Excerpt of Barefoot on a Starlit Night
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I am so excited to share this excerpt from, Jo McNally! She just released, Barefoot on a Starlit Night, a fake engagement romance and the third book in the Rendezvous Falls series. Check out this except and one click it today!
She got to the bottom of the cellar stairs, then balanced the clothes basket on one hip while reaching up for the string to turn on the light. That’s when her fingers came in contact with a warm hand that did not belong to her already on the light string.
She let out a scream, throwing the basket to fend off whoever, or whatever, was hiding down there waiting for her. Then she started swinging her fists.
Through her panic, it started to register that a male voice was speaking.
“Sorry. Shit. Sorry. Ow! Sorry. Bridget, it’s me…it’s Finn!”
She stopped hitting him, her chest rising and falling as she fought for breath.
“Finn?”
The light came on, making her blink. She hardly recognized him in his basketball shorts and ragged T-shirt, hair tousled and on end. And oh good Lord, he was wearing glasses. Dark-rimmed, studious, sexy glasses. He’d grabbed one of her hands and was holding it just inches from his face. His eyes were dark with regret.
“Oi, I’m so sorry, Bridget. I swear I wasn’t trying t’ spook you.”
She pulled her hand back and placed it over her heart, which was threatening to leap out of her chest.
“I’d hate to see what you could do if you were actually trying. What the hell are you doing down here in the pitch dark?”
“It’s not that dark once your eyes adjust. I’d forgotten to get my last load of laundry out of the dryer last night, so I just ran down to grab it. I heard you on the stairs and reached for the light. Maybe I should have spoken first, but I thought a voice from the dark would scare you.”
It probably would have terrified her. The guy had been in a no-win situation. Her heart rate began to settle.
“Okay, yeah…that probably would have been worse.” There was a pile of socks and…men’s underwear…on the dryer. He ran his fingers through his dark hair, and she realized he was sweaty. Not nervous sweaty. Workout sweaty. His arms were sinewed and lean, with that Celtic knot tattoo she’d spied before, as well as another tat peeking out from under the sleeve of his tee. Was that a dragon tail? If only she could push up that sleeve and see… Bridget took a step back. Whoa. It must be the adrenaline from her scare making her think so crazy.
“Okay…” She tried to rein in her scattered thoughts. “Okay. No harm, no foul. I’m sorry if I hit you…” Her shoulders fell. “It seems all I do is apologize to you. It’s been a tough month. Winter. Year. Or two.” Saying that out loud deflated her.
Finn paused, and his voice went soft. “Have you cleared things up with Maura?”
“Not yet. But I will. I’m just…tired, like I said. I’m worn out, and I took that out on you.”
They both bent to pick up her laundry from the floor, nearly bumping heads in the process.
Bridget pulled back. “I’m sorry…”
“You really need to stop sayin’ that.” Finn’s voice was firm, but not angry. More like…insistent. Concerned.
“I know. I’m…” She caught herself with a short laugh. “Oh my God, you’re right. I don’t know what… Oh, no! Give me that!” She snatched a silky pink bra with molded cups out of his hand. Good Lord, the man was picking up her dirty underwear! Her cheeks went hot. “Look, I promise to never say the s-word again if you’ll please stop handling my underwear!”
His right brow rose at that sentence, which came across more suggestive than intended.
“I mean,” she stammered, “I’ll pick this up. I don’t want you—or any man, for that matter—touching my dirty undies.”
Nonplussed, he kept tossing items back into the basket. “I grew up with a wee sis who left her dainties hanging over the shower bar every damn day. It’s just cloth, Bridget.” He picked up a fistful of panties in a rainbow of bright colors, rendering her speechless. The corner of his mouth twitched, but he seemed to think better of whatever he’d been going to say, and put them in the basket. That was the last of it, and they both stood.
He’d piqued her curiosity. “Do you miss your family? Are they all in Ireland?”
He leaned back against the dryer, hands in his pockets. She’d figured out that was something he did when he was thinking through what to say next. It was a tell of his. The fact that she’d picked up on it meant she’d been paying a little too much attention to the man.
“My mum and dad are in Sallins, outside o’ Dublin. My sis and her fam are in Kildare. I have aunties and uncles and cousins all over— Spain, London, Australia. But somehow I’m the only one who landed in the States.” He hesitated. “And yeah, I miss them. I’m heading home this fall for my parents’ fiftieth anniversary, but that’ll be my first trip in two years.”
“Why?”
“Eh, the divorce, mostly.” He stared at his feet, his voice low. “Money was tight. And I wasn’t the best company for a while. I shut out a lot of people, the good along with the bad.” He straightened, pulling his hands from his pockets and clearing his throat. “And most important was goin’ back coulda’ messed up my visa application. Especially while I was…between jobs.”
She stuffed her laundry into the washing machine so it wasn’t out on display.
“You want to become a citizen?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. But I just want some stability for now. I…I made a mess at my last job, and your government frowns on switching visa sponsors when you’re going for a green card. I wanted to avoid any hassles.”
“A green card? Can’t you just marry someone for that?”
He grinned. “Why? Are you offering?”
Her laughter sounded high-pitched and nervous in her own ears. “Hey, you already got an office out of me. Don’t go asking for marriage, too.” She tipped her head to the side. “Even needing a green card couldn’t keep your marriage together?”
His green eyes cooled. “For one thing, marrying your way to a green card is a lot more complicated than it looks in the movies. And I didna’ marry Dori for a green card. I loved her.”
Bridget’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “What happened?”
“There are a lot of things I can forgive, but shaggin’ another man and throwing it in my face isn’t one of them.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh…ouch. I know from experience that a cheating partner can really mess you up.” He gave her a curious look, and—as always around this guy—she spilled the story. “I didn’t find out until after he dumped me that my so-called fiancé had been sleeping around. With pretty much everyone on the West Coast.”
“What an arse.”
‘Barefoot on a Starlit Night’ by Jo McNally
“No argument here.” The washing machine was gently tossing her lingerie back and forth across the glass door. “Well…I’ve got stuff to do.” She turned for the stairs and went back up to the main floor, with Finn following. Instead of going to her place, she stopped by the big staircase, not eager to leave his company. He seemed to feel the same, because he stood there beside her.
“Is that why you came back here from California then? You found out he was playin’ you?”
She sat on the steps and looked up at Finn. “No. My dad died unexpectedly and left me the bar. And the house. And his debts. Yay, me.”
He looked around the hallway. It was clean, but outdated and tired. Just like her.
“If you need any work done, I’m fairly handy,” he said, still looking around. “I could help around here if you’d like. Seems you’re under a bit of stress…”
That was the understatement of the century.
“Not necessary, but thanks. I’ll get to it eventually. I can handle it.”
He sat on the step below hers, resting his arm on his knee. “It’s not a matter of what you can do, it’s a matter of letting someone else share the load. Your fiancé didn’t come back to help when your dad died?”
“Nope. Turned out my commitment to the relationship was very different than his. He acted like I suggested he move into a cave somewhere when I told him I had to come back and asked him to come with me. Dropped me like a hot rock, and I never saw it coming. I guess he actually left the relationship a year before, and just forgot to tell me. You know what they say—love is blind.”
He huffed a soft laugh. Seated above him, she could see the swirling curls in his dark hair. She closed her hands into fists to keep from reaching out and touching them. Then he looked up. “I missed the signs, too. Late-night classes and meetings. The furtive looks and touches between them. I didn’t see any of it until all of a sudden I saw all of it. I felt like a dunce.”
She nodded, knowing just how he felt. They sat there in silence, and it was…nice. Comfortable. As if she was finally still, letting the rest of the world spin without her for once. Finn cleared his throat.
“Have you thought any more about taking my help with updating the pub with a more Irish feel?”
He’d jumped the tracks on their conversation topic, but she went with it. Things had been getting a little too intimate. “Right now, I’m just trying to get ready for our busiest month. March has St. Patrick’s Day, and things get crazy. Besides, I told you before that just because you’re from Ireland, that doesn’t make you a bar expert.”
“Have you been t’ Ireland?” Finn’s right brow arched, telling her he’d guessed the answer.
“No, but…”
“Then yes, just because I’m actually Irish, I know enough to help at least a little on things Irish. Oh, and did I mention my sis and her husband own a pub in County Kildare?”
“Uh…no. You might have led with that, you know.”
“Just to be clear, I’m not looking t’ tell you what to do. I’m just saying I can answer questions on decor and food and such.” His face screwed up. “For example, unicorns aren’t Irish.”
She cringed. Nana loved unicorns, and they were scattered around the pub—posters, figurines, and there was even a Unicorn Cocktail on the menu, with edible glitter on top.
“But that song…an Irish group sang it, about how the unicorns were playing around and missed Noah’s ark. It’s one of Nana’s favorite Irish songs!”
Finn scrubbed his hands down his face, then gave her a pointed look. “You see? This is what I’m talking about. You Yanks think that song’s Irish. Sure, it was written by the famous Irishman, Shel Silverstein.”
She laughed. Damn, it had been a while since she’d belly-laughed like that. “Really? I mean, I knew it wasn’t an ancient traditional song or anything, but I thought it was at least Irish.”
Something shifted in his expression as he watched her laughing. Did she see a flare of heat there? And why did something flutter inside of her at the same time? She blinked and looked away. Her laughter faded, but not her smile.
“You’re saying if I want to make the place more sincerely Irish in food and decor, that I should come to you for guidance?”
He nodded. “I’m happy to help, Bridget. By the way, did you know you were named for an Irish saint from County Kildare?”
She nodded. “I’m glad to hear you confirm that at least that story is true. St. Bridget is the patron saint of beer, right?”
Finn chuckled. “Yeah. She turned a whole lake into the stuff, according to legend. Did you know she was named for a pagan goddess, Brigid?”
“No way! A goddess? Nana never told me that.” Which made sense. Nana wasn’t one to talk about pagans of any sort. Father Brennan would never approve.
His smile deepened, and so did the heat in his gaze. Had he moved closer? Or was it her leaning toward him? Her leg was almost brushing his arm. He reached up and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. Such a sweet, intimate gesture. Her heart skipped a beat. Or three. His voice lowered.
“Aye, makes sense, really. Brigid was the Goddess of Fire and Hearth. Appropriate for a chef and pub owner, right? And someone who acts just a bit like a goddess herself?” His fingertips lingered on the soft skin behind her ear, and she didn’t mind it at all. His touch was warm. Comforting. Inviting. And then it was gone.
He seemed surprised to realize how close they were, clearing his throat and standing abruptly. She stood too, refusing to acknowledge her irrational disappointment at his move. She was one step above him, leaving them eye to eye.
“Just to be clear,” she said, “I do not act like a goddess…I’m just…”
“Wanting everyone to do what you say without question?” His crooked smile told her he was teasing. She gave a playful shrug. Things had grown weird there for a moment, but she’d regrouped.
“I can’t help it if I’m just…right…most of the time. It’s a lot easier for all concerned when people don’t test me.”
Now it was his turn to laugh out loud.
“Well said, goddess.” He turned and picked up his laundry from where he’d set it on the steps. “I’ll leave you to your busy day ruling the world.”
She sat there a long time after he left, wondering at how his touch made her feel. How he’d made her laugh. Their relationship, for lack of a better word, had gone from adversarial to…friendly? With a hint of chemistry? She scoffed at herself. She had to be imagining that part.
But when he called her a goddess, there was something in his voice. His gaze. Something that almost made her believe she was one.
About Jo McNally
Jo McNally is an award-winning author who writes contemporary romances with love, laughter and hard-won HEAs.
Jo lives in Upstate New York with 100 pounds of dog and 200 pounds of husband - her slice of the bed is very small. When she's not writing or reading romance novels (or clinging to the edge of the bed...), she can often be found on the back porch sipping wine with friends while listening to an eclectic playlist. If the weather is absolutely perfect, she might join her husband on the golf course, where she feels far more competitive than her actual skill-level would suggest.
