Her Irish Rogue. Kate Hoffmann

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СКАЧАТЬ glanced over his shoulder to see her holding out the crystal tumbler, snuggled into her usual spot on the sofa. Her lips curved into a smile he knew all too well, one she’d used on any number of men to great success, weaving her spell about them until they were defenseless against her charms. Will had fallen prey the summer he’d returned to the island three years ago, indulging in a brief but passionate affair with Sorcha.

      But in the end, after six tempestuous months, they realized they’d made much better friends than lovers. Until just last year, Sorcha had still been convinced he was the only man for her. So she had used every Druid power she possessed to make his life miserable. In fact, he still carried one or two of her curses. “Why should I fetch you a whiskey?” he asked, relaxing into an overstuffed chair across from the sofa.

      “You’re the host here. I’m the guest.”

      “And you invited yourself to supper,” Will reminded her.

      “Please, fetch me a whiskey,” Sorcha whined. “Or I’ll put a feckin’ curse on you, Will Donovan.”

      Will crossed the room and grabbed her glass, then strolled over to the small table that held the decanter. He poured a small measure into the tumbler and returned to the sofa. But when Sorcha held out her hand, he pulled the whiskey back. “I’ll give you this drink if you do me a small kindness in return.”

      Sorcha sat up on her heels, brushing her hair out of her pale eyes. “This sounds interesting. What’s wrong? Has it been a while since you’ve had some?”

      He wagged his finger at her. “We’re not going to go there, Sorcha,” he muttered. “We’ve been there before and it didn’t work.”

      “I know. But this time we can just have a shag. We won’t bother with the relationship.”

      “Let’s be honest. You devour men. You require that they worship you and wait on you and satisfy you until they’re nothing but blithering fools. And then you toss them aside for someone new.”

      Sorcha’s lips pressed into a pout. “How can you say that? I love men.”

      “Maybe a little too much,” Will said.

      “If you’re going to insult me, then give me my whiskey. I feel like getting pissed.”

      “Not until you do something for me.”

      “What do you want? Obviously not my body. I should be humiliated, but I’m not. I’ve come to think of you as a…dare I say it? A brother?” She giggled. “A very hot brother. Oh, hell, I’d probably be riddled with guilt if we slept together again. I do have some standards to maintain.”

      “I want you to lift the curse you put on me,” he said.

      A satisfied grin curled her lips. “I didn’t think you believed in my powers.”

      “I don’t.”

      “Which curse?” she asked.

      Will groaned. “How many are there?”

      There was a long moment before Sorcha answered. “Two. No, three.” She paused. “No, wait, I lifted that one after you helped me fix my car. Two,” she said.

      “And what were they?”

      “Well…one was so you’d never meet another woman as beautiful and sexy as I am. And the other had to do with your…performance in the bedroom.” She slowly raised her index finger, then let it curl up again. “A willy-wilting curse for Will.”

      He frowned. Since they’d ended their relationship, his luck with women hadn’t been great, but he’d still been able to perform when called upon. He’d had three serious relationships in the past two years and all had ended after only a few months. In between, he’d indulged in an occasional one- or two-night stand with old girlfriends in London or Dublin. Living on an island offered few possibilities for regular or casual sex. That could only be found on the mainland.

      “In the spirit of our newfound friendship,” Will said, “I want you to reverse both curses. Right now. In front of me.”

      Sorcha sighed and grabbed the whiskey from his hand. “All right.” She swallowed her drink in one gulp, then sat up straight and closed her eyes, tipping forward until her red hair fell like a curtain around her face. Slowly, she began to rock back and forth, mumbling a string of words that Will recognized as Gaelic. Though he knew a fair bit of the language, he didn’t understand what she was saying. Suddenly, she opened her eyes. “I’m starved,” she said. “I need taytos. I have to have nourishment for this to work.” Then she closed her eyes and began to mutter again.

      Will wandered back to the kitchen and grabbed a bag of potato crisps. When he returned to the parlor, Sorcha was lying down on the sofa. He handed her the bag of crisps and she tore it open, then popped one into her mouth. “God, I’m hungry,” she muttered. “Do you have any chocolate?”

      “We’re going to eat in an hour. Are you done?”

      She stuffed two more crisps into her mouth, then nodded. “Yes. You are now completely curse-free.” She paused. “Well, not entirely. I did a wee counterspell, just something between two good friends.”

      “Sorcha, you promised.”

      “This is a good spell. The next woman you meet will madly desire you and you’ll have a wildly passionate sexual encounter within twenty-four hours. She will stop at nothing to get into your trousers and have a go.”

      A frantic knocking sounded through the quiet of the parlor and Sorcha giggled. “Ah! The spell has worked. It’s herself! I wonder who it could be? The single women on this island are a sad lot, except, of course, for me. I suppose Eveleen Dooly wouldn’t be so bad in bed. And then there’s Mary Carlisle. She’s old but she’s sprightly.”

      “At least Eveleen wouldn’t curse me,” Will muttered. “While I answer the door, you remove the spell. Am I clear?”

      “Quite,” Sorcha said. “Just walk slowly. It’ll take some time. It was a very complex spell.”

      Will strolled out to the front hall, then waited a bit before he opened the front door. Standing on the steps was a woman, drenched by the rain, her shoes covered in mud.

      “It’s about time,” she muttered, pale hair plastered to her face. “I’m soaked to the skin. And I couldn’t find the key. It’s supposed to be under the flowerpot.”

      “I’m sorry,” Will said, reaching out to grab her bags. “Sorcha must have used…well, never mind. Come in, please. Welcome to the Ivybrook Inn.”

      She walked inside, tracking mud across the parquet floor of the hall. Glancing back, she noticed what she’d done, then cursed softly, struggling out of her ruined shoes. “I couldn’t find the taxi. He was supposed to be at the pub and he wasn’t. Some farmer offered to give me a ride on his horse. Good thing, because an Irish mile seems to be a lot longer than an American mile. It took me forever to get here.” She picked up her shoes, her wet clothes making a puddle around her. “I need a room.”

      Will studied her as he stepped behind the front desk. It was hard to tell what she looked like. She’d tied a scarf around her head to ward off the rain СКАЧАТЬ