Irish Allure Read online

  Irish Allure

  Louisa Masters

  A book in the Emerald Isle Fantasies series.

  Jillian is planning a wedding for the bride from hell—who suddenly decides to move the event to Ireland with less than a month to go. Lucky for Jillian, the groom’s brother is available to lend a hand.

  Sexy, charming Fin clearly has more on his mind than just helping Jillian with the wedding. But she knows Bridezilla will not tolerate the hired help consorting with her future brother-in-law. Jillian can’t risk being blackballed, so it’s seriously hands off Fin, no matter how irresistible he is and how energetically he pursues her. If only Castle Tullamore weren’t so romantic—and if only she could stop tearing off his clothes every time she gets into that antique elevator with him.

  Reader Advisory: This story has graphic sexual language and scenes—no closed bedroom doors (or other rooms) here!

  A Romantica® contemporary erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

  Irish Allure

  Louisa Masters

  Chapter One

  “I realize that this is your wedding, and of course we want it to be exactly what you want.” Jillian chose her words carefully, grateful the client couldn’t see her face over the phone. The last thing she needed was for Bridezilla to ramp up into uber-bitchy mode. “But everything we’ve planned is wonderful. Just last week you said it was going to be the perfect wedding.”

  “I know what I said last week.” Marianna Carter adopted her most condescending tone, one that Jillian had become familiar with over the past year. She felt a headache coming on and opened her desk drawer, looking for painkillers. “And last week I believed it. But now that I know how attached Michael is to his home, I just have to respect that and his roots.”

  With anyone else, Jillian would have found it amazing that a woman could be with someone for three years and never realize that he missed his homeland, but Marianna was totally self-absorbed. She closed the drawer and leaned her head on the desk. No, no, no. There was no way she could move a wedding for six hundred guests from New York to Ireland in three weeks. Besides, she had an inkling that this sudden change of mind had more to do with Karlie Foster’s Fiji wedding over the weekend than anything else.

  “You know, Marianna, destination weddings are losing their cachet,” she began. “And if we move the wedding at this stage, a lot of the guests are going to be unable to come. Not to mention the society media we invited. Do you really want to risk a poorly attended wedding that gets no attention from the press? Plus, think of all the arrangements we’ve made—the flowers, the cake, the decorations. There’s no guarantee we could get the same services in Ireland. Especially at short notice.”

  “Oh, that’s no problem,” Marianna burbled. “My father agreed to fly everyone involved in the wedding and all the guests over to Ireland and put them up. You’ll need to organize that.”

  Fuck the painkillers, she’d need Scotch. A tank of it. What was she, a travel agent? “It’s not that simple,” Jillian protested. “Where are Michael’s family from? Are there enough hotels in that area to house all your guests? Are the grounds of his home big enough for the wedding?”

  There was a moment of silence, and hope sprang in Jillian’s heart. Please let her be rethinking this. “No, I don’t think you understand, Jillian. We’re not going to get married in someone’s backyard. We’ll get married in a castle.”

  A castle. “Is there a castle near Michael’s home? What’s it called?” And what were the chances that it would be available for a June wedding only three weeks away? Jillian reached for her notepad. She’d been given carte blanche for this wedding—maybe she could write a check and convince some bride and groom to move their wedding.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Jillian could practically see Marianna dismissively waving her hand. “There might be a castle near there. It doesn’t really matter. Just find a castle—something spectacular. Anyway, I have to go. I know you’ll take care of everything. It’s not really that hard, Jillian, the rest of the wedding is already planned. Just find a castle and move everything over there.” There was a click as Marianna disconnected the call, and Jillian sat there with her phone in her hand and visions of her business failing dancing in her head. Marianna could ruin her. No, she could destroy Jillian Baxter Events, and she would, if this wedding didn’t go perfectly.

  She heard a knock, and looked up to see her assistant, Kate, standing in the doorway. “What did she want?” Kate asked.

  Jillian sighed and stood. “We need to find an Irish castle.”

  *

  Early the next morning, Jillian and Kate huddled over a list of castles that had been turned into event centers, hotels, and/or were otherwise suitable for a wedding. There were well over fifty of them, and eleven had been crossed off. After some extensive online research, those had been deemed either too small or too isolated to cater to so many people.

  “Okay,” Jillian said, eyeing the list. “Here’s what we do. You start calling the castles. Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll have some availability. If not, ask for the names and contact details of the bride and groom booked for that day. If none of the castles can help, we call the happy couples and start offering them money.”

  “Got it.” Kate sounded less than confident. “Thank God Ireland is ahead of us, time wise, or we’d lose part of the day sitting on our hands.”

  “Yeah. In the meantime, I’m going to call the florist, the photographer, the videographer, the caterer, the baker—everyone, basically, and see what it’ll take to get this done.”

  “Don’t forget the travel agent,” Kate reminded her. Jillian groaned, and the phone rang. Both women stared at it warily. “We don’t really have to answer it,” Kate suggested tentatively. “It’s still outside business hours.”

  “Knowing our luck, it’ll be Marianna wanting to have her wedding on the moon.” Jillian picked up the phone. “Jillian Baxter Events, this is Jillian.”

  “Jillian.” A smooth voice with a marked Irish lilt came down the line. “Michael Dunne here. How are you?”

  Jillian blinked. She’d met Michael Dunne, Marianna’s fiancé, once, and that was it. “Ah, hello, Michael. I’m fine, thanks, and you?” Kate raised a brow at her, and Jillian grabbed a notepad and scrawled Michael Dunne on it, and then watched Kate’s surprise.

  “I’m very well. Forgive me for calling outside of hours, but I thought you may have started early today.” His tone didn’t change, but the reference to Marianna’s demands was clear. “I thought you might need someone on the ground, so to speak, so I spoke with my brother. He’s offered his assistant to help you until you can get over to Ireland yourself.”

  Jillian closed her eyes for a moment. Bless you, Michael Dunne. “That’s very generous of him, Michael. Normally I’d decline, but we’re working to a very tight schedule, so I’m going to accept gratefully.”

  “Excellent. I’ll give you Fintan’s number and you can give him a ring.” Give him a ring? What the hell would I… “Oh, call him, yes. That would be wonderful.” She took down Fintan Dunne’s phone number and thanked Michael again before hanging up.

  “Well?” Kate leaned forward. “What did he want?”

  “He’s an angel, and Marianna doesn’t deserve him.” Jillian looked at the number on the pad in front of her. “His brother’s assistant in Ireland is going to help us out.” She punched in the number while Kate cheered and slumped back in her chair.

  “Fin Dunne.” The voice was very similar to Michael’s except this time shivers ran down Jillian’s spine. It was deep and husky with that gorgeous Irish accent. “Hello?” A voice that was beginning to sound impatient.

  “Mr. Dunne.” Jillian pulled herself together. “I’m Jillian Baxter, your brother’s wedd
ing planner. He gave me your number…” she trailed off, feeling ridiculously self-conscious.

  “Ah, you’re the one who has to deal with the bitch.” Clearly, Fintan Dunne did not hold his future sister-in-law in high regard, but what exactly was the appropriate response to a statement like that? “Uh, I don’t—”

  “Never mind, I shouldn’t have said that. You’ll be wanting some help with this wedding thing, then.”

  “Normally, I would never ask,” she hastened to assure him, “but the wedding is three weeks away and I need to find a castle.”

  “A castle?” The incredulous tone told her that this was news to him. “God almighty, the woman’s deranged. Okay then, let me give you my assistant’s number. She’s expecting your call.” He rattled off a number. “Her name’s Lynne, and she’ll help with whatever you need.”

  “Thank you so much, Mr. Dunne. I really appreciate this.” Jillian tried not to let her pathetic gratitude sound in her voice.

  “It’s Fin, and you’re very welcome. Good luck.”

  Chapter Two

  Jillian stood in front of Tullamore Castle and studied it carefully. She couldn’t believe how lucky she’d gotten. The place was perfect—absolutely perfect.

  “Miss?”

  Jerking herself back to reality, she smiled at the young, American-accented bellboy—or porter, or whatever they called them in Ireland. He took her suitcase, and she followed him into the foyer.

  God, the place was perfect.

  After she’d spoken to Fintan Dunne, things had just fallen into place. Lynne was a treasure, and within half an hour of their first conversation, she’d found a castle that had just had a wedding cancelled for the weekend they needed. They therefore had available reception rooms, a gorgeous ballroom, and suitable accommodation for almost all the guests. The wonderful staff had also stepped up and found places nearby for the overflow of guests.

  Now she crossed the lobby slowly, examining her surroundings in detail. This was clearly the older part of the castle, which she’d been told dated from the mid-thirteenth century. The owners had been very sensitive to the building’s origins when they turned it into a hotel, so the lobby, while elegant and fitted with the necessary furniture, looked more like a medieval hall than a modern hotel lobby.

  Approaching the reception desk, she smiled at the girl standing there. “Hi. My name is Jillian Baxter. I’m—”

  “Miss Baxter, of course. If you’ll just wait here, I’ll get Aine for you.” She hustled through a door marked Private, and Jillian waited, pleased. Never having used the facilities at Tullamore before, she hadn’t been sure what to expect from the staff. It boded well that the receptionists had been expecting her.

  “Miss Baxter?” A pretty, graying redhead approached. “I’m Aine Byrne. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “And you.” Jillian shook her hand warmly. “Please call me Jillian.” Aine, the owner and general manager of Tullamore, was currently one of Jillian’s favorite people.

  “We have your suite all ready.” Aine took an envelope from the desk and led Jillian through an opening at the back of the lobby and into a wide corridor. A low, cushioned bench sat across from a wall of three lifts. “There’s plenty of room for you to work, and a nice comfortable lounge area. There have been some messages from the local wedding vendors for you, and we’ve put those on the desk. From what I understand, everything is under control, but I imagine you’ll want to confirm that for yourself.” She pressed the call button for the elevator and smiled. Jillian smiled back.

  “Definitely. This wedding could make or break me. I’m so thankful to have found this place.”

  Aine snorted softly as the lift doors opened. They entered and she pressed the button for the third floor. “The bride sounds very…interesting. It’s not many people who have the gall to move a wedding across the Atlantic at a moment’s notice. Her future brother-in-law isn’t exactly reticent about his opinion of her either.”

  Jillian flicked Aine a quick glance. “You’ve spoken with Fintan Dunne?” The elevator doors opened and they stepped out.

  “Yes, Mr. Dunne checked in yesterday. He asked to be informed when you arrived. I believe he’s here to help.”

  Oh crap. That was the last thing she needed—a relative hovering while she frantically got everything ready to go. She had only five days before the wedding, and zero time to placate anyone.

  “Oh.” She followed Aine down the hall. The Irishwoman glanced back over her shoulder and laughed.

  “Don’t worry, Jillian, I got the impression that he’s not fussed about the wedding itself. I think he’s here to run interference between you and his family.” She stopped in front of a door and opened the envelope she’d taken from reception. There was a key card inside, and she slid it smoothly into the lock. The light flashed green, she opened the door, and at her gesture Jillian preceded her into the room.

  It was clearly in the Victorian part of the building, with beautiful plasterwork and elegant furniture. The fireplace was cold, but with a chair placed enticingly before it, Jillian could easily envision it lit. Through an archway to the right she glimpsed a four-poster bed with luxurious linens.

  “If you need anything that isn’t here, just call down and we’ll take care of it for you,” Aine said from the doorway. Jillian turned and smiled.

  “Thank you. I’m sure everything will be fine. It’s a beautiful room.”

  Aine closed the door behind her with a click, and deciding to leave her unpacking for later in favor of getting straight to work, Jillian sat at the roomy desk and pulled the pile of messages toward her. She leafed through them—everything looked standard, just vendors wanting to touch base with her and confirm the arrangements. Most of their New York vendors had refused to leave their businesses to travel to Ireland at such short notice but had agreed to liaise with colleagues in Ireland. Superstar Lynne had helped her find and interview local vendors who were able to handle things on the ground, so to speak.

  The phone on the desk trilled, and she answered it automatically. “Jillian Baxter.”

  “Jillian, Fin Dunne here.” She shivered. Just the sound of his voice was so…

  “Mr. Dunne.” She was proud of how professional she sounded. “How are you?”

  “Well, thanks, and it’s Fin. D’you have time for a drink?”

  Jillian hesitated. It wouldn’t hurt for her to be nice to the man who’d helped her out, but she really wanted to make sure everything was in place. “Can you give me an hour?”

  “No problem. I’ll meet you down in the bar.” He disconnected the call, and Jillian stared at the receiver for a moment before returning it to the cradle. Was it stupid that she had butterflies?

  Yes.

  *

  Jillian looked around the bar. A lot of the wedding guests would be spending time there, so she wandered over to speak to the bartender. A few quick questions established that she’d been well trained, and Jillian was satisfied that things would go smoothly over the wedding weekend. She ordered sparkling water with lime.

  Business handled, she checked out the other patrons. Which one was Fin Dunne? Her gaze skimmed past the elderly gentleman with his young, attractive companion and the group of women huddled in a booth. Was he the blond man at the other end of the bar or—

  Her gaze locked on to a man at a table by the window, and her stomach jumped. She picked up her glass and cautiously approached him.

  “Mr. Dunne?”

  He looked up, and she was mesmerized by his eyes. They were blue. No, they were sapphire, a blue so true and deep she wondered momentarily if they were contact lenses. Taking in the rest of his appearance, she discarded that idea. From his tousled dark hair to the ratty shoes she glimpsed on his feet as he stood, this was not a man who would fuss over colored contact lenses.

  “It’s Fin.” He reached out and took her hand, and every hair on her body stood on end. “And you’d be Jillian.” His voice was even more arresting in person, the Irish lilt
accented by his expression and the amused quirk of his lips.

  “Yes. Jillian.” Inwardly cringing, she pulled herself together and smiled her best professional smile, ignoring the flutters low in her belly. “It’s nice to meet you. Thank you again for lending Lynne to me; I don’t know what I would have done without her.” She slid into the seat Fin motioned to, grateful for the opportunity to get her balance back.

  “She’s a treasure. I could leave the whole company in her hands and have nothing to worry about.” He leaned back in his chair and picked up his glass. His fingers were long, his hands big… “You’ll probably meet her at some stage this week—she’ll be bringing me up some work that needs doing.”

  Jillian seized on the opening. “I’m actually a bit surprised that you’re here, considering how busy you must be.” Please decide to go home. He was way too distracting.

  He took a sip from his drink. “Nah, it’s all good. Lynne can handle the routine, and it’s not like she can’t reach me if necessary. Mick asked me to hang about and help if you need me.”

  Lovely. She gulped down her water and the bubbles burned her throat. Eyes watering, she put her glass down and blinked furiously. Through a sheen of tears, she saw Fin grinning.

  “Go down the wrong way?” His tone was solicitous, but the cheeky smirk on his face said otherwise.

  “Um. Yeah.” Jillian cleared her throat and carefully swiped the moisture from her eyes. “Sorry.” She wanted to sink through the floor. What was wrong with her? She was an adult, rational, reasonable, relatively sophisticated. Why did this man turn her into a moron? They’d barely spoken two words to each other!

  “Not a problem. So, is there anything you need from me? Mick and I convinced Ma that she doesn’t need to be here ’til Mick arrives on Friday, which’ll keep her out of your hair. I just need to report in daily so she doesn’t panic.” He was still smiling, the corners of his amazing eyes crinkling in the most appealing way. A wave of heat swept up Jillian’s chest to her face, and she prayed that the blush wasn’t too obvious. A different kind of heat gathered between her legs, and she shifted slightly in her seat.