Her Irish Rogue. Kate Hoffmann

      Claire stepped away from the door and motioned him inside. She sat down on the edge of the bed and he placed the tray on a small table and set it in front of her. Then he poured her a mug of coffee. “There’s milk and sugar,” he said, pointing to the tray.

      “Black is fine.” She took a sip, watching him over the rim of the mug. “What happened last night?”

      “You don’t remember?”

      “Parts of it are a little hazy. I didn’t have that much to drink. Just a few glasses of wine.”

      He walked out the door and returned with her luggage, setting the bags at the foot of the bed. “I think you were more tired than drunk,” Will said. “You got sleepy and I brought you up here and—”

      “And?”

      “And put you to bed.”

      “That’s all?” Claire asked.

      “Yes,” he said. “Well, not entirely. We did mess around a bit before you fell asleep.”

      “Define messing around,” Claire said. “I don’t want to mistranslate here.”

      Will reached out and took her hand, toying with her fingers as he spoke. “We kissed and touched and that was about the end of it. And you invited me to spend the night, but I didn’t want to take advantage.”

      “That was noble of you,” she said.

      “Not that noble. Believe me, I considered taking you up on your offer. I spent most of last night kicking my own arse because I hadn’t. I live on a damned island. Beautiful women don’t come along every day.”

      “I’m sorry,” Claire said.

      “For what?”

      “Leading you on. I—I really didn’t come here for—Well, even though I find you very—” Claire quickly took another sip of her coffee. Why was she having such a difficult time telling him she didn’t want him? Claire groaned inwardly. Maybe because she wanted Will Donovan more than she’d ever wanted a man before?

      “You came here for a vacation,” Will said. He slowly stood. “If you’d like, I’ll take you out today and show you some of the sights.”

      “Thank you. But I thought I’d walk into town and do a little shopping.”

      “Well, be sure to put on something warm. There’s a chill in the air.”

      Claire watched as he walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. She let out a tightly held breath, then flopped back on the bed. In truth, she would have been perfectly happy to spend the entire day with Will, curled up in front of a blazing fire, sipping wine, getting to know each other…more intimately. But she’d come to Trall specifically to find the Druid spring. And if she hoped to accomplish her goal, then she’d have to do some investigative work. And the first person she’d go to see was that Druid priestess that Captain Billy mentioned. If anyone knew about the Druid spring, she would.

      When she’d finished her coffee, Claire unpacked. She followed Will’s advice and picked out a warm wool sweater and a pair of corduroy pants. Then she brushed her teeth and ran a comb through her hair, deciding to forgo makeup. There was no use attracting unwarranted attention from the innkeeper.

      She found Will sitting at the dining room table, a pile of papers spread out in front of him. She watched him, unseen, from the doorway, admiring the handsome features of his face, the strong set of his jaw and the sensuous mouth.

      His hair was thick, an indistinct color somewhere between brown and black, and long enough to brush against his collar. Her fingers twitched as she recalled the feel of it. His profile was almost aristocratic, a perfectly straight nose, a high forehead, a strong chin. She’d always thought Eric the most handsome man she’d ever met, but he seemed rather ordinary compared to Will.

      So how had a man like Will remained unattached? Surely, one of Ireland’s most eligible bachelors had had his choice of available females. He had a charming personality; he was good-looking, polite, with just a hint of bad boy thrown in. And he’d managed to nearly seduce her, a complete stranger, without even trying. Surely there was one attractive, single woman in all of Ireland who’d wanted him for her own.

      Claire cleared her throat as she walked into the room and Will glanced up. He slowly stood, his gaze fixed on her. “Hi,” he said.

      “I’m sorry to interrupt,” Claire said. “I hoped that you might give me some information.”

      “About?”

      “The captain of the mail boat was telling me about a Druid princess—no, priestess—who lives on the island. I’d like to meet her.”

      Will was silent for a long moment. “You want to meet Sorcha? Why?”

      “I don’t know. She sounds…interesting. Does she have a shop in town?”

      Will nodded. “It’s called The Dragon’s Heart. She makes jewelry and little Druid trinkets. But, she’s really a bit—” He paused. “Eccentric. She sometimes has a tendency to promise more than she can deliver. If you’d like to see her, I could take you.”

      “No, I’m just curious. What else would you suggest? I thought I might make a list to be sure I saw everything before I left.”

      Will chuckled. “You don’t need a list. There’s not that much to see. There’s the church. There are some beautiful relics inside and some interesting Celtic crosses in the graveyard. There’s a small museum about the island just back of the post office. And there are some lovely shops along Parsons Street, antiques and such. There’s a tour of the island that leaves at noon from the market square in a horse-drawn carriage. Most of the tourists enjoy that.”

      “And what about the things you find interesting?” she asked.

      “There’s the stone circle,” Will said.

      “Like Stonehenge?”

      “Not nearly as grand. But interesting. I can take you if you’d like. I’m finished here. And after we go, we can stop in town for lunch.”

      Claire considered his invitation, then nodded. What harm could it do? Despite wanting to keep her distance, spending the day with Will would be infinitely more interesting than wandering about the island on her own. And in the light of day she could certainly control her impulses around him. “All right,” she said.

      He held out his hand and she hesitantly placed hers in his. The instant she touched him, Claire regretted accepting his offer. His fingers were warm and strong and she imagined them skimming over her naked skin, raking through her hair, touching her in places far too intimate to contemplate. She tugged her hand away and fumbled with the buttons of her jacket.

      “I just need to grab a coat and we can go,” Will said.

      They walked out the kitchen door to the carriage house. Will helped her into a Range Rover, then circled around and got in the driver’s side. As they bumped down the lane, Claire risked a glance over at him. She smiled to herself. She could look, but touching was a bad idea. Looking couldn’t possibly get her in trouble, could it?

      They drove away from the village, winding around through the barren, windswept hillsides at the center of the island. Once, they had to stop and wait for a flock of sheep to meander across the road. Will pointed out the old stone cottages along the way and the remains of a castle keep that was now nothing more than a pile of rocks.

      They came to the crest of a hill and a moment later, Claire could see the ocean again. Will pulled the Range Rover to a stop. “We’ll have to walk from here,” he said. “It’s not far.”

      She jumped out of the truck and joined him as he started off down a small footpath. He held her hand for most of the way and when the path grew rocky, he walked in front, turning to help her climb over stone fences, his hands firm on her waist as she made her way between rickety wood stiles.