IrishAllure

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

“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 wedding 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.”

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.

“Everything seems to be under control for the moment. The
staff here has been tremendously helpful. I’ll be meeting with all the vendors
and touring the facilities properly tomorrow. We’ll see then what still needs
to be done.”

“Well then.” Fin Dunne leaned forward, his gaze capturing
hers. “If you’ve nothing else to fuss about tonight, why don’t we try out the
restaurant?”

Try out the restaurant? Oh crap, he’s asking me to
dinner.
“Er,” Jillian hedged, trying to think of an excuse, and then
stopped when the corners of his mouth tipped up in amusement. Why shouldn’t she
have dinner with the attractive brother of her client? It wasn’t like anything
was going to happen, no matter how hot he was. She was almost
obliged
to
have dinner with him—he was her liaison with the groom while she was in
Ireland.

She took a breath and smiled, pleased that it felt natural.
“Sure, that sounds good. Let’s see what the chef can do.”

* * * * *

Jillian’s face hurt from laughing so much. “You’re pulling
my leg!” she accused Fin, leaning back so the waiter could clear her dessert
plate. The evening had been wonderful. The supremely talented chef had come out
to speak briefly with her about the menu for the wedding, and they’d set a time
to speak properly tomorrow, but after tasting his food, she had complete faith
that the wedding dinner would be excellent. In addition to that, Fin Dunne was
an entertaining and charming dinner companion. He’d gone out of his way to be
amusing, and the stories he’d told about himself and Michael growing up with
their younger sister were hilarious.

“My mouth to God’s ear, it’s all true. Mick may seem like a
respectable type but deep down he’s the worst sort of reprobate.”

“What’s he doing with
her
—” Jillian slapped a hand
over her mouth. Damn it, she’d only had two glasses of wine, but clearly they’d
done too good a job relaxing her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t be sorry, we’re all asking ourselves the same thing.
None of us can work it out, and he just says he’s in love with her. Damned if I
can understand it.” The grin had faded from his face and his stunningly blue
eyes were serious for the first time since they’d met. “I never thought I’d
dislike my brother’s wife, but there you are.”

Jillian shifted awkwardly in her chair. Crap. She should
have kept her big fat mouth shut.

“Come on then,” Fin said gently. “Let’s not talk about such
things. Are you finished? How about a walk in the gardens?” Relief flooded her,
and she smiled again.

“Sure.”

Fin gestured for the bill and, when it came, signed it to
his room. Jillian had wondered momentarily if she should protest. After all,
for her it was a tax write-off. Her hand had twitched toward the little tray,
and Fin had drawn it out of her reach.
Okay then.

As they left the restaurant, he offered her his arm, and her
heart went pitty-pat. How gentlemanly. She took it and felt her insides go
melty at his warmth. They wandered out to the lovely garden.
God, this place
is perfect.
Maybe she should consider offering destination wedding
packages.

She asked Fin what he thought.

“Why not? For me, I don’t see the fuss, but I imagine a lot
of women would want to marry in an Irish castle. And you don’t need to pre-book
anything, do you? So it’s not like you’d be out of pocket if nobody did.”

He had a point.

They wandered around the kitchen garden and past the maze,
then paused at a high stone wall. “What’s this?” Jillian reached out and
touched the cool, rough stone.

“The rose garden. The gate is this way.” Fin led her several
meters down the wall, where a wrought-iron gate stood open, and then gestured
for her to enter.

Even in the washed-out moonlight, the garden was stunning.
Roses climbed the stone walls, formed arbors, crept over rocks. The heady
fragrance wafted through the evening air. The path winding through the garden
widened periodically, allowing room for stone benches and mosaic tables.

“Oh—this is amazing!” Jillian turned and grabbed Fin’s arm.
“Does it look this good in daylight?”

“Better.” He took her hand and gently nudged her toward one
of the benches. “What do you know about the castle’s history?”

Jillian sat. “Not much. I know the original castle is
medieval, and that it was extended in the mid-nineteenth century, and then
converted to a hotel about twenty years ago.”

“Mm, well, there’s quite a lot more, but this garden was
built when the Victorian renovation was done. The owner at the time, Sir
Charles Chichester, had it put in for his wife Maude. She was pregnant at the
time and liked to sit amongst the roses in the afternoons.”