Dirty Beautiful Rich Part Three
Dirty Beautiful Rich
by
Eva Devon
Part 3
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the work of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Dirty Beautiful Rich Part Two
Copyright © 2015 by Maire Creegan
All rights reserved. No redistribution is authorized.
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without written permission.
Cover design by Kati Rodriguez / Romance Wrangler
Cover photo by
Depositphotos.com/
konradbak
For more information: [email protected]
Did You Miss DIRTY BEAUTIFUL RICH PART ONE? | Here’s a snippet!
For my son.
May you always know how loved you are.
Chapter 1
J
ulie felt absolutely no shame as she rubbernecked her way to Galway. It was possible that she was going to have whiplash when they arrived, but who cared? Each green filed surrounded by intricately laid stone walls and hedges was more beautiful than the last. They’d taken the
carriageway
almost the entire way, though apparently even the Irish equivalent of a highway could go through towns. Damian had assured her the M going form Galway to Dublin was just like an American freeway and while convenient was one of the worst things to happen to Ireland’s tourism trade, in his opinion, keeping people away from the small roads and villages that had thrived on people passing through.
She wondered if that was some of his antiquated lord talking but it was hard to tell because Damian seemed so thoroughly modern, right down to the tricked our Range Rover that had been waiting in the airport. The GPS was not on. Damian said the thing was only for people who had no sense of direction.
Which meant it was for her, because what with the winding roads they passed, often with no street signs, or signs in strange places, or signs that had words on them that she would never ever ever in a million years be able to pronounce, she needed a soothing voice declaring
turn left here
.
She’d been surprised by the Range Rover. Damian with all his sleek sexiness hadn’t really seemed like an SUV kind of guy. But now, in his perfect denim, his super soft wool sweater and leather jacket, he looked completely at home.
So far, they’d passed at least two places she and her mom had planned on going to see. The Cliffs of Moher and Bunratty Castle. When she’d asked, he looked at her with that arched brow, then laughed. Apparently, he’d never been a tourist in his own country. Luckily, she’d finagled him into a promise to visit both places at a later time.
Apparently, tourist stops were not on his schedule just now.
“Isn’t there an airport in Galway,” she suddenly asked.
“Yes. Its very small and currently not open.”
She waggled her brows. “Couldn’t the Earl of Clare opened it?”
He gripped the steering wheel tightly for a moment then gave her a cocky smile. A smile that was maybe meant to hide an emotion he didn’t want her to see. “I could, yes. But I thought you’d enjoy the drive from Shannon. I do. It gives me a chance to unwind before the estate.
She nodded. Right. The estate. She couldn’t help wondering what all that entailed. Certainly more that a studio apartment with a doubtful elevator.
Clutched the odd tasting but absolutely necessary coffee they’d picked up in the last town, she stared at the houses that spotted the landscape as they drove. Pink, blue, white, all with large driveways and no flowers nears the houses. Of course it was winter, but it seemed like the houses stood like isolated little forts in the middle of their green fields.
“Go ahead and ask, Julie. I can hear your brain whirring. You’ve been remarkably silent.”
Because if she opened the floodgate to her questions, she was afraid she would never stop! But, since he’d prompted. . . “Why are there no plants around the houses? I mean there are a few here and there but. . . No real landscaping.”
“Wind,” he stated, his voice flat.
“Wind?” she echoed. “I don’t get it.”
He smiled, changing gear as they slowed for the millionth round about. The roundabouts were terrifying her. How did he enter so easily? And choose the right exit? She supposed if she was driving, she could just keep going around and around and around until she was absolutely sure she’d picked the right exit.
He nodded to his left. “Out there, that’s the Atlantic.”
“Right.”
“Now, look to your east. What do you see?”
“Green fields. Its a cliché, I know but. . .”
“Clichés are always based on truth,” he replied, apparently unoffended. “Ireland really is a collection of patch worked green. But, you don’t really see many trees or mountains, do you?”
“Um. . .” How did she phrase this. So far she’d seen a sloping hill that was maybe one thousand feet. Maybe. “Well, not mountains by Colorado standards.”
Damian let out that sexy rumble of a laugh. “Do not let the locals ever here you disparage their mountains. They’re quite proud of them, but yes, by American standards, Ireland has only large hills. My point is though, that wind comes howling in off the Atlantic with nothing to stop it. The houses get beaten by it. And any plants close to the house. . .”
“Will be beaten against the walls.”
“Exactly.”
So, the houses lived in little islands of their drives and hedges. Suddenly, she gasped and pressed her face to the window. “No way.”
“What
way
?”
She ignored his slight emphasis on the last word but made a resolution to stop using such Americanisms right away. Being thought of something like a Valley girl or something similar was definitely not on her list of to dos. “I thought I saw. . . Never mind.” she shook her head. She had to have imagined it.
“Come on now, don’t be afraid of saying the wrong thing. If you do, you’ll always be censoring yourself.”
She glared at him. How did he say things like that? How did he know that she
was
always censoring herself. “Are you a closet therapist?”
He grew silent for a moment. “I’m your own personal shaman. How about that?”
A laugh rippled from her throat at the image of Damian dancing and chanting. Actually, it wasn’t such a bad image and played right into her fantasies about druids and romance novels. “Only if you promise to remove your shirt when you remove my demons.”
“Oh definitely. Tantric healing is by far the most superior of my skills.”
She sputtered on her coffee. “I think I saw a palm tree,” she said quickly before they headed down the path of sex again. She’d loved every moment of last night with him, but in the light of day she was determined not to throw herself into anything too fast. After all, she wanted to believe she had some learning curve when it came to relationships and for all intents and purposes Damian was her boss.
He nodded. “You probably did.”
“What?” She gestured to the stone cottage flashing by. “This is Ireland!”
“The jet stream brings up a warm front. So even if you’re freezing your bollocks off there’s something in the air warm enough that’s conducive to certain palms.”
She shook her head and tried for another gulp of coffee and stared out the window. After a half hour and the scenery changing to the most glorious she’d ever seen, she couldn’t help asking. “So, how far now?”
An incessant little chorus of nerves had started to sing in the back of her head. She was going to meet Damian’s family today. She was going to see the place where he’d grown up. Wasn’t that what couples did? Except, they weren’t a couple. They were a boss and an employee who’d managed to violate several generally promoted rules of behavior.
“I hear it in your voice, you know.”
“What?”
“Your trepidation.”
“I’ve never seen a castle, let alone stayed in one, or worked in one.”
“Ah. It’s a glorious time for firsts.”
And of course, her cheeks bloomed red. She wanted to scream at the unfairness of it. She wasn’t a total innocent. When would she learn to stop blushing? Today would be the most preferable but she and the horrible feeling that evidence of embarrassment was simply in her genetic makeup. Instead of acknowledging the first of
“Less than an hour, beautiful. In fact. . .” The road curved and suddenly there out before her was a beautiful bay, white capped and on the far side a small city hugged the water.
Her heart swelled in her chest. All around them was the wild countryside of Ireland but there, just across the water was a city of culture and music. She and her mom had researched the theater festivals and heard all about the music. “Can we go to a trad night?”
He blinked. “A trad night?”
“Yes, a traditional night. They play traditional music in the pub. . .
“I know what it is Julie, love.”
She groaned. Of course he knew. Why was she trying to tell him about his own country? “You don’t want to. Don’t worry about it. I’ll get a cab into the city or something.”
He suddenly stared at her as if she’d gone insane, his eyes flashing. “You will not.”
“What, is Galway dangerous?” From what she’d heard it was one of the safest towns in Ireland.
“No. It’s not but it is full of good
craic
, good fun, you understand. And in Ireland, good fun means drink and crowds. I’ll not have you surrounded by a group of sweaty young asinine drunks ready to show you how marvelous Irish lads are.”
Her lips twitched. “Are you jealous?”
“Irish men are different than Americans. They’ll charm your pants off before you know it if they think they can take advantage.”
She rolled her eyes. Was he really so concerned? “Do I look like a créme puff?”
It was a bad choice of words. In that instant, she must have resembled some sweet food, because he looked like he could eat her whole.
“I’ll be going with you to any pub at night, Julie Doyle.”
She shifted on the Range Rover’s seat trying to decide if she liked his abrupt possessiveness. All her life, she’d been fairly independent ,and well, after losing her dad and looking after her mom, she was used to looking after herself. “I’d love your company, but I’d just like to point out that I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
Even in Denver, when he’d had security escort that jerk out, she knew that if she’d been left to her own, she would have been okay. She needed Damian to know that.
He reached over and took her hand in his big one. “You’ve taken care of yourself too long, beautiful. If you truly wish to go by yourself, I won’t stop you. I will sit home with white knuckles as you no doubt tell all those charming idjeets to go shag themselves.”
She laughed. “Idjeet?”
He nodded. “Idjeet. It’s a proper Irish word.”
“Damian,” she said, holding his hand, half afraid she’d hold too hard and make him pull away but she loved the sensation so much. “I would far prefer for you to come with me.”
He was quiet for a long moment. “Then I will.”
“Good.”
He gave a nod. “Good.”
And then they were silent. Too her slight disappointment she realized they were bypassing Galway, driving around the bay and then suddenly they were on a road heading out into rougher, wilder terrain.
She gasped. Again. Only this time audibly. She made a definite effort to close her mouth.
The water on her left was the most stunning Caribbean blue. How? How was such a thing possible? The water had to be freezing. She didn’t ask. She couldn’t. Suddenly there were tears in her eyes and she was filled with so much joy it hurt. Her mom would have loved this. She would have grinned and chatted and snapped pictures. They would have pulled the car over, hugged, and raced across the beach. She could see it as vividly as the ocean stretching out before her.
“Are you alright? You’ve tears in your eyes, beautiful.”
Damian’s voice was so soft, she almost didn’t hear it. “Yes. I. . . I’m probably going to have lots of moments like this. My mom always wanted to come to Ireland. We planned it.”
“Now, you’re here.”
“Yes.” Her throat closed. She was so awed by the beauty of it all but she always wished to so much that her mom shared this.