Briarwood Cottage by Joann Ross Page A

always looked good wet,” he said.
    She tilted her chin up in a pissed-off way that was all too familiar. And welcome. He’d been at a total loss on how to deal with the wounded sparrow he’d found in that chaotic, makeshift Egyptian clinic that could have been one of the lower rings of hell.
    “If I were keeping track, I’d say that was another move.”
    “Ah, but if it were, and I’m not saying it was, perhaps I was encouraged by my wife greeting me home in nothing but a towel.”
    This time her color was born from a quick flash of temper, which, perversely, he was happy to see. “You’re as incorrigible as ever.”
    “And you’re as beautiful as ever.”
    She shook her head and blew out a breath. “I’m going to get dressed.” She turned on her heel and marched back toward the guest bedroom.
    The Emerald Isle might be world-famous for its scenery, but as far as Duncan was concerned, Cass’s very fine butt walking away equaled any view the country offered.
    She firmly closed the door between them. It wasn’t exactly a slam, but close.
    Another encouraging step forward, he decided as he strolled into the kitchen to start the coffee. An annoyed wife was not an indifferent one.

11
    H aving been prepared to heat up the jar of spaghetti sauce, Duncan was surprised when Cass came out of the bedroom, dressed in a snug blue sweater dress a few shades darker than her eyes and a pair of short, red, pointed-toe cowboy boots she’d picked up on Mulberry Street during one of their rare times together in New York.
    He hadn’t lied when he told her she looked lovely. She might not be all the way back, but her new shorter hair enhanced her expressive face, the lost look was no longer in eyes as blue as Lough Caislean, and her smile, while not yet as dazzling as he knew it could be, still warmed the gray Irish evening.
    “Thank you,” he said.
    “For what?”
    “For wearing that dress.”
    “It’s new.” Appearing a bit nervous, she ran her hands down her sides. “Sedona dragged me out shopping at this little Shelter Bay boutique last week.”
    “I’ll have to remember to thank her, too.”
    The dress hugged her body in a way that had his fingers perversely itching to peel it off her. Beginning at the hem, which ended mid-thigh, then up over her sweet spot, where he’d linger just long enough to make her as crazy as being anywhere near her was making him, then higher, to breasts with nipples he knew to be the color of a deep pink rose.
    And, damn, if he kept thinking like this, he was going to walk into the pub with the mother of all boners. And wouldn’t that provide some fun entertainment for the locals?
    “I’ve always liked those boots,” he said, trying to take his mind away from doing her right here on the couch. Now. Unfortunately, thinking about the boots didn’t work either as he remembered telling her in the store that she’d looked hotter than a firecracker in them. Which was exactly what she’d been a few hours later, after they’d returned to their apartment. “That was a good day.”
    After she’d tried on at least a bazillion pairs of boots, they’d wandered into a nearby Little Italy restaurant where they’d shared a bottle of red wine and an ultra-thin-crust pepperoni pizza smothered in mozzarella and a rich red sauce that would have made any Italian nonna proud.
    “Any day not dodging bullets is a good day,” Cass agreed as she sat down on the sofa beside him. “I’m sorry about whatever happened in that bar that got you banished to here,” she said as they took in the view of the hills, the castle, and the lake.
    He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “I’m no longer considering this trip a banishment, thanks to you showing up. Though that wasn’t my best moment,” he admitted, wondering if this week was equally difficult for her. Or had she put the anniversary of their meeting and the first time they’d made love away the same as she’d put him away?
    “I started writing