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He rakes fingers through his hair, mussing it. “I was.” That crazy, intense gaze of his holds me like a freeze ray. “Then I met this girl with rusty brown eyes at a golf tournament who turns me inside out.”
No one has ever accused me of turning them inside out.
There’s a low rumble in Jack’s throat. “I don’t take my opportunity on this show lightly. God, whatThe Chieftain’s Soncan do for a career, I can’t piss away. For the next five years, and most likely five after that, I’ve got to project an image that keeps people coming back for more season after season.” He slaps a hand against the closest rail. I hope he doesn’t get splinters. “They won’t even let me cut my damn hair. They’re hell-bent on painting a Jack O’Leary that’s as fictional as Donal Cam.”
For a man who is riding the crest of a colossal break in his career, Jack looks miserable.
I lay a hand on his arm. “I’ve lived in a show business family my whole life. I’m aware how thin the line between real and unreal can get.”
His look of relief softens my heart toward him. I start to suspect the PR-painted Jack O’Leary is not the man I just kissed.
“If I can convince you to get to know me better, it’d be a bit of a cat-and-mouse game with Meg. She’s brilliant at what she does and only wants the best for the show, but there’s not a lot of flexibility there.” He kicks at a clump of straw on the floor. “I know what I’m asking you is this side of mad, but patience is not something I’m good with.”
I close my eyes and feel a wave of unease. For the love of God, what am I doing? This intriguing man is intrigued with me. He’s being honest about the potential ugly underbelly of getting closer to him. Jack O’Leary, the star, must be unfettered by emotional attachments, yet here I am on the brink of taking him up on his offer to know each other better.
“What do you say, Gillian? Are you up for some time with me?”
“I’m up to you driving me back to Waterville. Even though it feels like I’m cheating on Patrick.”
After checking that we’re alone in the stable, Jack presses his mouth against mine for a quick kiss, then whispers in my ear. “We’ll figure a way round the Donal Cam muck, Gilly.”
He sounds confident, but I already feel my shoe sinking in that muck. Does he fathom how much pressure he’s putting on me? The man is pushy and, by his own admission, impatient, but despite my better judgement, I’m powerfully drawn to him.
We walk side by side out of the stable and across the arena, chatting like any two regular work chums at the end of their shift.
Chums who just happened to have shared a kiss or two.
I’ve flown five thousand miles to escape one secret relationship that’s slowly been crushing my heart for months. This is my fresh start. How many degrees of stupid am I to jump back into the same situation? More degrees than I care to think about. Isn’t this how Treat and I started, electric kisses and calculating every rendezvous?
I head back to my nook to get my purse before I meet Jack in the parking lot, which I’ve learned is called the car park. Am I falling into a classic rebound? Or is it only a rebound when you are actually looking for someone? I am most definitely not looking. Jack just happened. The guy Googled me for heaven’s sake. That’s a first for me. And look at the man. The ratio of women who Google him to whom he Googles has got to be very out of balance.
A fire in my gut reminds me that any loyalty I may still harbor for Treat died a splintery death on an oak tree against Lanie Blesch’s back. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with kissing Jack. I’ve locked lips with plenty of guys on first dates. How is he any different? I’m not a freakin’ nun.
I kissed Jack out of curiosity. Well, curiosity and an attraction that feels like a super-sized electromagnet.
Through the main double doors, I catch sight of Jack scratching a donkey behind the ear. One of Doolin’s, no doubt. My curiosity is strong enough to take the small step he’s asking for. I’m up for fun, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let anything happen between us to send me back into a situation filled with deceit and disappointment.
ChapterSeven
When the time came for me to drive in Ireland, I expected a steering wheel on the opposite side of the car and keeping to the left side of the road to freak me out. I did not foresee the harrowing experience of being a passenger on the wrong side, especially when the driver fancies himself a Formula One racer. Toss in roads barely wider than a single car with no streetlights, and I’m trapped in a recipe for automotive terror.
Jack points across me into the darkness. “Down that road is the primary school where my mom teaches.”
I want to yell at him to keep both hands on the wheel. Huge chunks of rock and barely clipped hedges are so close to my side of the car I’d sheer off an arm if I stuck it out the window.
“Your mom’s a teacher?” Talk about grounded. It’s cool that his mom is regular folk. Jack may be an actor that needs to be rescued from pubs, but at the end of the day, he’s not the son of a corporate mogul who thinks his shit doesn’t stink. Wow, I’ve gone close to thirty minutes without thinking about Treat. Well done, me.
“Yeah, first class.”
Ah, first class. That’s so sweet. I love my mom, but I’ve never called her “first class.” What time is it back home? I have an urge to call my mom just to tell her I think she is first class. If Amethyst Bettencourt hadn’t bequeathed her love of romance novels to me, this life-changing twist may have passed me by. I wouldn’t be in a car with a man whose profile looks like the woodcut of a Norse god.
There’s adoration on Jack’s face as he talks about his mom. “She used to teach fourth class but says there’s nothing better than being with kids starting to read.”
First class? Fourth class? Oh, he means first grade and fourth grade.
“Mom’s always got a book in her hand. She readLord of the Ringsaloud to my sister and me when we were still in primary school. My nieces’ll be eight and ten this year, so they’ll be getting the same.” He glances over to me then right back to the road. “They’ll be quite impressed with their Gran’s Gimli the dwarf.”
“Sounds like you’re lucky not to be named Elrond.”
