I close my eyes. My back is fully arched and I am balancing on my tippy toes. The angle is perfect and the sensations are coming strong now. I reach my hand down behind me and find his balls and with a light touch I begin to tickle. He groans louder. His groaning turns me on so much. His pleasure is my pleasure. He reaches for my nipple and tugs on it. It is too much for me. How does he know exactly what to do to me? Exactly where to touch me?

“Jesus, I’m coming. Micheál!”

“Agghh!!!” The sound he emits is primal. It seems to come from his very core. I touch his cheek with my fingers and drop kisses all over his face. He’s breathing heavily, panting just like I am.

“Wow,” I say when I finally get my breath back.

“Wow,” he agrees, kissing me back. Laughing and deliciously spent, we collapse on the now dewy grass. The moon bathes us in her light, and I fall into a light stupor. His finger traces the outline of my tattoo.

My eyes fly open. I cringe as he examines it carefully. What had seemed so clever and witty when I decided to get it now feels like a tramp stamp or a slag tag.

“Well, I guess I’d better follow the signs,” he murmurs as he makes his way south.

“Oh, no, no. Really, you don’t have to…” I protest, genuinely worried that I do not have another orgasm in me.

His tongue nudges that place that never fails to send me into orbit and I begin to melt away. Maybe I’ll just cease to be, disappear… Putting one hand under my butt cheek he reaches for my nipple with the other. The heat is rising inside me again, and when I come this time, my hips jerk heavenward while he massages my breast hard.

“Jesus Christ, Micheál, I…” Whatever I was going to say is lost in a wave of unbridled joy, thank God. Easy, Erin. Go slow now, Girl. You are gettin’ waaay too carried away. I have never connected physically in this way with another human being and I’m afraid that my brain is being excluded from this soul to soul dance. Is this simply serious desire? Intense lust? Or something else? Are we connecting here in a way that doesn’t happen every other day? My heart would like to think we are but my head knows better than to invite romantic complications into the mix just now.

Later, as we lie staring up at the heavens and neither one of us has spoken in some time, my mind gears up a notch and doubt takes hold. I wonder if he thinks I’m easy now. This is still Ireland after all; it’s cool for men to do as they please sexually, but women are still breaking out of some very entrenched roles. It the Madonna/Whore complex shite, and I don’t mean the singer. Basically, there are girls that you fuck and there are girls that you marry. Not that I’m looking to get married, no way José! But still…

I turn to him and try to keep my voice light and breezy. “Don’t worry, I’ll still respect you in the morning.”

He shifts up onto his elbow and kisses me on the lips. “That’s a relief, ‘cause I don’t usually do this quite so quickly.”

“Me either,” I gush a little and then recover. “I mean, I’m pretty busy with the bar an all.”

He just stays there looking at me and smiling.

“What?” Nobody has ever looked at me this way before.

“Nothing. I’m just looking at you. You’re beautiful, that’s all.”

As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing sexier than being told I’m beautiful. I roll into his arms and we start making love all over again.

I have no idea of the time when we eventually leave the island, but the sun is beginning its climb over the horizon and the world is tinged with yellow and orange. As we moor the boat at Doolin, I glance at the name painted on the side— Surf ’n’ Turf.

“Hey! This is your boat!”

He’s just finishing tying the rope and is helping me out onto the dock. I haven’t found my land legs yet and I fall into his arms when I try to stand.

“Whoa! I gotcha,” he laughs, catching me. “’Tis mine, but you looked like ye were in need of a bit of excitement … hence the earlier subterfuge.”

“Well, I think I’ve probably had about as much excitement as I can bear, but thank you. It’s been a wonderful night.” I stand up on my tippy-toes, wobbling, and kiss him. He kisses me back, warming me to my toes.

“Where are you staying?”

“Mrs. O’Grady’s B&B. Do you know it?”

“I surely do. I’ll walk you back.”

My feet barely touch the ground all the way home. The only blip on the horizon is that Ridlee might just very well end my life today, but right now it feels worth it…

CHAPTER TWELVE

RIDLEE

DONAL AND I LEAVE THE bar and all its noise behind. The air is crisp and completely missing any scent of car exhaust or smog. I’m not sure if my lungs can handle all this freshness. Regardless, I pull in a couple lungfuls of the stuff and let it out slowly. All that Guinness is making me feel giddy inside and light headed. Or maybe it’s this giant hunk of man walking next to me. He really is pretty damn cute. When did well-worn jeans and workboots become cute on a man? Just now.

“So, you’re visiting¸ eh?” he asks, his accent obvious even with this short sentence.

“Yep. I’m from the U.S.”

He’s facing forward as we walk, but using shorter strides than I think he normally would so I can keep up.

“And what brings you to the green isle?” he asks.

“Oh, I’m just here with a friend. Erin is her name. I guess her family is from around here. We’re just here for a couple days.”

His voice is deep, yet soft. “That’s too bad.”

My heart flips a little over that. I have no answer for him but I do have a question. Should I ask it? My Guiness-pickled brain says, Yes! Ask away!

“Why is it too bad?” Do you like me? Do you want to kiss me? Do you want to do more with me? Because I might say yes, Donal! I just might. All you have to do is ask.

“Because there’s no way you can see enough of Ireland to appreciate it in just a couple days. You’ll miss all the best parts.”

I’m disappointed in his answer, and that’s just plain stupid. I really did drink too much beer tonight. Not only am I getting all ooey-gooey over some complete stranger just because he’s a big daddy hunk, but I’m also letting my mouth get ahead of my brain. Think, Ridlee. Be smart. Be witty. Don’t be a dweeb.

“Maybe I’ve already seen all the best parts.”

“Have you been to Boyne Valley?”

“No.”

“Ring of Kerry?”

“Nope.”

He’s sounding more confident as he continues. “The Giant’s Causeway?”

“Uhhh, no. Not that place either.”

“Tell me you’ve at least paid a visit to the Guiness Storehouse.”

I suck in a loud, hissing breath. “Ooo, that sounds important.” Uncle Miley would be so disappointed in me. I didn’t even know the place existed, but I’m sure that won’t be an acceptable excuse in his world.

“How can you say you’ve seen the best of Ireland when you’ve managed to miss all of those places?”

Should I flirt or just play it safe? I decide to split the difference.

“Well, I’ve seen your lovely home town. I like that place a lot. And I’m going to visit the Cliffs of Moher tomorrow, so that counts, right?”

He’s silent long enough that it makes me look over. His expression has gone serious, when before I could have sworn I heard a smile in his voice.