Irish Devil Excerpt

With cautious steps I move across the living room until I reach the large rectangular box. I cast a quick glance in Jack’s direction before returning to the package. Gently, I set it on the ground and run my finger along the flap. It’s taped securely.
“Here.” It’s a pocketknife.
I gingerly take it from him and cut the tape before handing it back. Ever so slowly, I open the box. I capture a gasp behind my hand. Tears spring to my eyes. As though afraid the instrument in front of me is going to disappear, I reach out and run my fingers along the wooden surface. The scent of it is overwhelming. I pluck the D-string and the note reverberates through my body.
Emotion rushes over me. It’s too much. I scurry to my feet and race across the room into my bedroom with tears blurring my vision. Jack calls my name, but I don’t stop. I slam my door and collapse onto the bed. I grab a pillow and cover my face to quiet my sobs.
Jack got me a guitar. He got me a guitar. From only my brief glance it’s an expensive one, too. That only makes me cry harder. Why would he do that? Even the guitar I’d practiced on as a kid had been a rental. Beside me, the bed dips. I jerk my head up with a gasp and clutch the pillow tight to my chest. Jack reaches up and wipes my tears with his thumb. His gaze darts across my face.
“I didn’t mean to make you cry. This was supposed to make you happy,” he says softly.
“It does,” I manage to choke out and then take a shaky breath. “It’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. I can’t—“
Jack places a finger over my lips. “Whatever it is you’re going to say, don’t. You can, and you will.”
Unwillingly, my tongue darts out and captures the flavor of his skin. Our eyes lock. The blue of his eyes darkens to nearly black. His nostrils flare as though scenting me. A long-forgotten throbbing begins deep and low inside my center. Jack gently palms my cheek and the rough texture of his thumb rubs across my bottom lip, just barely dipping inside.
A voice whispers in my ear about what a bad idea this is. I ignore it. I want someone—Jack—to touch me with gentleness for once. I want to feel an inkling of pleasure, even if it’s only fleeting. Against my better judgment, I part my mouth wider. It’s an invitation. I only have to wait for him to accept it.