Saoirse
I stare up at the cocky son of a bitch, trying to hide the humiliation of finding myself on my ass in front of him.
Bastard had gone and landed me right in one of the flower beds, too.
Of course, he’d chosen the only one with actual flowering plants. So much for two months of hard work.
It doesn’t help that he’s so completely in control, either. He just stands in front of me and grins with all the cockiness of a man twice his age.
There’s no stubble on his jawline. None at all.
His face is chiseled, his jawline defined, but there’s no mistaking the fullness of youth that clings to his features.
His eyes are blue, but they’re different from mine. Bright and piercing. Clear. Mischievous.
He runs his fingers through his sunshine blond hair, pushing back the few loose curls that are falling against his forehead.
My own curls form an unruly halo around my face.
Made all the more chaotic by this asshole’s rough handling.
Weirdly, my body is hot in all the places his skin had made contact with. That’s not normal… is it?
“You got a phone on you?” he asks, as though we’re right in the middle of a conversation.
“Come again?”
“A phone,” he repeats, enunciating like I’m stupid. “Do you have one on you?”
I can see the devilish twinkle in his eye, but like a fool, I choose to answer seriously.
“Not right now. Why?”
He shrugs. “This would make a great profile picture,” he tells me. “You could caption it ‘getting into some gardening.’ Get it?”
Is this guy for real?
When it comes to shaking up drunks for money, I’d expected a considerably more intimidating pair.
The guy inside looked the part, certainly.
This one? Not so much.
There’s definitely an intensity to the older one that’s missing in this grinning asshole.
But I’m not getting creepy vibes off either one. And usually, my danger radar is pretty damn good.
It’s had to be.
I’ve spent eighteen years as Padraig Connelly’s daughter.
I get to my feet with as much dignity as I can muster. “Are you a debt collector or a comedian?” I demand when we’re at eye level again.
“A little bit of both, perhaps.”
I make for the house, but predictably, he blocks my path and forces me to a stand-still.
“Going somewhere?”