Are ya trying' to kill me, lass?"
"Kill you? No." Maggie leaned closer, her hands drifting up and cradling his face as she rolled her hips again in one wicked pass. "Torture you? Maybe.

I'll not be lyin' if I tell ya that I fancy ya a bit myself."
"The fancy feelings are mutual."
A grin curved her lips right before Declan pressed a kiss to them.

Are ya tryin' to kill me, Maggie?" Declan bit the words out and his fingers dug deeper into her hips. "Are ya wantin' to see a grown man beg?

Maggie had a sinking suspicion that those stories her Aunt Lizzie told her, the ones that sent her to bed with her head full of leprechauns and fairies, may be more than fairytales after all.

Scaoileadh Me....
'Release me.' That was what he said. No doubt about it. It was in Gaelic, but that was what the voice said.
Holy. Crap.

She tipped back her glass and finished it.
"Ah, lass. You drink like you're Irish already."
She smirked. "I am Irish already. Always have been.