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Dedication

For Emily Yolland, one of the unsung heroes of publishing who always brightens my day by simply being a genuinely lovely person.

Chapter One

Wiping the rain from her face, Hannah pushed her way through the revolving door into the hotel lobby.

‘A touch wet outdoors today, Miss Campbell,’ commented the young male receptionist with a cheerful smile. ‘There’s a lovely fire in the bar if you’d like to warm up. It’s not a day for sightseeing, I’m afraid.’

‘No.’ She laughed, pulling the hat from her head and shaking the raindrops from the ends of her curls. ‘Although I did manage to see some of Trinity College.’ Sadly, not the Book of Kells nor the Long Library, which had been top of her list, but the thought of being crammed in along with dozens of soggy tourists smelling of wet dog had put her off. They’d still be there tomorrow and every day of the next six weeks that she’d be in Ireland.

‘Would you like me to take your coat? I can hang it up here in the cloakroom. It’ll dry nicely and save you having to go up to your room.’

See, this was the bonus of staying in a small boutique hotel. She gave him a delighted smile, already accepting the implied suggestion that she should go toast her toes in front of the fire. While she was there she’d send a text to her sister, Mina, thanking her for recommending this place. It was definitely a Mina sort of place. Without her sister’s intervention, Hannah would probably have booked a Travelodge or something, as it was only for one night, but Mina was the one who always managed to seek out the trendy, happening-right-now places.

Hannah handed over her dripping coat and walked through to the cosy bar with its lovely vintage feel. It was Victorian-brothel-meets-20s-speakeasy – quite a look to carry off but someone had done it rather well. Dimly lit, it offered a warm, cocoon-like welcome which, after the miserable wet weather outside, was extremely appealing. The long wooden bar with brass trimmings and accessories, which glinted in the low light, was presided over by another good-looking young man with a bright, open, friendly face. Like all the staff in the hotel he immediately swung around to greet her with sincere enthusiasm, as if she were the very person he wanted to see.

‘Hello there. What can I get for you?’ he asked, his smile tinged with a touch of masculine appreciation. She could get used to it. There were women at work, like Sadie Burns-Coutts, whom she tried very hard to like, with her svelte figure, swishy, straight hair, and flirty smiles, who got this sort of reaction all the time. Hannah had never quite mastered being that confident in her appearance or as playfully feminine. She’d been too focused on proving herself with her brains. But maybe now she could relax and enjoy herself, focus on the food and a new skill rather than being the smart one all the time? ‘I’ve just opened a rather fine red wine, a Bordeaux, full of plum and cassis, just right for a dank day like today. Or I can offer you a very nice whiskey, our own Telling Small Batch, brewed right here in Dublin. That’ll warm you up.’ Again, he flashed her a wolfish grin.

Hannah wavered, struck by sudden, uncharacteristic indecision. Her intention had been to order a coffee. The temptation of something far more decadent brought about a brief internal debate. It was only four o’clock. But then, why shouldn’t she? It wasn’t as if she was going to make a habit of it. Time to live dangerously. Although really, was a glass of wine that dangerous? She almost laughed out loud. It was for her. Hannah always followed the rules. Coming to Ireland was the first out-of-character thing she’d ever done in her life. Her boss was still in shock at her asking to take a sabbatical and her family were bewildered. If it had been Mina, the impulsive, adventurous one, they wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised.

‘I’ll have a glass of red wine.’

‘Excellent choice. Would you like to take a seat and I’ll bring it to you?’

Even more indulgent. Being waited on. Hannah nodded and turned to survey the room, which was empty apart from a family party over by the window; they were spread out around a long table full of empty glasses and plates and recently replenished pints and bottles of wine. Their lively chatter and laughter punctuated the calm atmosphere of the room, enveloping it with an aura of homeliness. With a smile she headed towards to the large open fireplace and one of a pair of wing-backed chairs that looked as if they might have been plucked from Sherlock Holmes’s study. As soon as she sank into the plump velvet cushions, nestling back into the chair, she propped her feet up on the little footstool so she could warm them.

By the time the barman arrived with her glass, her feet were lovely and toasty and she’d kicked off her shoes to curl up in the generously sized chair with her warm toes under her bottom. It reminded her of being a little girl again when she could duck down into the sofa with a book and no one would know she was there.

‘Thank you.’

‘Enjoy. You’ve the best spot in the house here.’

She took a sip of the rich ruby wine and sighed with pleasure. This was heaven and she had just the thing to round off the experience perfectly: her Kindle. A book, a glass of wine, a fire, and nothing else to do. What was not to like? It was the first time in she didn’t know how long that she’d not been working and striving towards the next thing: GSCEs, A levels, law degree, articles, and more recently meeting endless deadlines. Not that she was to be pitied – she loved her job; she was well paid and she was good at it. When she added it all up, taking this sabbatical was probably the craziest thing she’d ever done in her life and she still wasn’t sure quite what had driven it. Not a mid-life crisis, a love affair gone wrong (chance would be a fine thing), or a temporary loss of sanity – all things that had been suggested to her in varying degrees of exasperation by her boss and colleagues. What had triggered her decision to give up work and come and do a residential course at one of the top cookery schools in Ireland was the most ridiculously minor event, but it had brought home the secret embarrassment that, even though she was nearing thirty, she still couldn’t cook. Her sister was an absolute whizz in the kitchen and she’d accepted that she’d missed out on the cookery genes, but in recent years it had become a secret source of shame.

Since reading about the Killorgally cookery school in The Sunday Times magazine supplement, when she’d had a bout of flu, it had become a mild obsession, especially when she realised it wasn’t that far from her best friends Aidan and Sorcha Fitzpatrick, whom she’d been promising to visit ever since they’d left Manchester to go back to Ireland. Surely it was meant to be? Going to cookery school and taking time out from her job was completely out of character, but their proximity was a definite bonus.

Part of her wondered if she’d avoided cooking because it was Mina’s thing and she’d always tried to compensate for Mina’s more impulsive personality by being the opposite to her sister.. The one who kept the family on an even keel and reassured their adopted parents that they weren’t going to end up like their real parents.

Well, it was too late now to worry about whether she’d done the right thing. Tomorrow she’d be picking up a hire car and driving to County Kerry on the other side of Ireland to start the six-week course. And now she was set on this strange new path, she ought to just kick back and enjoy herself.

With that she took another good glug of wine and settled into the chair to read. The wine was so good that when the charming waiter came by to offer another glass – of course he was charming, he was trying to sell her wine – she accepted without a second thought. In the warmth of the fire, nestled into the comfortable chair, she felt delightfully cosy and was starting to have trouble keeping her eyes open. The lively family party were taking their rather lengthy and quite emotional leave and as their voices died away, she set her Kindle down on her lap and closed her eyes.

She was having the most delicious dream when something disturbed her. The quiet clip of glass on wood. Opening her eyes, she blinked her way up to the surface and found herself looking into the most gorgeous set of intense blue eyes. Without thinking and feeling ever so relaxed thanks to her surroundings, she gave their owner her most dazzling smile.

‘Hello.’ Her voice came out in some sort of sultry purr that was about as far removed from her usual vocal range as humanly possible.

‘Hi, sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.’ The owner of the gorgeous eyes shot her a disarming grin as if he were used to disturbing females and it actually didn’t bother him one iota. ‘I didn’t realise anyone was sitting here.’

Neither broke eye contact and something bright and sharp fizzed in the air between them.

Then he went and spoiled it when he glanced back over his shoulder at the sound of a carrying female voice and hurriedly dropped into the chair beside her. He was hiding.

She was still staring at him rather dreamily, wondering for a minute if she had conjured him up out of her imagination. With dark slashes of eyebrows over those vibrant blue eyes and dusky black stubble dotting his chin, he looked mad, bad, and dangerous to know, with a definite air of a pirate about him.

Hannah wanted to mentally slap herself. Talk about clichéd. Men did not look like pirates in anything but the movies and certainly not men of her acquaintance. See, this was what happened when you drank in the afternoon. Flights of fantasy were not Hannah Campbell’s bag but she couldn’t help smiling at him.

‘I won’t tell.’ She could feel her eyes twinkling at him, teasing and flirting in a most un-Hannah-like way. ‘If you put your feet up on the footstool no one will know you’re here.’

His mouth curved in a very naughty smile as he put his feet up as she suggested. An aggrieved shrill voice began cross-examining the barman.

‘Are you sure he’s not here? It looked just like him! I do know him. He’s a friend of mine.’

‘I’m sure you are, but I’ve not seen him,’ came the soft-voiced, unperturbed reply.

The man opposite Hannah smiled and mouthed a Heavenward, ‘Thank you.’

But then heels began to tap towards them and he winced, pushing himself back into the chair.

Tap, tap, tap. There was a determined staccato to their beat and the man closed his eyes as if that might help hide him.

Hannah had no idea what impulse propelled her to act but act she did. Standing up quickly, she swapped seats. He let out a slight ooof as she plunked down into his lap, his eyes widening in shocked surprise. Tap, tap, tap. As the footsteps grew closer, she bent her head towards his so that her curtain of corkscrew curls hid his face.

With nowhere to turn, the two of them stared at each other as the high heels faltered. He pulled her a little closer so that now they were nose to nose. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared, mesmerised, at him.

‘Oh, excuse me.’

The steps began to back away but both of them remained frozen until they receded out of earshot.

‘I ought to thank you,’ he whispered, still gazing at her, an engaging grin curving his lips.

‘You ought to,’ she replied.

‘How do you suggest I do that?’ His eyes dropped to her lips with blatant suggestion and she took an involuntary breath.

Don’t do anything with your lips, Hannah. Don’t draw attention to them. Don’t even so much as move your mouth. But, of course, she did. She pressed her lips together and ever so slightly moistened them with her tongue in a silent invitation that had her hormones’ fingerprints all over it.

And, of course, he followed right up on that invitation with the kiss that had been hovering in both their minds. His quick, gentle, teasing brush of the lips made her sigh into his mouth, without even thinking about it. And that, she told herself later, was her mistake. As she melted into the kiss with unexpected abandon – it had been a long time since she’d been kissed – she felt him pause momentarily and then he deepened the kiss, his mouth beginning a tentative but thorough exploration of hers. That was the point when everything changed. The hazy, dreamy, gentle kiss became something else entirely; every nerve ending went on alert as if several thousand volts had been switched on. He must have felt it too because he pressed forward and suddenly she was locked in the most delicious, passionate, wonderful kiss, giving back as much as was being given. It was like a firework burst on a dark, silent night. Shocking, thrilling, and totally out of character.

As she settled into his lap, the kiss became more leisurely and she certainly wasn’t about to fight it. Why would she? She melted into him as he put his arms around her, one hand sliding into her hair, stroking her neck with feather-light touches. Apparently she’d taken leave of her senses when she stepped on the plane this morning and wasn’t about to gather them up any time soon.

‘Er, excuse me, Conor.’

They both jerked apart. Hannah felt the blush staining her cheek. She couldn’t have been more mortified at being caught in such a public clinch.

‘The young woman has gone.’ The barman nodded and began to step away, but not before they both caught the wry smile on his face.

‘Thanks, Niall,’ called Conor, while Hannah closed her eyes. She was stuck. On a complete stranger’s lap. At least she knew his name now. She couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes and she had no idea what to do.

And now she was being ridiculous. What was she, six? Even so, she opened one cautious eye to find the man named Conor smiling at her.

‘Perhaps we ought to introduce ourselves.’

She straightened and with as much dignity as she could gather somehow managed to slither from his lap and back into her own chair.

‘Yes,’ she squeaked. ‘Although you’re Conor.’

His smile faded a little. ‘Of course, you have the advantage there.’

Slightly perplexed by the change in tone she said, ‘That is your name, isn’t it?’

‘Don’t you know?’

She frowned, feeling a little as if she were standing on the edge of a bog: one false step and she’d be up to her neck in it. A bit like being back at work confronted with a legal argument before she’d had the chance to check the precedents. ‘Not unless I’ve developed some kind of psychic skills in the last few minutes, no. Did the barman make it up? I assumed he knows you.’

Conor, if that was his name, considered her for a moment and she could almost see him weighing things up. She knew she’d been found innocent of whatever crime he’d initially supposed when his face softened.

‘Sorry, you’re English. Yes Conor is my name. And now I’ve been churlish when you so charmingly came to my rescue.’

‘Yes, you have,’ said Hannah still feeling as if she’d stepped into another dimension. ‘Although I don’t normally rescue people. Not like that anyway.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Suddenly he was all smiles again and she felt back on solid ground, although she wasn’t sure what to say now. What did you say when you’d just been kissed senseless?

‘I’m Hannah.’ She held out a formal hand as that seemed to be the only way she could regain some semblance of control.

‘Conor.’ He shook her hand. ‘Can I get you another drink?’ he asked with a gesture towards her empty glass.

‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I think that might have been what got me into this predicament in the first place.’

‘Predicament.’ He rolled the word around his mouth in his soft Irish accent and she found it gave her a little thrill somewhere in her solar plexus. ‘I’m a predicament, am I?’

‘Well.’ She lifted her shoulders.

‘I think I like being a predicament. What were you drinking?’

She couldn’t resist.

‘Red wine. The Bordeaux.’

‘You know about wine?’

She laughed. ‘No. Only that I liked that one.’

‘With wine that’s all you need to know.’ He stood up and raised a hand at the barman, lifting Hannah’s empty glass.

‘And just like that. Does everyone do your bidding?’

Conor grinned, his eyes twinkling with a touch of devilment. ‘Of course.’

‘You’re very sure of yourself.’

‘If I’m not, who else will be looking out for me?’

‘Good point,’ Hannah acceded with a nod of her head.

‘So what brings you to our fair city? Hen do? Stag do? Weekend break? Business?’

Hannah hesitated. Enough people at home thought she was crazy to just suddenly up sticks and go on a cookery course for six weeks, she didn’t need a stranger concurring with them. ‘Just a holiday.’

‘I’m afraid you haven’t had the weather for it today.’

‘I’ve not heard that people come for the weather.’

He smiled. ‘There is that. But when it’s fine there’s no place more beautiful.’

‘Spoken like a true Irishman.’

‘Whereabouts in England are you from?’

‘Manchester.’

‘Ah. I have cousins there.’

‘Don’t you have cousins everywhere?’

He laughed again. ‘Pretty much. That’s Catholic families for you. And we’re big on emigrating. So what do you do in Manchester?’

‘I’m a lawyer.’

He looked impressed.

‘What do you do?’

‘Me?’ He paused. ‘I… er manage an estate. Look after the repairs and maintenance, that sort of thing.’

She nodded, slightly surprised, which was wrong of her. Did his slight hesitation mean he was embarrassed? You shouldn’t judge by appearances but he was wearing a well-tailored suit which even to her untrained eye looked expensive. Certainly not clothes to be doing repairs in.

‘I’ve been to a business meeting,’ he said, quickly catching her quizzical gaze. ‘With my family’s lawyer. You’re much easier on the eye than him.’

Thankfully the barman appeared with her glass of wine so she didn’t have to respond to the compliment. He was so sure of himself, and she suspected comments like that came easily without much substance to them but for all that, he was charming and entertaining. It wasn’t as if she had any other plans for the rest of the day. The rain had put paid to those.

‘Thank you,’ she said to the barman as he handed her the red wine and gave a tumbler of amber liquid to Conor.

‘Sláinte,’ he said, lifting his glass.

‘I always wondered how you say it. I’ve read it a score of times in books but never heard it said. Sláinte,’ she said, trying to copy his pronunciation which sounded more like slancha.

‘Not bad. Do you know what I like about you?’

Hannah jerked her head in surprise at the rather direct comment. ‘No. As that wasn’t a rhetorical question, I assume you’re going to enlighten me.’ Her mouth quirked in amusement as she realised she was rather enjoying this light sparring.

‘You haven’t looked at your phone once. So many people can’t exist for five minutes without checking something. It’s like some kind of addiction these days. We have a strict family rule at home: no phones at meal times or when we’re all together. Mam won’t have it.’

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