Page 123 of Experiments in Offline Dating

“She’s . . .” Tadhg started, “your date.”

“She’s not my date.”

“Umm,” Tadhg said.

“Umm,” I said.

“No offense, dear, but you’re not my type.” The weight of the words made it pretty clear. Oh, it all makes sense! “You are, though,” he said to Tadhg, because we seemed to be slow on the uptake. “I said tall, dark, and handsome, but maybe I wasn’t clear enough with Jackie.” His eyes roved unapologetically over Tadhg. “One way or another, he definitely delivered right enough.”

It took less than thirty seconds to unravel. Tadhg apologized profusely. We had the rest of the tea and cake in complete silence.

The very best part was when the robin, with his pretty red breast and perfectly round little ball of a body, hopped down under my seat. Tadhg held Finn’s collar tight, but she just lowered slowly to get a closer look while the fearless little robin ate his carrot cake crumbs. When he was done, I gave Finn a chunk too, and they were the only two of us who left Nan Phaidi’s feeling satisfied.

Conclusion: date unsuccessful.

Uncontrollable variable: the irresistible attractions of Tadhg Kelly.

Chapter 38 An Experiment Forged in Fire

We cycled back to return the bikes and pick up our suitcases. It was only a fifteen-minute walk to the B&B, and the bike guy told us about a shortcut through the park. People spoke Irish here as a first language. I was in awe at how easily Tadhg spoke back—having learned it from his mother. It was very sexy. That tongue of his was very talented.

It was starting to drizzle, but we walked on, followed directions, and—lo and behold—this B&B was also not a B&B, because we were clearly complete morons who had learned absolutely nothing.

It was cottage-core perfection—slightly crooked blooming garden outside, exposed beams and a large fireplace inside, every inch decorated with just the right amount of charm, history, and character. The kitchen was beautiful, and the old windows looked out over the windswept sea. It was something out of a movie. It was the cottage from The Holiday.

But the thing of it was, it was the sort of Airbnb with a lockbox. No one else living there—no little old lady to greet us and cook us breakfast. And while we did at least have real mattresses and two separate bedrooms, the place was tiny, and we had it all to ourselves, and—because who would possibly know what we did in here when there was no one for miles to hear us scream—sex was implied.

My stomach gave a lurch as soon as the thought arrived unbidden to my mind and took root. I needed to get out of that tiny kitchen, where Tadhg had leaned his hips back casually against the counter like he was the master of this cottage and he was going to take me in every room of it. I had to physically stop myself from pushing up against him and kissing him breathless. I needed to think of something else, anything else.

“Ugh. I’m already so cold and wet,” I said, turning to walk away as I started to pull my damp outer layers off. “I can’t believe we have to go back out to get dinner.”

“Why don’t I go to the shop, and we can cook something simple here?”

“Really? You’d do that? You’re going to get soaked.”

“I’m already soaked. You go and have a hot bath, and I’ll be back in two ticks.”

I practically purred. “Oh my God. I’d love you forever.” At that, his face did something strange. Shit! Shitty shit shit! Why don’t you ever think before you speak, you idiot? Turds in a basket!

He cleared his throat. “Is there something that you . . . want?” He gestured to the door so that neither of us was confused.

“Just to peel these wet clothes off and let you do all the hard work,” I said. Tadhg coughed. Then he spun away from me in a motion way too reactionary to be normal. No. You did not just say that. “I mean like . . . hard cooking work. Okay, thank you so much, bye!” I spat out and hurried away. Uggggh. At least Tadhg was gone, and I could use that time to get my fucking self together.

The claw-foot tub was made out of my fantasies. They’d installed a massive, modern single-pane window that looked out to the sea and had no curtain, no place to hide. I felt risqué as I undressed and slid naked into the deliciously steaming water, bubbles like sea foam curling around my breasts.

I thought of nothing but Tadhg for the next fifty-some-odd minutes.

When I emerged pink and damp, wrapped in a robe, hair wet, I had to pass through the open-plan kitchen/living room space to get to my room. Tadhg had put music on a travel speaker, some song about blue eyes sung softly by a man with an Irish accent, and there was Tadhg, dutifully chopping and washing and stirring. Even his fully clothed back was too much for me to handle.

“Nothing hotter than a man in the kitchen,” I said, like a horny fool.

He turned around. His eyes tracked every inch of me. Leave. Walk away. Run! I urged my body to go, but I was rooted there.

His eyes darkened and he took an audible breath in, his gaze traveling from my wet hair down the seam of the towel. “Go get dressed,” Tadhg said softly, and then turned around to the stove. “Please.”

When I came back out in leggings and a big, stretched-out sweater, Tadhg was building a fire, his back to me and broad shoulders shifting under a plaid green flannel, like something right out of the Foreplay for Dummies manual. My vagina did a double take.

I watched silently like a pervert while he finished and set a match to it, the flames crackling into life. This perfect B&B was a big mistake. This whole island was one big damn mistake. I asked the universe to make me strong enough to withstand this unholy amount of temptation. I knew I didn’t have a chance. I asked that the storm, which was blowing against the windows in a very sexily dramatic manner, would swallow the whole damn island into the sea so that we could go down with it. I would sizzle in the waves, I’m so fucking hot for him right now.