Page 1

Chapter 1

Oliver Icefall had made it through two years of surgeries, a year of recovery, a stint of blindness, lingering concentration problems, and perpetual headaches. But he couldn’t make it through the damn front door.

Almost three months ago, he’d tracked the man who destroyed his life to Ireland, only for the bastard to disappear.

And now that he was here, he couldn’t manage a single step outside.

He knew what he’d find just outside that door he couldn’t make himself cross—endless green pastures, a vein of a road leading to the small town not even a mile away, the ruins of a seventh-century abbey across the way, and cows. A whole herd of them grazed nearby.

And yet he couldn’t cross the fucking front step.

Bang, bang, bang.

He jumped at the loud, unexpected pounding.

Once, he’d liked surprises. His temporary bout of blindness had cured him of that.

Who would bother him here? Oliver wasn’t expecting company. Over the last few months, he’d tried to escape company. For one, he didn’t look the same. He didn’t feel the same. And he didn’t want visitors.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

An insistent intruder.

Mrs. Buckley knew better than to knock. She brought his groceries every Sunday and did a quick clean while he stayed upstairs.

Had the bored, unemployed online sleuths or clickbait scum found him here? They’d made his Los Angeles home a living hell for years. He’d thought the world had moved on by now—then again, the American asshole at the Dublin airport had recognized him. The fucker had set off his first panic attack in months.

The knocking resumed. Even more unrelenting this time.

Fighting the nausea gathering in the corners of his mouth, he closed his clammy hand over the handle and yanked—quick like a Band-Aid.

Sharp, bright daylight pierced straight to his brain and almost brought him to his knees. It had taken him weeks to see again and the brilliant light still bothered him, amplifying the headache he’d failed to shake all day. Hell, all month.

The painful shards of sunshine illuminated a woman he’d never met before but recognized instantly. The verdant pastures beyond framed her like a bucolic halo.

He squinted against the caustic light, taking in her frizzed, marmalade-red hair piled on top of her head, pale skin sprinkled with freckles, wide green eyes—

The trespasser leaped into his arms. “Sweetheart, I’m home!”

His arms closed around her instinctively. She smelled like marshmallows and orange blossoms, and was soft and warm against him. Her full breasts pillowed against his chest as she pressed herself closer.

The amber fan of her lashes lowered as her gaze fixed on his lips. “Kiss me, damn it.”

Her voice reminded him of a cool spring. Fresh and sweet and crystal-clear. She’d only said four words, but he thirsted for more. What would she sound like when she was amused? Happy? Aroused?

Even the current irritation in her voice felt like sensuous invitation.

What the hell kind of reaction was this to her?

He cleared his throat, dry from disuse. “What—”

The woman didn’t give him time to ask questions. Instead, she lifted on her toes and flattened her soft, dry lips against his.

Oliver froze.

No one—except for the surgeons, doctors, and nurses, he realized with a pang of bitterness—had touched him in three years.

He hadn’t wanted anyone to touch him. Until now. Until her.