambled over the bed, crossing her legs in front of her, and rummaged through her carry-on. She found her camera and flipped it on, then held it at arm’s length and took a picture of herself.
    The photo came up on the display screen and she studied her image. She didn’t look any different than she had when she left home yesterday. Her hair was still the same dark, short-cropped style, and her skin was still impossibly pale. Maybe she was just more attractive to Irish men than American men.
    Her stomach growled and she pressed her hand to her belly. She should have been ready for a nap, ready to recover from a case of jet lag. But instead, Nan felt energized. She threw open her suitcase and pulled out her shampoo and soap. She’d take a shower, get dressed and walk down to the village for a late lunch—with Riley.
    With a laugh, she jumped off the bed and stripped out of her clothes. “I love Ireland,” she murmured. “And I adore Irish men.”

2
    â€œW HERE THE BLOODY HELL have you been?”
    Riley tugged off his jacket and stepped behind the bar. He grabbed an apron from the drawer and tied it around his waist. His cousin Martin glared at him from beneath a shock of spiked magenta hair. When he wasn’t hauling Riley’s gear or setting up a show, the twenty-two-year-old had worked at the pub and managed to find something to complain about every day of the week.
    It was well past the lunch rush and only a few patrons were still sitting inside the dimly lit pub. Riley had decided to take a detour after dropping Nan off at the cottage, grabbing a quick shower and shave at his flat above the pub before coming downstairs.
    â€œI told you, I had to run up to Shannon and pick up that lady who booked the cottage.”
    â€œYour car’s been parked out front all morning. How did you get there?”
    â€œI took the Fiat. I needed to buy new tires for it. You made it through lunch on your own, so what’s your gripe?”
    â€œMy gripe is these three bastards sitting at the bar,” he said, pointing to the Ballykirk barflies, affectionately known as the Unholy Trinity. “They got every last penny of me tips, shiftless eedjits.”
    â€œYou know better than to gamble with them. They’re notorious cheats. And you’re far too gullible.”
    This caused a vigorous protest from the elderly trio—Markus Finn, Dealy Carmichael and Johnnie O’Malley. “Oh, change the boy’s nappy there,” Dealy teased. “He’s nothing but a mewling babby, that one.”
    Riley held out his hand and wiggled his fingers. “Give it up, boys. I’ve never known you to play a game of chance without fixing the odds squarely in your direction. Was it the marked cards or the loaded dice?”
    They reluctantly dug into their pockets and pulled out handfuls of coins and bills. Martin scooped up his tips and shoved them back in his apron, then wagged his finger at the old men. “You’ll not be doin’ that again. I won’t fall for your tricks.”
    He strode off to the kitchen in a foul temper, the three men chuckling to themselves. “We’ve got to teach the boy,” Johnnie said. “Every time you take Martin to Dublin, that band of yours robs him blind.”
    â€œNever mind the lad,” Markus said, waving his hands. “Tell us about this lady you picked up, Riley. Dealy here has been suffering under a long, painful dry spell. Is she pretty? Or does she look like Johnnie’s bulldog?”
    â€œDealy won’t care,” Johnnie said. “Without his eyeglasses, he’d fall in love with a milk cow. But he does like a girl with some meat on her bones.”
    â€œYou don’t know