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Thankfully, a familiar silver and blue Renault pulls up to the curb and idles. With an assist from my Atlantic tailwind, I fly to the passenger side of the car and grab the handle. The car lurches forward as my ghostly appearance nearly sends Jack into cardiac arrest.
“Mother of God, woman,” he says as I surge into the passenger seat and slam the door.
It’s blissfully warm inside the car. “Do you have seat warmers?”
My Celtic god punches the control to toast my ass. He envelopes me in an all-consuming hug. Hot breath flows down my neck until my lips are taken in a kiss that ignites a steady pulse between my legs.
Damp lips trap my earlobe, and a deep, rumbling voice whispers, “Good morning, love.”
Love. Calling people “love” is pretty common for the Irish, but to hear the word from Jack to me, even in this casual way, is overwhelming. Deep in my gut, I wonder how it might feel if he ever used the word in a more meaningful way.
What are you doing to yourself, Gilly?Carts, horses—once again completely out of order.
When he settles back in his seat, I miss the touch of his lips on mine. “Waterville is already part way ‘round the Ring of Kerry.” I learn the Ring of Kerry is the road we’re on and not the land. The “ring” circles the Iveragh Peninsula, the area where Jack was born and raised before he went off to Dublin and Trinity college.
“First, I’m going to take you to Portmagee, and if the Atlantic is cooperative this morning, we’ll jump on a boat out to the Skelligs.”
Jack is proud, showing off this land he so clearly loves. “And a Skellig is…a sea monster? A shipwreck?”
“It means rock in the sea.” He squeezes the back of my neck. “You’ve so much to learn.”
“As in island?”
“Oh, so much more than an island. It’s the sanctuary inSkies of Wind and Mist,where one of Donal Cam’s Chieftains, the King of West Munster, flees to escape the King of Cashel.” The look on my face while I connect these dots makes him chuckle. “Third book down in the stack I left on your desk.”
“Oh, my gosh. I’ve never thanked you for the books. That was so sweet of you.” I lean across the car and kiss the corner of his mouth. As I hoped, it coaxes his lips into a smile I could stare at for hours, days, the rest of my life.
“I hope you don’t mind secondhand. Deidre gave ‘em to me when I got cast as himself.”
“You gave me your books?” His generosity touches me. I don’t have the heart to tell him Mom and I share our own set of well-wornChieftain’s Sontomes back in L.A.
“For the love of God, don’t tell her. I bought the set in paperback so I can write all over them without feeling like I’m defacing relics.” He looks quickly at me and then back at the road. I’m starting to notice his little quirks like the way a sidelong look precedes quick glances before he speaks. “Those stories are my world for the foreseeable future.” There’s another rapid-fire peek in my direction and then away. “It’s a place where I want you with me.”
His sincerity raises a tear in the corner of my eye. I want to tell him to sweep me off my feet and carry me into his world, but I stop myself. We have to go slowly. Our togetherness is tricky. I can’t make promises that might turn out impossible to keep. Being with him is all about fun. A gift to the new Gilly.
“Losing myself in ol’ Donal Cam’s journey is definitely a place I’m growing very fond of.”
Jack’s shoulders relax. I said the right thing, confirmation I’m onboard with giving us a whirl.
He taps the top of the steering wheel with his index finger. “Speaking of Cashel, we’ll have to get you some of their famous bleu cheese. Nothing like it.”
Were the Kings of Cashel cheese moguls? Munster is a cheese as well. Are all Irish kings in the cheese biz? “American history” is a file drawer in my brain from years of schooling. I’m sure Jack has one for Ireland’s past.
“I’d better brush up on Irish history. Any suggestions of a good read?”
“Well, I could steal one of my nieces’ schoolbooks, but my big sister, Bonnie, might well beat the tar out of me for doin’ it.”
I’m hungry for more about Jack’s real life. “Tell me about your nieces.”
His face softens. “The pair of ‘em are near perfect.” A corner of his lip rises. “Speaking as a proud uncle, of course. Feisty and brilliant. Both gingers like me and their ma. Mary Catherine, my Cat, is ten this spring and Mary Jane, Janie, just had her eighth birthday.”
“You’re close to them.”
“Since the day they were born. I go back and forth between wanting to eat them they’re so delicious or giving them a whack on the bum for their sass.” Jack takes a curve in the road so fast the seat belt nearly strangles me. He’s oblivious to his speed. “Have you ever seen a Puffin?”
“Since I’ve never been to the Arctic, that’s a firm no.”
He laughs. “We’ve got them here abouts. When we get to shooting third season locations, you’ll become acquainted. The Skellig Islands crawl with them.”
