Love and Shamrocks: Ballybeg, Book 5 Read Online Free PDF Page A

flew to the bridge of his nose. A slow smile curved his lips. “Yeah. Keep meaning to get it fixed.”
    “Don’t. It adds character.”
    He chuckled, a rich sound that sent tingles skittering over her skin. “I’m glad you like it.”
    She shouldn’t, but she did. And she rather liked him. She wasn’t in the market for a man, but a bit of harmless flirtation would take her mind off her problems, keep her from dwelling on her worries.
    Clio cocked her head to the side and stared directly into his electric blue eyes. “You in the habit of rescuing damsels in distress?”
    His grin grew wider. “Only ones wearing sexy shoes.”
    Heat prickled her neck, and she shifted her focus to the hint of dark stubble grazing his jaw. This guy was too sexy by half. In an alternate reality—one excluding the turmoil of the past few months—she’d have been all over him. She swallowed past the stubborn lump of regret lodged in her throat.
    Mr. Sexy took her bare arm. The searing heat from the skin-to-skin contact made her breath catch. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s nab those stools while they’re still free.”
    He maneuvered a path through the crowd, past the well-dressed drinkers fumigating the atmosphere with warring designer scents. Clio’s nose itched, and she felt the familiar asthmatic catch in her chest. Given the stress of the evening, it was a wonder she hadn’t yet needed her inhaler.
    “Here we are.” Mr. Sexy stopped before two vacant stools by the bar’s chrome counter. The warmth of his palm on the small of her back was reassuring. He guided her to one of the stools, and she clambered up, her torso brushing his as she sat. Her cheeks grew even hotter.
    Gosh, she had to get a grip. She was acting like a teenager with her first crush, not the world-weary cynic life had chiseled her into. Besides, any man of sense would run if he knew the trouble she was in.
    Clio inhaled sharply and focused on the bottles behind the bar. They were arranged on frosted-glass shelves, artfully lit to draw attention to the most expensive. Her mother would love this joint. It would appeal to her delusions of grandeur.
    The thought of Helen precipitated another wave of panic. Clio’s heart pounded, and she reached for the inhaler in her jeans pocket.
    Her fist closed round the inhaler when a barman slid into view, resplendent in a crisp white shirt and black bow tie. “What can I get you?” he asked, studiously ignoring Clio’s disheveled appearance.
    “A pint of Guinness,” Mr. Sexy said. He turned to Clio. “What are you drinking?”
    She took another look at the display of bottles and exhaled wheezily. They represented a past she’d abandoned twelve years ago. Avoiding alcohol when she was stressed was one of her unwritten rules. Avoiding spirits altogether was another. Her nails dug into her palms. One drink. One drink wouldn’t plunge her back into her former lifestyle. Alcohol had been the least of her issues, after all. And her past problems faded into insignificance when compared to her current predicament.
    “I’ll have a G&T, please. With Bombay Sapphire.” The name tripped off her tongue in near reverence. She hadn’t tasted its sweet bitterness in over twelve years and had sworn never to do so again, but it wasn’t every day you put yourself beyond redemption.
    “Not going local with Cork Dry?” Mr. Sexy asked, anchoring her in the present. His voice was very deep, very masculine, and sounded like its owner gargled with the finest single-malt whiskey.
    Clio’s skin tingled in giddy anticipation. She’d always had a thing for voices. Unfortunately, that thing for voices had gotten her into trouble a time or ten. She took deep, steady breaths, but her gaze slid over the muscles rippling under her companion’s black silk shirt. Accepting his invitation had been an extremely bad idea. What was she thinking? The security guard would go ballistic if he found her in here.
    “I don’t do local,” she said