Irish Eyes (Stolen Hearts Romance) by Annie Jones

engine of his unremarkable sedan and climbed out, leaning his hip against the side of the car and folding his arms over his sweater while the late winter, yet hinting at the promise of spring to come, breeze ruffled through his hair.
    “Have you ever noticed, my fine Irish friend—” Julia jabbed the tip of her car key in his direction as she spoke, “—that you answer a lot of questions without ever giving an answer at all?”
    “Is that so, lass?” He stroked his chin, which she knew was a total put on because nobody really does that and acted far too thoughtful for the amount of mischief in his eyes. “Well, I’ll be.”
    “I just bet you’ll be. I bet you’ll be coming up with some fine rare excuse for why it is you’d be wandering down the very lane that winds past me most humble abode.” She slipped into the Irish brogue with ease after hearing so much of it recently.
    Cameron grinned, and approached her, his arms flung wide as if offering their very surroundings as evidence. “I was sightseeing.”
    “The sight being the back of my car?”
    “Your car, my Miss Reed, is not a sight. It’s an eyesore.” He rapped the trunk with one knuckle and Julia wondered if he was making a point or checking to see if she had a body in there that might knock back. “Your home, on the other hand—”
    “Is my home.” She held up her hand to still any notions he had of getting any closer to her or her house. “It’s where I escape for a while from the stress of my work. And I want it to stay that way. Private.”
    “You’re telling me you never invite, say, a friend, over to enjoy your private sanctuary?” He sank his backside against the fender, crossing his long legs at the ankle. Settled in but not aggressive.
    “Oh, sure, a friend.” She crossed her arms, hoping that would cement her resolve not to let the man wheedle his way into her home.
    She liked Cameron. Liked him more than she had any man in a very long while. But even if she had time for a romantic relationship, he could not be the man for her. He was an Interpol agent, a traveler, a man essentially without a home of his own. She needed more from a relationship than Cameron could give. And he deserved more than she could offer right now.
    “So, you’re sayin’ we can’t be friends?” He cocked his head.
    “No.” She was saying they could not be more than friends. If she spent too much time with the Irish charmer, she didn’t know how to keep that from happening. “I just, well, I just don’t want my home invaded.”
    “Invaded?” He raised an eyebrow. Another man might have huffed and puffed and strode up and down the drive acted injured at the implication. Cameron did it all with a look.
    She lightly touched the pin he’d given her. The breeze tossed a long coil of hair across the bridge of her nose, and she drew it away as she walked back the almost-accusation, saying quietly, “I don’t want my privacy invaded.”
    “I see.” He pushed off from the car but kept his hand resting on the roof.
    “It’s not you. It’s me.” She didn’t owe him an explanation but she couldn’t seem to stop herself from giving one. “After working all day at the shelter, I need the solitude of being alone.”
    “Of course, lass.” He gave a gracious bow of his head. “I’ll see you in the morning, then.”
    “Fine.” She gave a wave, her wrist rigid and her fingers straight. Suddenly, she felt ridiculously like some royal personage stiffly shooing off a peasant. “In the morning then.”
    Her afterthought, which she intended to sound cheery, failed miserably and ended up completing the dour dismissal. She felt her cheeks warm at her silly behavior.
    Cameron gave a wincing smile.
    What was wrong with her? She curled her fingers over the edge of her cardigan. What could it hurt to invite the man in, maybe order a pizza or just sit and talk? Of course, she couldn’t afford to pay for that pizza so… she remembered the fish he’d told