Luck of the Irish (2 page)

The waiter came over with a small broom and dustpan to help clean up. “I’m so sorry, Ryan. I should have been more careful.”

“Don’t worry about it, mate. Not the first glass gone to the floor in here. Reckon it won’t be the last, either. Put the broken glass in here before you cut your hand.”

Quinn did as he was told and then slipped back to his table, determined to pack up his stuff and get out of the pub as quickly as possible. He gathered everything together, threw down too much money for his bill, and headed for the door.

He walked past the table where the gorgeous
gay
man was sitting, head down. Quinn was determined not to look, but he did anyhow. The guy was glaring at him. He should have let it go, but he was embarrassed and feeling touchy.

“What?” Quinn blurted out, a little harsher than he intended.
“Nothin’.” The brunet sounded surly.
Quinn looked at him for a second and then started for the door again. He heard the man mutter under his breath, “Homophobic asshole.”

Quinn stopped in his tracks, knowing he should listen to the voice in his head telling him to keep going, to ignore it, but an impulse seized him. He turned around slowly.

The movement caught the other man’s eye. He looked up just as Quinn strode over and stood right in front of him, hands on his hips.

“I’m not a bigot, but you’re a jackass. I’m fucking gay,” he said quietly, but everyone at the table heard him, and they all sat looking at him as if stunned by his bravado.

Quinn’s courage evaporated, and he turned on his heel and strode out the door before anyone at the table could say anything.
C
IAN
O’R
EILLY
stared after the departing stranger, his eyes wide. “Well, shit,” he

cursed. When he’d seen the man staring at him from the corner table, his first impulse had been to ignore him
. He’s just passing through, and even if he does look like a blond angel, he’s probably just a dick.
And that was before the stranger revealed he was gay.

Fergal started laughing. “Cian, lad, leave it to you. You find the one gay guy in town and you fuck it up.” He motioned to the waiter. “Ryan, I think we need another round here!”

Q
UINN
stormed down the street toward the hotel. He was so angry with himself that he paid no attention to the scenery and locals that had fascinated him on the way to the pub.

“You’re so fucking stupid, Quinn,” he berated himself as he walked along. “You never did learn to keep your mouth shut. Why’d you say that? Now he just thinks you’re an idiot!” Quinn had the unfortunate habit of muttering to himself when he was upset, and it often drew people’s attention. Today was no different. He felt himself blush as several sets of curious eyes turned to watch him pass, and he bit his tongue to prevent any further commentary.

He hurried into the lobby, waving distractedly at Mr. McCay before rushing upstairs to his room. Once inside, he dropped his messenger bag on the floor and then wandered around for a bit before flopping back on the bed.

It wasn’t fair. That guy had been so beautiful, and Quinn had been content just to look at him for a while, but of course he had to go and do something stupid. It was the story of his life, and he was tired of feeling like an idiot all the time. He had hoped this trip would change that, but apparently not.

He got up off the bed and stripped down to his boxers, then folded his clothes neatly before heading to the shower. The bathroom was as beautifully decorated as the rest of the room. It had tiled floors and wooden cabinets that looked more like pieces of antique furniture. There was a claw-footed tub for soaking and a huge shower in the corner.

He turned on the water and let it heat up before he pushed off his underwear and kicked them into the corner, then stepped under the relaxing spray. The water was warm and felt good on his travel-weary body as he let out a blissful sigh.

He started thinking about the guy at the pub again. Quinn had never seen such beautiful eyes in his life. They were crystal-clear blue, framed by long dark lashes, and he’d had a smile that could either break your heart or mend it, depending on how he looked at you.

And his body? Well, no shame there, either. He had long legs and a tight ass— at least from what Quinn had seen with the guy’s baggy shorts. Wide shoulders and a small waist made Quinn wonder what it would feel like to have his legs wrapped around those lean hips while he was being fucked into the mattress.

Quinn’s sexual experiences to date were limited to one man—a man he thought he might fall in love with—and he’d given David everything, including his virginity. But David had just used him to satisfy his closeted desires, and then he’d broken Quinn’s heart.

So now here he was, twenty-one years old and jerking off in the shower. Again.

Bringing one hand up to his chest, he skimmed his fingers over his nipples, causing them to tighten. They were sensitive, and he loved having them played with. After grabbing the shower gel, he put a little in his palm before continuing down to grasp the base of his cock. He felt a little guilty jacking himself off while thinking about the hot Irish guy, but it wasn’t like he was ever gonna see him again.

With his back against the cool tile of the shower, Quinn slid his hand up and down his cock, reveling in the slick warmth. His other hand tweaked his nipples, then drifted over his stomach before he let it slip down to rub his balls, rolling them in his fingers. As he stroked his cock, he could feel the pleasure building at the base of his spine.

Feeling desperate for release, he pictured the guy smiling at him, and his breath caught. He slid his hand off his balls, over his hip, and behind himself. The angle was kind of wrong, but he worked the tip of one finger inside himself, moaning at the feeling of it.

As he worked his hand faster and pushed the finger a little deeper, he tried to hold off, wanting more time to fantasize, but one sweep of that finger over his prostate and he came all over himself and the shower wall. He tried hard to be quiet, but he was really glad he was the only one on this floor.

To keep from collapsing, he locked his knees as he leaned his head against the wall. When he had his breathing back under control, he slipped under the cooling spray and rinsed himself off, wishing he’d had the guts to stay at Sean’s a little longer.

When he was done, Quinn dried himself off, pulled on some sleep pants and a T-shirt, and fell into bed to dream about a beautiful Irishman and what could have been—if only Quinn Donovan had the luck of the Irish.

Chapter 3

Q
UINN
spent the next two days sightseeing, telling himself that he was absolutely not looking for the hot Irish guy. And he did have fun—meeting people at the market and doing complete tours of Athlone Castle, Locke’s Distillery Museum, and the Derryglad Folk Museum.

It was all so breathtaking and amazing and made him so glad he had talked his dad into letting him come. The people were friendly and open, and the historic atmosphere was overwhelming at times but worth the effort. The pace of life in Ireland was so different, calmer, and he felt more at peace there.

On the third day, it was time to go to Blackmoor Farm and talk to Davin O’Reilly, the owner of the first pair of horses his father wanted.

Quinn got up early and hit the road by 7:00 a.m. His father was a stickler for business, and Quinn wanted to do him proud. He got directions to the farm from Mrs. McCay and headed off. It was a beautiful sunny morning, and Quinn was looking forward to seeing the horses. Irish Sports were prized by their owners, and it was rare to find a breeding pair available for sale.

He found the farm without any problems and was impressed when he pulled into the drive. The big white farmhouse reminded him of home, and he was hit with a sudden wave of homesickness. He took a deep breath and looked around. Seeing the paddock and the horses there, he let himself be distracted.

As he got out of the car and started toward the enclosure, two of the biggest, shaggiest dogs he had ever seen came around the corner of the house. Quinn was sure he was about to be eaten alive. In a small, still rational part of his brain, he realized these were the fabled Irish wolfhounds he’d read about, but he found it hard to admire them when his life was about to be over.

But when they reached him, they simply sat in front of him and looked up with strange expressions on their faces. Quinn was lost as to what to do, so he stood there and waited, scared to move, hoping for rescue.

It came in the form of a small girl. She couldn’t have been more than eight or nine, with curly dark-red hair and a fair complexion, and she looked very annoyed.

“Canagàn, Devnet, what are you doin’? Papa told you to stay with me!” She stomped her foot and growled at them. Quinn started to laugh as he finally recognized the look he’d seen on the dogs’ faces. They were looking at Quinn to rescue
them
. He’d seen the look on the animals at home enough when his little sister had been chasing them around.

The girl seemed to notice him for the first time and marched over, hands on her hips, curiosity on her face. “Who are yeh, then? I’m Ceara O’Reilly.” She stuck out her hand, and Quinn shook it without hesitation.

“Quinn Donovan. I’m here to see Davin O’Reilly?”

The little girl turned and yelled at the top of her lungs, making the dogs duck their heads and whine and Quinn jump. “
Granddad!
Someone’s here to see yeh!” She turned back to Quinn and the banshee was gone, replaced once again by a little girl. “He’ll be here in a minute. You’re here about the horses, yeah?”

“Yes. I’m looking forward to meeting them!”

 

She looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “You wanna meet the horses? Hmmm, you sound like Cian!”

 

“Cian?”

 

“He’s my cousin. He works here with my granddad, looking after the horses. Totally besotted with them, stupid lunk.”

“Ceara, what did I tell you about calling your cousin names? Let’s try and pretend you have some manners when there’s company about.” The man who’d approached turned to Quinn and stuck out his hand. “You must be Quinn Donovan.” He shook Quinn’s hand and looked him up and down. “You’re younger than I thought. Long way for a young fella like you to go all on your own, isn’t it?”

Quinn blushed but held the man’s gaze. “I’m twenty-one, sir, and I’m good with the horses. My dad trusts me, and I hope you will too.”

“Well, it’s not me you have to worry about, son. My horses are looked after by my grandson, Cian. He loves them like they are his own children, and can be kind of persnickety when it comes to where they go. I trust his judgment, though; it’s him you’ll have to impress. So, would you like to see them?”

Quinn grew a little nervous at the thought of trying to impress this other man, but lit up at the thought of seeing the horses. “Of course I would. Thank you.”

He was bouncing on his toes, excited to see the animals, and the older man smiled. Mr. O’Reilly turned and led the way up a small incline to the paddock Quinn had been headed toward when the dogs stopped him, the young girl following behind. When they reached the fence, the horses Quinn saw floored him.

They were beautiful examples of Irish horses. Their coats were shiny and well cared for, and they had a regal look about them usually missing in bigger horses. Deep-chested, with sturdy legs, they looked like they could walk for hours without tiring, and once again Quinn felt a little homesick. He had learned to ride before he’d learned to walk, and he’d missed riding every day since he’d been in Ireland. “Mr. O’Reilly, they’re gorgeous. No wonder you’re so proud.”

“Aye, they are. My family has been breeding horses in these parts for years, and I have to say, these two are some of the finest I have ever seen.” He looked at Quinn again, assessing. “You know the origins?”

“Yes, sir. Irish Sport Horses are at least one-quarter Irish Draught and usually crossed with a Thoroughbred. The Draught is the reason for the deep chests and strong backs.”

“Done your homework, have you, lad? Good. So I guess it’s about time you met Cian. He’s my daughter’s boy. He’s a good man, and he takes these horses and their well-being to heart. Looking at your eyes, I can see you’re gonna be two of a kind. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.”

The old man’s gaze was sharp, and he had a speculative sparkle in his eyes as he looked at Quinn. “Let’s go introduce you to Cian, then.” He turned and headed for the barn, and once again, the little girl followed.

Quinn looked at her and smiled, and she grinned back.

 

“Are you on security detail or something?” He raised an eyebrow, and she giggled.

 

“Nope, just wanna watch you meet Cian.”

Quinn wasn’t sure he liked the look in the little girl’s eye. It reminded him of her grandfather. That was just great. Just what he needed while trying to impress some picky ass—an audience.

The big doors of the barn were open, and they walked inside. Quinn blinked, trying to focus in the dim light.

“Cian, where are you, lad?”
“Just a minute, Granddad. I’ll be right there!”

Quinn started. The voice sounded familiar, and hearing it caused something in Quinn’s stomach to curl. Where had he heard that voice before?

Quinn was lost in thought and startled a bit when a stall door farther into the barn opened and out stepped the man of Quinn’s dreams. At least, the dreams he had been having for the past few nights. He almost groaned aloud but managed not to humiliate himself completely.

The man walked toward them, not really paying attention, wiping his hands on a rag. “Granddad, I was just checking on Sophie. That gash on her flank is getting better, and I just put some more of that ointment on….” He trailed off as he looked up and spotted Quinn, appearing confused until his grandfather finally spoke.

“Cian? This here’s Quinn Donovan, the fella from the States I was telling you about—the one whose father wants the breeding pair?”

 

Cian looked at Quinn for a second and then, glancing at his grandfather, stuck out his hand. “Cian O’Reilly.”