Bride Of The Emerald Isle. Trish WylieЧитать онлайн книгу.
the atmosphere. It had to be. The setting, the mist, the lengthy dramatic entrance he’d made across the field looking the way he did. She was being seduced by the moment. That was all.
A form of escapism from her fear of the thing she was here to discover, possibly?
She squared her shoulders. There wasn’t any time for fantasy here. She hadn’t travelled halfway across the country to fawn over the first good-looking man she met.
‘If you could just point me in the right direction? That would be very helpful, thank you.’
‘I can do better than that.’ He set his walking stick on the wall and, leaning on one hand, vaulted over it, landing neatly on his feet in front of her as she stepped back to make room for him. He then studied her up close and personal, his toffee eyes meltingly warm.
‘I’ll take you there.’
Oh, no, Keelin didn’t think so. She read a lot of murder mysteries, thank you. And this man was dangerous enough as it was, looking and sounding the way he did…
‘No, it’s fine, thanks. I can find it if you point me the right way.’
‘I’m going that way.’
Not with her, he wasn’t. ‘Really, I’m sure I can—’
‘Aren’t there any gentlemen left in the big cities these days?’
Not so much. But that wasn’t the point. ‘You’re a complete stranger, I don’t know you.’
‘Well, that’s easily remedied.’ He reached out a large hand. ‘I’m Garrett—’
‘I don’t actually need to know who you are, either. I’m sorry. I just need to get where I’m going. I’m not here to get picked up by strangers in the middle of nowhere.’
The hand dropped back to his side. ‘Bit full of yourself, aren’t you?’
Keelin noted how his face remained impassive, but a twinkle of light stayed in his eyes, hinting at his amusement. Lord, but he was tempting. A nine point nine on the Romance Richter scale. But she refused point-blank to allow herself to be swayed by him. Her mother had come to this place once and been ‘swayed’ and look where that had got her!
The thought refocused her, so, instead of allowing herself to be tempted by his obvious charms, she frowned, crossing her arms across her chest and tilting her chin as she answered. ‘Look, Mr—’
‘Garrett.’
Her frown upgraded to a scowl at the sound of his steady deep tone and her own visceral response to it. Well, her attempt at a cool brush-off hadn’t worked, so she’d have to be direct.
‘Garrett. I’m sure there’s more than enough female fodder amongst the usual tourists here to keep you amused for a few months a year. But I’m not a tourist. Neither am I on the market as fodder. And I won’t be here long enough to be swayed by you turning on the rustic charm. So why don’t you just point a finger in the general vicinity of where I need to go and I’ll spread the word to the tourist board about how friendly the locals are.’ She added a sugary-sweet smile for good measure.
‘I thought you said you weren’t a tourist?’
The calm tone to his voice made her falter briefly. ‘I’m not.’
‘Well, then, how are you going to tell the tourist board that you noticed I had rustic charm?’
What was she now, a magnet for wise guys? Perfect. She sighed. ‘Forget it. I’ll find it myself.’
Even that jolly local prankster Patrick wouldn’t have sent her in the wrong direction.
Garrett fell into step beside her and when she glared sideways at him she almost tripped over one of the Springers.
One large hand shot out and caught her elbow, steadying her, long fingers curling in and around as she leaned briefly into his strength.
But she recovered quickly, snatching her elbow away, yanking her body back from his, and spinning round to look up at him while still glaring. ‘Would you just go away?’
‘I already told you I was going this way.’
‘Well, then, I’ll just wait right here ’til you’re gone before I start walking again.’
His mouth quirked, teasing at his dimples as he silently watched her folding her arms again. Then he mirrored the movement, blinking down at her with an intense gaze. ‘Are you always this rude to someone who’s trying to be a gentleman?’
‘Only when I’m stranded in the middle of what could be, as far as I know, the killing fields of Co. Kerry. Bodies might never be found way out here.’
‘Do I look like a mass murderer to you?’
‘You wouldn’t have to be a mass murderer—there’s only one of me.’
His eyes glowed. ‘Well, I’m one of the good guys, honest. And I know where I’m going. You could dander on up this road and walk off the cliffs if I let you. And that would definitely ruin my reputation as a good guy.’
Keelin stared at him for a long, long moment. Well, just because…
Then she finally shook her head, recognizing that the spark in his eyes was teasing, not the least little bit threatening. Though how she could possibly have known that so surely after ten minutes stunned her. It was too surreal. She just really needed coffee—a nice mocha cappuccino maybe. And the gentle hum of traffic in the background that would fill the ‘if you scream noone will hear you’ void. And not to have walked so far already in one morning would be good, too.
Mind you, so would sleeping a single wink the night before she’d come out on this quest of hers in the first place…
When she said nothing, merely unfolding her arms and staring up at him, Garrett’s mouth twitched again. He was obviously easily amused.
One of the bouncing Springers seemed to notice there was tension in the air and decided to help dissipate it by jumping up to say hello, leaving a matching set of paw-prints on her pale beige trousers.
Keelin flinched, as much out of surprise as anything else. She liked dogs, normally.
‘Down, Ben!’ Garrett’s voice sounded firmly and the dog obeyed immediately, moving around his master’s legs to sit at his side before looking upwards with an expression of apologetic adoration.
Keelin glanced down at her trousers. ‘Oh, terrific.’ She raised both arms from her sides and let them drop. ‘That’s just great.’
‘They’re a little over-friendly at times.’
Ignoring the rueful tone to his voice she smiled sarcastically. ‘Seems to be a glut of that here, doesn’t there?’
His eyes studied the paw-prints, then dropped lower. ‘Are those supposed to be wellingtons?’
Keelin looked down too. ‘They are wellingtons.’
She should know; she’d bought them especially for her trip, after all. Not much call for wellingtons in the middle of Dublin.
When he continued to study them she raised her eyes and studied the top of his head. Lord, he even had gorgeous hair: thick, sleek, deep chocolate brown, the kind of hair that begged to have fingers thread through it.
What were they talking about again? Oh, yes. ‘What’s wrong with them?’
‘They have flowers on them.’
Keelin nodded and spoke slowly. ‘Y-e-s, I’m a girl.’
His head rose, toffee eyes sparkling again as his voice dropped to a more intimate tone. ‘Yeah, I got that.’
Her cheeks warmed.
‘It’s just that wellingtons normally come in green or black.’
‘Or