She felt wild, unrestrainedâ¦primal.
The night was all about instinctâ¦and pleasure. The sounds of the ceremony seemed to fade into the distance as a haze of desire surrounded them both. Although the light wind reminded Claire they were outside, the stones and the darkness concealed them. They were alone. And Claireâs need for Will, for his touch, his taste, had taken control.
This time, though, she wanted him inside her. âMake love to me,â she murmured. âNow. Please, Will. I need you.â
Moments later he was filling her completely. She arched against him, driving him even deeper, feeling a delicious sense of powerâ¦of rightness. Neither one of them seemed to be able to hold back. Will drove into her, again and again. Claire cried out with pleasure, but the sounds were swallowed by the night and the noise of the crowd.
It was the most passionate sex sheâd ever experienced.
And if the rest of her nights were like this, she was never going homeâ¦
KATE HOFFMANNâs
first book was published in 1993. Since then sheâs written over fifty more titles, including the popular MIGHTY QUINN series. Her books, known for their mix of humour and sensuality, have appeared in the Sensual and Blaze® lines. Kate lives in a small town in Wisconsin, with her cats and her computer. Besides writing, she works with school students in theatre and musical activities. She also enjoys golf, movies, music of all kinds and genealogy research.
Dear Reader,
As you can see by the title of this book, Iâm back in Ireland again! After writing the MIGHTY QUINN books, I just canât seem to leave the âauld sodâ behind. And this from a girl who has only a few drops of Irish blood in her (from my fifth great-grandfather, Patrick Doolin).
Her Irish Rogue was a chance to indulge in a bit of Irish magic. While visiting Ireland a few years back, I found the land and the people entirely captivating, so it wasnât difficult to imagine my hero, Will Donovan, as a sexy innkeeper living on an island off the coast of County Kerry. When a mid-western girl arrives on the island, Will gets a chance to live out a fantasy. And thatâs what a holiday love affair ought to be â pure fantasy.
I hope you enjoy this holiday in Ireland. And who knows? Maybe Iâll be going back soon to find a few more Quinn cousins.
Happy reading,
Kate Hoffmann
1
THE BOAT SKIMMED over the choppy gray water, sending a gentle spray into the air to land on Claire OâConnorâs face. She brushed a damp strand of hair from her eyes, then fixed her gaze on the small island in the distance, a hazy bump on the horizon.
The Isle of Trall. Sheâd left Chicago twenty-four hours earlier and now that she was nearing her destination, Claire realized sheâd come on a foolâs errand. âI must be crazy,â she murmured.
âWhatâs that, lass?â
Claire glanced over at Billy Boyle, the captain of the mail boat, and forced a smile. âNothing,â she murmured.
âIf ye step inside, you wonât be gettinâ so damp.â
âThatâs all right,â Claire said. Perhaps the cold and damp were exactly what she needed to shake a little sense into herself. So much had happened in the past two days sheâd hardly had a chance to think clearly. Sheâd lost her boyfriend, her job and her apartment all in one six-hour period. As a result, sheâd begun a quest to get them all back in one crazy act of desperation, an act that brought her to a tiny island off the western coast of Ireland.
âWe donât see too many single passengers makinâ the trip to Trall,â Captain Billy said. âMostly couples. Itâs a romantic destination, ye know. Not really a place for people to visit on their own.â
Her grandmother, Orla OâConnor, had told her of the island, and of the legend, but Claire wanted to hear it again, from someone who had more than just fifty-year-old evidence of its existence. âWhy is that?â she asked.
âThey come hoping to find the Druid spring. Itâs in all the tour books. Itâs said that if a couple drinks the water, they will be bound together for life. Eternal love and all that. You ask me, I think itâs bollocks.â
âDo you know where this spring is?â she asked.
Captain Billy shook his head. âIâm the one who should have been lookinâ. Iâve had meself three wives and not one of them is still warminâ me bed.â
Claire turned her attention back to the island. Sheâd been under the assumption that the location of the spring would be posted on every roadside in Trall, with huge signs and arrows pointing the way, and maybe even a modern visitors center. Her grandmother had said nothing about having to search for it! âIs there anyone who knows where it is?â
Captain Billy considered her question for a long moment, then shrugged. âIâd suppose Sorcha Mulroony would know. Sheâs a Druid princess or⦠priestess, I think she calls herself. Me, I think sheâs a bit barmy. But she fancies herself the keeper of all the islandâs magic. You could ask her, but she charges a steep price for her services.â