February 4, Go to Ireland with Julie
Julie Rodriguez dreams of traveling the world, so she jumped on the opportunity to transfer to the Ireland office for her job. She took a chance on renting a room above a pub, but she didn’t bargain on her roommate, Eoghan Murrough, being irresistible. Now she’s just one ride through the Irish countryside on the back of his motorcycle away from crossing the line.
Excerpt from Pull At My Heart
I hope you enjoy this (not yet edited by a professional editor) excerpt:
He’s wearing a tight black dress shirt, black jeans, boots, and his face is painted white and black to look like a skeleton. His dark hair is slicked back and the top few buttons of his shirt are open.
He stops in his tracks when he sees me.
We take the few steps to meet each other in the middle.
“Nice look,” I joke.
He runs a hand over his hair. “I found this face paint in the bathroom. Since I didn’t have a costume, I just did this.”
“Día de los Muertos? You know it's actually on November 2.”
So, he does know what it’s all about. This guy.
“I remember seeing art for this when I was in Mexico. You captured it perfectly,” he says and puts a wispy piece of my hair behind my ear. A lovely little sensation bubbles up inside me.
Ever since the photo studio, there have been these moments, these touches like this one. They may seem small in the grand scheme of things, but his touches pack a punch. Like when he gently cups my elbow, or how he connects with my fingertips every time he passes me a drink, and the way he so slightly grazes his hand across my back every time we pass by each other in tight spaces. Each little touch is electric and I so badly want to lean into it and jump his bones.
“Thanks,” I reply and do a silly looking curtsey because I’m a massive dork that’s trying to play off how much he affects me.
But the reality is that I can’t take my eyes off him. The painted on black circles around his eye sockets make his eyes look so bright, and the white paint that covers his lips make them so much more defined. I’m not sure I ever noticed how his top lip dips into a delicious curve in the center.
I let out a heavy breath and then have a troubling realization. Women are going to throw themselves at him all night. It’s a given. And I hate the idea completely.
I’ve got to get on my way before I shove him against the wall and tell him to keep his hands off anyone but me. “I’m going to touch up my makeup.”
“Right,” he says and steps aside for me to pass by, but there it is, of course, his hand on my elbow and then ever so slightly up the back of my arm. The touch dares to melt off all my makeup.
I lift my dress and brush past him up the stairs. When I get to the top, I look back down and he hasn’t moved an inch. I shake my head and laugh, not knowing what else to do. It’s going to be an interesting night.