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By Myla Jackson
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Tired of eating sand and dodging bullets, Marine Captain Mack Magnus is ready to relax and enjoy his brother’s Dublin wedding. If that involves a few pints in a quaint Irish pub and getting laid by a pretty Irish lass, all the better.
Instead he winds up getting ordered around by the cousin of the bride. Fed up with her mouthy attitude, he kisses her to shut her up. Now he has a new mission: get into the sexy redhead’s panties.
Busy international model Deirdre Darcy knows the six-foot-four Marine’s type: hit-and-run sex and off to the next port. Fall into bed with an arrogant bastard like Mack? No thanks. When she stumbles upon a couple of Irish gypsies leaving a murder scene, she must go into hiding or become their next victim.
His protective instincts kicking into high gear, Mack whisks Deirdre away to a small town where it’s easier to keep her safe. Except there’s no escape from their growing attraction—or from the one thing neither of them thought they wanted. Love.
Warning: Battle-hardened, ready-to-cut-loose Marine teams up with a stunning Irish lass who thinks she can handle him. You’ll need the luck of the Irish to hang onto your seat for this sexy, suspenseful race across the Emerald Isle.
Lead in: Attracted to each other at their first meeting and after dancing at the bachelor party, Mack and Deirdre are ready to give in to their desires.
Mack locked gazes with Deirdre, refusing to let his eyes feast on her luscious curves.
“I thought you didn't want the complications of a quick fling.”
“I changed my mind.”
He snapped his fingers. “Like that?” Mack shook his head, cursing himself for stalling when she was offering him her body. But the kisses they’d shared had meant more to him than he cared to admit.
“If I take you to bed, will you change your mind again?”
“Not tonight,” she said.
She shook her head. “I’m not here for a relationship. You and I could never work out as a couple. Not in our two careers. I make no guarantees.”
“Good. Because I can give no guarantees.”
“Then we’re good?” She rubbed her naked arms. “Because I’m feeling fairly under dressed here.”
“Come here,” he commanded.
She complied, sliding into his arms. “Are you not going to get naked as well?” Deirdre glanced up at him, raising her brows.
The sensual invitation in her tone washed over him, making his pulse quicken and his groin tighten. “I was enjoying how soft your skin is and how sexy you look in that outfit.”
“Why ’tis nothing but a bit of silk and heels.”
“Exactly.” His hands slid across her naked back and cupped her bottom, lifting her until her legs wrapped around his waist. Then he turned and pressed her against the wall. He bent to nibble at her earlobe and to brush his lips across the pulse pounding at the base of her throat.
“Promise me one thing.”
“Saints preserve us. What?” she gasped.
“The only regret I have is that you are still wearing your clothes.” She caught his face between her palms. “Undress already.”
Copyright © 2014 Myla Jackson
All rights reserved — a Samhain Publishing, Ltd. Publication
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