Chapter 2 Jack
Jack
Who was he?
Jack could be forgiven for forgetting exactly who he was because his brain had stopped functioning.
He was looking at the most exquisite vision he’d seen in a long time.
She was beautiful. Stunning. Breathtaking.
Glossy dark brown hair tied back in the kind of careless loose bun that only certain people could pull off, strands framing her face.
High cheekbones. Delicate jaw, but defined.
Like her chin. Straight nose. But it was her eyes and mouth that kept his breath from moving for a long moment.
Her eyes were so blue it almost hurt. Under dark, arched brows.
Long thick lashes. And her mouth... plump and pink. Even now, when it was pursed.
She was wearing a white T-shirt, tucked into blue jeans frayed at the ends. Sneakers. In spite of the casual look, she was unmistakably elegant. But not even the elegant lines could hide the fact that she had curves in all the right places.
Looking at her made him hot, even though those eyes were blasting him with ice. Looking at her made him want to dirty her up. Muss that glossy hair.
He felt grimy, like he needed to take a shower. He imagined if he was to trail a finger down one cheek with its perfect complexion, he’d leave a line of dirt behind. She was looking at him as if he was pond scum.
But that didn’t stop blood rushing to his cock.
In broad daylight with people moving around in the distance.
He was used to a better level of control than this, no matter how cute the woman.
Or sexy. This one was practically buttoned-up with a Do Not Enter sign hanging around her neck.
Maybe that’s why she appealed so much. Because there was a sensuality running under that cool don’t touch surface so potent that he could smell it.
She wasn’t too small. Above average height. Jack figured she’d fit against him like a missing jigsaw piece. Electricity zinged between them.
Her gaze snapped down to Jack’s bare torso and back up again. ‘Why aren’t you wearing clothes?’
Man, she was cute when she was riled, this ice queen. ‘I am wearing clothes,’ he pointed out.
She rolled her eyes. ‘Not on top.’
Jack’s cock twitched. Down boy. Something about the way she spoke, like no-one else he’d heard here in Ireland so far. As if she had a silver stick up her ass.
Jack glanced to his left where he could see the marquee guys erecting the tent on the back lawn. Some of them had also taken their tops off. It was a hot midsummer’s day. He looked back at her. She didn’t seem to be struggling with the heat. Maybe she’d been born frosty.
‘I wasn’t aware there was a dress code.’
The flush in her cheeks deepened. Maybe not so frosty after all. He took pity on her before she blew a gasket and reached around to where he’d stuck his T-shirt into his shorts waistband and pulled it on. ‘Better?’
Jack smiled and that made her mouth purse even more. Evidently not. He already had a suspicion of exactly who she was, but he played for time.
‘I’m helping with the landscape crew, and you are..?’
‘I’m the owner of this property and I’m still waiting for a name.’ She was practically tapping her foot.
Ouch. If looks and cut-glass tones could kill, he’d be six feet under already. But strangely, he felt that he’d be happy with that, just to have gazed upon this creature for a few seconds.
Jesus. He was losing it. Spouting lyrical crap in his own head and he hadn’t even been on his ancestral soil for twenty-four hours yet. Give him a pint of Guinness and a flat cap and he’d start doing a jig any second now.
He had to impose a rigid level of control on his body to call it to heel so he didn’t disgrace himself.
‘If you’re the owner, that would make you... Skye Montgomery? Caitlin’s maid of honour?’
Sounding wary she said, ‘Yes.’
Jack stuck his hand out. ‘Then I guess we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other for the next week. I’m Jack MacAuley, the best man.’
His cock definitely twitched at that prospect and he wasn’t one bit sorry.