Interview with author Kemberlee Shortland. Book tour for her Irish Pride Series.

Author’s Interview Questions

       1.       Are you famous is the general question I get when family and friends introduces me to their friends. It always left me with a pause as quick comebacks filters through my mind but ending up saying something like ….”Oh gee thanks” and give a shy smile, silly I know but the idea unsettles me. (a)Does this happen to you and (b) what do you say?

LOL No, I’ve never been asked if I’m famous. If I ever were asked, I’d probably come out with something cheeky like, “Yeah, in my own mind.” I also figure if I was famous, they wouldn’t have to ask me that question.

       2.       In general do you like to talk about you writing and published books or are you very close-lip about it? If no why?

I’m a talker. Give me a subject and it’s hard to shut me up. I inherited this trait from my father, which is why when we Skype, we can be on for more than 5 hours! So yeah, I like talking about my books. However, I won’t give away plot elements of books I’m currently working on unless I’m having a plot party with my crit partner.

        3.       What book/s are you currently writing and what is it about?

I have a few projects in the fire at the moment, but the one I’m currently promoting is Shape of My Heart which published on 11 April. This is the third book in the Irish Pride series, which are all set in modern-day Ireland. Grainne Vaughan has come to a point in her life where she needs to grow up. She was raised by her brother, Kieran (from Rhythm of My Heart), who usually picks up after her messes. She envies how he’s found ‘the one’ and wants love for herself. But that has to wait because she needs to get responsible for her life which involves a full time job and to finish college. Only college is very expensive so she moonlights as a dancer in a club in Dublin. John ‘JD’ Desmond is an undercover detective with the Dublin Guards (police) and has been watching this particular club, as it’s being run as a drug front. He takes a part time job where Grainne works at her day job to gather intell, but when she doesn’t talk about her moonlighting job, he discovers her secret and blackmails her into helping him. When they fall in love, everything changes. Then Grainne witnesses her boss being murdered at the hands of a man known as The Hunter, who’s one of the city’s drug kingpins operating out of the club. JD has to take her into hiding until The Hunter can be found. But The Hunter has skills and tracks the two down, and the race is on to save their lives or die trying.

        4.       Why this particular genre?

Why romance? It’s full of emotion. Other genres, like mysteries, usually involve the mind . . . gathering clues, analyzing facts, correlating things and putting them into an order to solve a crime or mystery. With romance, it’s all about emotion and seeing the story through the protagonist’s eyes . . . feeling what he/she feels, hearing what he/she hears, tastes what he/she tastes . . . This, to me, is what pulls me into the story. I want a story to put me on the back of a horse in Medieval times, or into a speeding car in contemporary times. I want to feel the wind in my hair, the rush of excitement racing through me. If a couple is eating strawberries in cream, I want to taste them. It’s one thing to say ‘they ate strawberries in cream’ but something wholly different to experience the flavor and textures with the character. And I want to know what their reaction is to it. Are they feeding each other? Does it turn them on? If so, what do they do about it? Know what I mean?

         5.       What inspire or motivate you to write?

I love telling stories and I love communicating and engaging with readers. I’m a people person. I love talking and engaging with people, and I find that I can do that very well through my writing. I’m not hugely hung up on reviews, but in a way, they kind of complete the circle of communication — Example: Reader says, “Tell me a story about a woman with a desire to ‘find herself’ and find love.” As my reply, I write that story as I see it. The reader reads my communication in that story, then replies back with how they felt about the story . . . how they felt about my reply to their initial statement. Circle complete. Unless that book is part of a series and the reader follows it, then we’re communicating back and forth through each story as it’s told. I love it when the reader communicates back with me, “When is the next story coming?” That’s motivating for me.

         6.       What is the writing process like for you?

It’s probably like most writers — Idea > Research > Notes > First Draft > Edit > Redraft/Rewrite > Edit > Redraft/Rewrite > Edit, etc until the book is about as perfect as I think it is > Submit. If accepted > Edit > Amend > Edit > Amend until the editor thinks it’s ready for publication. Sometimes the editing process can take longer than the first draft stage. But I love it all!

        7.       How did/do you teach yourself to write?

Read everything in my genre and similar genre, and write, write, write. Listen to advice and write, write, write. We learn something every book we write. We improve with every book we write. If we’re not learning with every book we write, we’re not writing right. Right?

        8.       What aspect of the craft do you think is most difficult to learn?

Patience and taking criticism. We must learn both or we’ll fail.

        9.       What has been the most encouraging comment someone has made about your writing?

The most encouraging thing for me to hear is that I’ve done my job well. Everything else is a bonus.

        10.   What is the best and/ or worst part of being a writer?

I love the creative and research processes or writing. Having a story in mind and putting the historical pieces together to make the fiction work. I love it when I plot a story out then hit the internet or library for historical data, only to find that what I’ve plotted from my imagination really did happen! That happened with my WIP, The Diary. One of my plot elements was . . .  oh, wait, I don’t talk about those before the book is published J

       11.   Any advice for struggling writers?

Read everything and write, write, write. Listen to criticism with an open ear, especially from professionals. And appreciate every bit of help offered.

       12.   What is your favorite genre to read or write?

Romance, first and foremost, and most subgenre — historical, contemporary, erotica, suspense, paranormal . . . some fantasy and sci fi. It’s all good. When I’m not reading romance, I really enjoy Dean Koontz. He cut his teeth writing romance back in the 70s and his current work still has romantic elements and a similar style seen in romance today, especially in the use of emotion. And I enjoy bios, particularly those of classic rock musicians, such as Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Cass Eliot, even David Cassidy. I’m currently reading, as I write this, the recent bio of Robert Plant and enjoying it. I love these types of bios because I love music from that period and these ‘stories’ give me a sense of the period, especially as these people’s lives all intersected at one point or two.

                                                        

       13.   Favorite author?

Depends on the genre — Dean Koontz for thrillers, Linda Howard for romantic suspense, Elizabeth Chadwick for historical fiction . . . And I’ve read some great stories as standalones from the author; I may enjoy one of an author’s works but not all of them.

       14.   Do you have a favorite spot to read and write? Share a photo if you have one.

I tend to read in bed before lights out, so you’re not getting that picture! I also like reading in the car while on long drives . . . provided those long drives are mundane, otherwise I’m looking out the window and my mind goes into research mode. I may look like I’m day dreaming, but inside I’m plotting ;-)

       15.   What did you do before you became a writer?

Well, now. How long have we got? I’ve been called a jack of all trades. I hold two diplomas; one in pet nutrition and the other in hotel and restaurant management. Some of the oddest jobs I’ve had though include babysitting sea otters, pumping gas, and greenwear cleaning. I don’t think any of those are odd, but others tell me they are. Your readers can decide.

       16.    What do you like to do when not writing? 

I knit, take photos, blog, play with our hairy kids (we have two Border Collies), gardening, sometimes cooking, and not necessarily in that order.

       17.   Do you have a bucket/ to-do list and would you share at least two things on it?

I don’t do bucket lists. I feel they’re the biggest set up for disappointment, especially if I can’t or don’t do everything on it before I take my last breath. There are things I’d *like* to do at some point in my life, but if I never get a chance to, it won’t upset me . . . if that makes sense. I just try living the best I can every day and enjoy what I have now. I *do* have to-do lists, but sadly, they’re all about work.

       18.   Most daring thing or experience you have done you would like to share?

I think that’s relative. I’m horribly afraid of heights so walking across the Golden Gate Bridge, even if just partially, was monumental for me. I’m not a thrill seeker in the least, which I equate to daring. I used to think I wanted to learn to hang glide. Not anymore lol

                                                              

       19.   This or that questions:

               ·          Coffee or Tea – Diet Coke

               ·         Sweet or savory – Sweet

               ·      Home make meal or takeouts – Both have their appeal

               ·        Winter or summer – Summer

               ·        Night-owl or Early-Bird – Night Owl

               ·       Telephone or visits – Phone at the moment since everyone I know lives so far away.

               ·          Which social network do you prefer? Facebook

               ·          Blogger or website? Blogger as a website ;-)

               ·         What does your family say about your career? Supportive or Clueless – Very supportive!

And Finally

20.   Moto/wisdom in life you live by.

Never say never.

Never say always.

Always say maybe!

Contact details and buy links of the newest books you would like the readers to know.

Website: / Blog: / Blog: / Blog: 

Facebook: / Twitter: / Linkedin:  / Amazon Author Page: 

Smashwords: / Goodreads: / Tirgearr Publishing: 

Pinterest: Time suck! Not on there. But I’m sure it’s only a matter of time

Thank you so much for having me here today. I’ve really enjoyed chatting with you and look forward to meeting your readers!

Kemberlee

AUTHOR BIO

Kemberlee Shortland was born and raised in Northern California in an area known as America's Salad Bowl. It was home to many authors, including John Steinbeck, and for a while Jack London and Robert Louis Stevenson. In 1997, Kemberlee had the opportunity to live in Ireland for six months where she ended up meeting a man who convinced her to stay. Kemberlee is now celebrating her seventeeth year in Ireland and has been lucky to travel the country extensively, picking up a cupla focal along the way—a few Irish words.

Kemberlee was an early-reader and has been writing since a very young age, and over the years she has published many travel articles and book reviews, as well as worked some notable authors who’ve set their books in Ireland.

After publishing travel articles since 1997, Kemberlee saw her first short stories published, and now has eight published books to her name and half a dozen others languishing in a drawer.

Away from the computer, Kemberlee enjoys knitting and other needlecrafts, playing with her Border Collies, castle hunting, travel, reading, gardening, and cookery. One day she hopes to have time to learn to play guitar properly.

RHYTHM OF MY HEART

Irish Pride series, book one

Kemberlee Shortland

BLURB

Artist Representative, Eilis Kennedy, gave up a singing career so that other women could have a fair chance at having their music heard. Having suffered rejection from callous men in the industry, she thought she would get away from ‘casting couch’ mentality. But when she finds herself in the office of Fergus Manley, all bets are off. Disgusted by his continual come-ons and lewd invitations, Eilis is looking for ‘the one’ who will take her career to the next level, getting out from under Fergus’s controlling thumb.

Aspiring blues guitarist, Kieran Vaughan, is looking for his big break. But after suffering near bankruptcy at the hands of an unscrupulous business partner, Kieran is left picking up the pieces. He’s unsure if the debts will ever be paid or if he’ll ever have a chance to do something with his music. At his whit’s end, he’s about ready to throw in the towel and find a full-time job with real hours.

When Eilis discovers Kieran playing in a seedy pub in Dublin’s Northside, she knows he’s the one rare talent she’s been searching for. With her know-how and his talent, Eilis will finally get everything she’s been waiting for. Neither of them count on the powerful attraction from first meeting. Eilis is so rocked by Keiran’s forthright words that it sends her running. Kieran risks being arrested as he chases Eilis across Ireland.

Seeing what’s happening between Eilis and Kieran, anger wells inside Fergus and he steps up his pursuit of Eilis. Refusing to let Kieran get in his way, Fergus vows to add Eilis’s notch to his bedpost, whatever it takes.

Will Kieran be able to protect her?

EXTRACT

Dublin's Northside looked far different by day than it did at night. Last night’s storm had been one of the season’s worst. Huge puddles hampered traffic, and trash had collected in the corners of doorways and blocked the gutters. The lingering breeze was still crisp and signaled the imminent winter. Wisps of dark clouds streaked the pale blue sky but remained reminiscent of last night’s tempest.

As the taxi drove through Dublin’s inner city, a blur of tacky euro shops, shoddy newsagents and off-licenses, all with shop fronts that had seen better days, flashed by.

Finglas wasn’t noted as one of Dublin’s prime locations. This was a large blue collar suburb in a rapidly expanding city. Lack in a pride of ownership was evident, as residents struggled to make ends meet, which gave the area a rough underbelly. The Little Man Pub was a perfect example of both.

Eilis wrapped her arms around her middle, instinctively protective. Was this the compromise she must face to get where she wanted?

When the taxi slowed at a junction, she pressed herself back in her seat. A group of out-of-work young men sipping something from a paper bag spun their heads and looked at her.

Just this once, just this once, she chanted to herself.

Just this one trip to find Kieran Vaughan and that would be it. She’d never have to come back to this place ever again. She could stay safely tucked away in her D2 house for the rest of her days. She’d worked hard for that house. She deserved it. She deserved it all the more now by putting herself through this.

Long ago, Eilis had vowed never to set foot in the Northside again. But if it took this one last visit to get what she needed, it would be worth it.

The taxi pulled around the corner and the now familiar entrance to The Little Man Pub came into view. Nicotine-stained curtains were pulled across windows, reflecting the unkempt street. The façade’s red and black paint was weather-faded to pink and gray. The ‘M’ on the sign hung askew and swung in the breeze, and the ‘P’ was missing altogether. Had she not been here last night she would have thought the place was shut.

She pulled some money from her purse to hand to the driver. “I’ll wait fer ye, luv,” he said, waving her money away. “Taxis can be hard to come by ‘round here.”

Eilis was suitably taken aback. “Thank you. I won’t be a moment.”

She swallowed hard, got out of the taxi then entered the pub.

Her eyes slowly adjusted to the dark room. The few men sitting around the bar turned their gazes in her direction. Understandably. A well-groomed businesswoman in the pub was surely a novelty. These men were long since retired, or long since employed. Their stubbled faces meant they hadn’t shaved in several days, or possibly weeks. The dim light hid the worst of their unkempt appearances, but nothing could disguise their unwashed clothes. A pong in the room wafted into her nostrils, causing her stomach to lurch again.

Shoulders back, she strode to the bar.

The same man from last night stood behind the counter. He was short and pudgy with missing front teeth. His disheveled appearance made him look like one of his patrons. Had he not been behind the counter she wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference.

His striped brown and white shirt had frayed cuffs and was open to mid-chest, showing a sweat-stained t-shirt underneath. His brown trousers had seen much better days and were held together not with a button or belt, but with a bit of twine looping between his belt loops, his round belly spilling over. The only thing holding up the trousers was his equally round bum. It seemed to push the waistband up in the back as his belly pushed it down in the front. The sight would have been funny if her stomach hadn’t been flip-flopping.

Her voice cracked when she first spoke, but it picked up strength in her determination to make something of this horrid trek. “A-are you the proprietor?”

A broad gap-toothed grin creased the man’s face and, loud enough for his patrons to hear, he said, “I’ll be who ever ye want me to be, luv.”

His friends burst into laughter. Eilis felt the flush rise in her cheeks. Not because she was embarrassed, but from frustration. She just wanted to get this meeting over with and she wasn’t in the mood to spar.

She stood her ground. “I’m looking for the man who played guitar here last night. Kieran Vaughan. We have business. Will you please tell me where I can find him?” She looked the man in the eye, much as she could, considering she stood a good half-foot taller than him, even without her heels.

“No, miss, I doubt you have any business with himself. ‘Speshly a fine lass such as yerself. Now, if ye were to come home with a real man like meself, well . . .” He left the rest unsaid, the insinuation hanging in the air.

Her gaze never wavered as she stared the little man in the eye.

“Sir,” she smiled sweetly, honey dripping from her words. She leaned over the bar just enough to give him a glimpse of the swell of her breast through the opening of her blouse. “I doubt you have anything I would be interested in. Besides, you don’t really want me to find out why this place is called The Little Man, do you?”

This earned the publican long oohs and sniggers from the patrons, who were now on the edges of their seats waiting to hear the disagreeable little man's response.

Obviously taken aback by such a brazen retort, the man stood gaping and red-faced at her for a moment before he got his wits about him. He winked at the men around the bar. “Oy does like me birds feisty!” That only encouraged more laughter.

Eilis could have enjoyed the banter if only the man wasn’t so repulsive. All she wanted to do was meet Kieran Vaughan and get out of Finglas as quickly as possible.

When the laughing stopped, Eilis’s gaze never wavered as she said, “Well?”

“Well what, loov?” he asked, wiping the tears from his eyes with a dirty bar towel.

“Are you going to tell me where to find Kieran Vaughan?” He was trying her patience, but she did her best to keep the frustration out of her voice.

Then she sensed someone step up behind her and straightened instantly. Somehow she knew it was Kieran. The feral scent of him permeated her senses and quickened her pulse. Butterflies replaced the strange ache in her stomach that had been there just moments before.

She slowly turned and looked up at the most handsome man she’d ever seen in her life. She found herself instantly speechless.

She'd seen him on stage the night before and knew he was handsome. But this close up . . . Never before had she seen such blue eyes. As she gazed into them, they changed from the light steel blue to the color of storm clouds heavily ringed with gunmetal. That he had dark brows and thick lashes only made his gaze seem more intense.

“Ye’ve found him, loov,” said the little man, taunting her. “Now what are ye goin’ ta do with him?”

The hammering of her heart and the pulsing blood in her temples blocked out the noise in the room as she looked into Kieran Vaughan’s eyes. To her dismay, her knees actually quivered.

Something in the pit of her belly ached. No, something else. It was like warm melting honey running through her marrow. In that moment she longed to touch him, to brush the unruly wave of his dark hair away from his face, to feel his lips against the pads of her fingers, to . . .

When he spoke she almost didn’t hear him.

“Like the man said, now that you’ve found me, what are you going to do with me?” His eyes sparkled with unabashed mischief.

“Anything you want me to.”

A PIECE OF MY HEART

Irish Pride series, book two

Kemberlee Shortland

BLURB

Mick and Kate thought they were falling in love. Kate hadn't been just the girl next door. She'd been Mick's life, and he hers. When an unforeseen force draws them apart they're left with wounds that refuse to heal. Now, ten years on, Mick's father's will should have been straightforward, except his addendum was like ice water in Mick's face.

It's essential that Mick and Kate work together to save his family's farm. Mick doesn't count on his new manager being accused of murder, and Kate doesn't expect a dangerously seductive woman from Dublin to claim Mick is the father of her child.

Kate thought she was falling in love with Mick all over again; however this newest revelation is too much for her. She is determined to finally say goodbye to her childhood sweetheart forever, but Mick has other plans for Kate's future. And none of them involve goodbye.

EXTRACT

“What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too, Mick.” She opened one eye to look at him.

He stood just inside the solicitor’s office door. He’d expected Kate at the funeral service yesterday, but he couldn’t see any reason for her to be here today.

He scowled in her direction, then strode to reception. The clerk behind the desk turned a harried glance his way, continuing to sort folders beside her computer. “Can I help you?” she asked, not bothering to stop what she was doing.

“Michael Spillane to see Tighe Lynch,” he grumbled.

Finally looking up, the clerk said, “He’s expecting you. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

As the clerk reached for the intercom, he turned back to Kate. If this hadn’t been his father’s solicitor’s office and if today hadn’t been the reading of his father’s will, he would have appreciated the sight of her in her smart dark blue suit, white blouse with the Irish lace trim, and matching blue pumps. She sat calmly, her head against the wall behind her, eyes closed. She bent her shapely legs under her and crossed them at the ankle, her hands folded in her lap.

Her emerald eyes hid beneath lids edged with thick dark lashes. He knew the exact shade of them since he’d looked into them so often in the past. They were eyes no man could forget.

Her normally unruly black hair was pulled back in a twist and away from her heart shaped face.

When they were kids he used to love it when she left her hair down. The tight curls of it bounced over her shoulders like springs when she ran. He’d seen her like that once last year when he’d been home for a couple days during Christmas.

They’d been invited to join the Conneelys, but he’d convinced his father not to go. He couldn’t bear being in the same room with her for so long, but she’d delivered food and he’d suffered anyway.

He recalled how he’d stiffened just watching her walk across the farmyard. As he did now. He mentally shook himself. This wasn’t the time or place to get an erection. The business at hand was the will and what she was doing here now. Not the fact that just looking at her could make him stiff.

Clearing his throat, he repeated, “You didn’t answer my question. What are you doing here?”

Her eyes fluttered open. The look she gave him made his heart skip a beat. His groin tightened again watching her tongue smooth its way over her lips. She had no idea just how erotic that simple act was. She was about to speak when a door opened behind him. Both of them spun to face Tighe Lynch.

“Mickleen,” Tighe exclaimed, using the common endearment and thrusting his hand into his. “Welcome home, lad. I just wish it were under different circumstances. I can’t tell you how much Donal will be missed.”

Mick could only tip his head at the man’s kindness. Words were still too hard to come by.

Tighe grasped Kate by her shoulders as she stood to greet him and kissed her on both cheeks. “Kate. Lovely as ever. Won’t you both step into my office?”

Not one to stand on ceremony, Mick strode through the door ahead of Kate and Tighe and went right into the solicitor’s office. He knew where it was. Was it really only a little more than two years ago he’d been here to discuss his mother’s will?

His scowl deepened when Kate walked through the office door ahead of Tighe. He got the perfect look at her shapely bum as she was forced to step between him and the desk to the seat beside him. He shifted in his seat, crossing his legs and pulling his coat around him to hide his erection. He kept his mind on wondering why she was at the reading of his father’s will to keep his libido under control.

Surely, she’d earned a regular wage for the time she spent cleaning his father’s house and cooking his meals. She was hired help and would have been paid accordingly. So there should be no reason why she should be here today. Unless there was something the solicitor knew and wasn’t telling them. Yet.

“I thought this was just a formality, Tighe. Why is she here?” He couldn’t even use her name. Just the feel of it in his mouth would leave him tongue-tied.

Tighe stopped him with an upheld hand. “If you’ll both bear with me, I will explain.” The solicitor turned to a folder on his desk and opened it, extracting two documents. Holding one before him, he said, “This is your father’s will, Michael. It’s all very straight forward. In it, the farm, the stock, the land—almost everything is left to you.”

“Almost?”

“We’ll get to that, lad,” Tighe said.

Tighe looked at Kate and held up the second document.

“This is the addendum to the will.”

“Addendum?” she asked.

“An addendum means that instead of making up a whole new will, Dad just changed it.” Mick, not looking at her, directed his statement to the solicitor and waited for the shoe to drop.

Leave it to his father to make this more difficult on him than it already was. Wasn’t it bad enough he couldn’t get rid of the tremendous feeling of guilt for not spending more time with him? He never wanted to believe—or admit—his father was that sick. Sure, Kate called him regularly with updates. He heard everything she’d said, but why the hell hadn’t he listened to her!

“Changed the will?” she asked. “Is that right, Mr. Lynch?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Tighe replied. “It means he added something into the original will.”

“When was this?” Mick asked.

“If you’ll allow me, I’ll read what Donal has bequeathed. If you have any questions we can go from there. Right?”

Both Mick and Kate nodded agreement. Tighe read the will as it stood and then the addendum. Mick couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “That bastard!” he muttered. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the wide glares both Kate and Tighe gave him at the curse.

“Mr. Lynch.” Kate’s voice came on a whisper. “What does this mean? I don’t understand it.” Her eyes were big as she clutched the arms of her chair now, knuckles as white as her face. Gone was the cool Kate he’d seen in the waiting room. In a matter of minutes she’d gone from radiant to ashen. He was sure he wasn’t looking too good right about now either.

“Yes, can you explain it in plain English?” he asked. Why do will readings always have to be so damn dramatic?

“In plain English, your father left everything to you, Michael. However, the addendum states if you try to sell the farm, I have instructions to give everything to Kate.”

My Review can be read here

SHAPE OF MY HEART

Irish Pride series, book three

Kemberlee Shortland

BLURB

Gráinne has moved back to Dublin to get her life straightened out. She dreams of college and a better life. She’s working for her brother, Kieran, in his newly reopened pub, The Blues Tavern, but the money isn’t enough to support herself and pay tuition. Moonlighting at The Klub! as an exotic dancer seems to be her answer fast money.

John ‘JD’ Desmond is a detective working undercover in the Blues Tavern. The Klub!, owned by Jimmy Malloy, is being used as a drug front, headed by the notorious Taylor Wade. JD had intended to get Gráinne to snitch for him, but when he falls in love with her, things get complicated.

When Gráinne witnesses Jimmy’s murder, she and JD are forced to go on the run until Wade can be apprehended. Wade lives up to his nickname, The Hunter, and JD and Gráinne quickly find themselves at the end of a gun and running for their lives.

EXTRACT

Over the next couple hours JD tread lightly around Gráinne and peace settled between them. He hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to her again with the evening prep, but as he looked at his watch he knew her shift ended soon.

He’d tried almost every tactic he could think of to get her to reveal more about herself and he was getting anxious at her continued aloofness. He didn’t want to have to resort to seducing her. While the idea of getting her into bed was appealing, he just preferred to do it under other circumstances. He fancied her like hell, but he couldn’t let his libido get in the way of his job. She was his best hope at getting the information he desperately needed. So he’d have to resort to another tactic if he was going to get her to talk. Blackmail was one he was loath to use, but at this stage in the game, he had little choice.

There was a lull in the pub now that the afternoon crowds were gone and the evening prep had been done. If he was going to confront her, he had to do it now.

Gráinne stood at the end of the bar flipping through a magazine. The twinkling Christmas lights over the back bar shone on her dark hair. As she moved, the highlights reflected like electric current through the strands curling around her face. His heart thumped a little harder looking at her.

He reminded himself he wasn’t here to bartend. He was here to gather information. His future depended on it. He couldn’t afford another wasted day so it was now or never.

His pounding heart made it suddenly hard to breathe. He hated having to do this to her.

“Gráinne, can we talk?”

“Talk?” She put her magazine aside. “About what?”

“I think you know.” He locked gazes with her. He could tell she was nervous by the way she started fidgeting.

Then she turned away, refusing to look at him for longer than a millisecond. “My love life is none of your concern,” she told him, reminding him unnecessarily of their previous discussion.

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Then I don’t know what you mean.” She spun on her heel, intent on leaving the bar area.

He grasped her arm. To his surprise, she didn’t struggle. But something odd happened as he loosened his grasp. He felt something powerful pass between them. His fingers tingled as he touched her. It radiated up his arm and shot through his body.

For the second time today, he felt himself stiffen, and wished that circumstances were different, that she was naked beneath him and gazing up at him with eyes he knew would undo him.

She glanced over her shoulder, but not directly at him. “Let me go.” Her barely audible words shook him back to the moment. It wasn’t a command, but he couldn’t help noticing her words were tinged with pleading.

“Will you stay to talk with me? I think this is important.” His own voice was softer now. When she relaxed he reluctantly released his hold. She kept her gaze averted, her arms folded protectively in front of her, refusing to look at him. He knew she was waiting for something, anything, to draw her away.

Reaching under the bar, he extracted the black plastic sack he’d brought in with him today. He knew the item inside would shatter any peace he hoped to make with her.

He looked at the sack for a moment, thinking about what could never be between them. There was a job to be done and it didn’t include getting emotionally involved. He hoped the more he reminded himself of this fact he’d eventually come to believe it.

Sighing, he extracted a black velvet bra and held it up for her inspection. She only cast it a side-glance.

“I take it you know where I got this.”

“Anne Summers?”

“No.”

“Well then, I have no idea.”

He saw her swallow hard then move over to the taps to pour herself a cola. She swallowed deeply from the glass.

“I think you do. Let’s not . . . dance . . . around the subject, Gráinne. We both know where I got this, and I’d lay odds at Paddy Powers your brother doesn’t know what you’ve been up to.”

His heart ached as he forced himself to goad her.

The look she shot him would have incinerated the average man, but he wasn’t average. He was a man with a mission, and Gráinne was the only one who could help him.

“By that look, I’d say I’ve hit the nail on the head.”

“So, what of it.”

“Why haven’t you told Kieran?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

“I somehow doubt he’d understand why I’m . . . moonlighting.”

JD chuckled lightly. “Moonlighting? Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

“Just stop. What do you want from me? Not that it’s any of your business what I do on my own time.”

“I need your help.”

A single brow arched over her eye. “With what? Wait, let me guess,” she seethed, throwing her hands on her hips. “You want a private show. Or you want me to entertain some friends. And you’re going to use this,” she fingered the bra he still held in his hand, “as a bribe to get me to do it for free.”

“Not quite. While I wouldn’t mind a private show, it’s not entertainment I’m looking for.”

“What’s this?” Kieran suddenly appeared behind the bar, startling them both. JD saw Gráinne’s face go pale, and thought she would faint then and there.