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  “Your brother Patrick is busy with his learning. The boy will be the making of all of us.”

  Michael snorted. “Not much money in plumbing.”

  His da dropped his newspaper on the table and glared at him from beneath two black hairy eyebrows. “There’s a damn sight more to be made in fixing bogs than there is in screwing around with the ladies.”

  His ma spun around and stabbed the tongs in her man’s direction. “Don’t you be using language like that in my house, and put your shirt on. There’ll be no breakfast for those not fit to sit up and eat.”

  Dougal Monaghan shoved his chair back and glared at Michael and then at his wife. “I guess you’ve yet to hear about lado’s latest shenanigans.”

  Michael’s mother frowned at Dougal. “And what would that be?”

  “Officer Clarke brought him home in the back of paddy wagon last night. Arrested for running the streets with his arse hanging out for all the world to see.”

  Without another word Dougal left the room, no doubt to hunt down a clean shirt.

  Busted. Michael had hoped to keep his latest disaster quiet. He would have been fine if Milly hadn’t panicked and slammed the window shut, leaving him stuck in the herbaceous border in the nude. His car keys were in his pants. His pants were on her bedroom floor, along with the rest of his clothes. Just his luck the cops were doing the rounds of Wetherton Terrace as he scooted across the street intent on finding cover until a plan came to mind.

  Michael made some pretense that the worn pattern on the linoleum floor needed some deep inspection, but when the silence stretched his nerves to breaking point he looked up to see his mother’s troubled gaze. He loved women. He loved sex. And sometimes it got him into trouble. But he loved his ma and hated to see disappointment on her face. He’d let her down again.

  She let out a loud sigh. “I shan’t be asking why. I don’t want to know.”

  Michael crossed the room and stood behind the woman who had given him life. He wrapped his arms around her plump middle and rested his head on her shoulder, pressing his face against her warm cheek. She smelled of lavender and bacon. She smelled of home. His heart ached with shame and he planted a kiss on her cheek. “I’ll do better.”

  She turned her face toward him. Her dark-eyed stare met his own. “I’ll not be asking you to do more than you’re able. Just promise to take your cousin Katy to the dancing.”

  Michael smiled. “I promise.”

  This was worse than Michael had ever imagined. He had no desire to take fucking dancing classes and even less desire to take them in a room full of rosy cheeked girls. Not another male in sight apart from the obviously gay instructor, and he estimated the average age of the female population to be about fourteen. He’d been hopeful some of the mothers might stay and prove entertaining, but alas, he was left to the wiles of pretty young ladies. Katy had deserted him, and he gallantly accepted yet another offer to dance from a chubby girl who barely reached his elbow.

  He watched the instructor and followed his moves. Intent on not stepping on young Flora’s toes, he was surprised to feel two hands grab his hips. Dear God, if Mr. Featherston was hitting on him the man would be sorely disappointed. Michael didn’t swing that way. Never had and never would. He was strictly a man with an eye for the ladies.

  A deep throaty female voice murmured, “You’ve got natural talent. Raw, but talent nonetheless.”

  He turned his head and smiled. God, she was something else. Surely frosty Featherston didn’t have a wife? If this creature was indeed Mrs. Featherston, Michael had judged him harshly in the trouser department. Her diminutive stature in her stiletto dancing pumps left her just short of Michael’s shoulder. Blonde hair frothed around her pixie face. Crow’s feet crinkled the skin at the corners of her sea-green eyes, and when she smiled something punched him in the gut.

  She dropped her hands. “Come and see me at the end of the class. We need to talk.” Her voice was warm and rich with a slight accent that made it oh-so sensual. He took a deep breath to steady himself as she walked away, hips swaying in her figure-hugging yellow sundress. She might want to talk but he wanted to shag her six ways, and that was just for starters.

  A soft voice whispered, “Excuse me, Mr. Monaghan.”

  He turned his attention to young Flora. He’d completely forgotten his dancing partner. “Sorry, Flora.”

  She flushed. “It’s okay. The music stopped.”

  He glanced around the room and noticed they were standing alone on the dance floor. Letting Flora go, he escorted her back to a group of giggling young girls and made his escape. He needed a minute to himself. Thank God they hadn’t been doing something sensual like the tango or young Flora would have gotten the fright of her life when his dick inflated like the fucking Hindenburg.

  Outside, he sucked in some fresh air. He leaned against the back wall of the old Community Hall and closed his eyes. After a few moments the pulse in his groin slowed and his dick softened. After checking he was alone, he slid his hand inside the front of his jeans and adjusted himself. Just as he was tugging his hand free he heard a sound to his left. He turned his head and a pair of sea-green eyes stared back at him. Fuck, caught with his hand in his pants. She stepped toward him with a wide smile on her luscious red lips. “Was that my fault?”

  He shrugged. “The shite has a mind of its own.”

  “Well, just so long as he stays where he belongs.” She held out her hand. “Monique Dubois.”

  He grasped her tiny hand and smiled. “French?”

  Her deep throaty laugh had his misbehaving shite twitching again. “Unusual name. Is French your first or last name?”

  He let her hand go and grinned. “No, my name’s Michael Monaghan. You’re French.”

  “True and you would be Irish.”

  “For my sins.”

  She leaned closer, her heady flowery perfume filling his nostrils. “And do you sin often?”

  “Not as often as I’d like.”

  She laughed and then stepped away. “Come and see me at the end of the class. We have much to discuss.”

  He hoped discuss was code for shag because his mind really wasn’t up to conversation where she was concerned.

  Chapter 3

  Michael took another swig of his Guinness. He should be with Monique. The woman was amazing. They danced like they were made for each other. His ma had asked what was going on. He had never been so happy in his life and she had noticed. His da had even given up his constant griping about Michael needing a real job. Declan paid him well enough and they were finished with deliveries by two in the afternoon. The rest of the day was his to spend with the French woman who was hell-bent on developing what she considered an amazing talent.

  Instead of spending time doing what he loved, it was Saturday night and he was standing at a makeshift bar in a room full of mostly teenage girls. Some of the braver relatives had shown up for Katy’s sweet sixteen party but they were more interested in the booze than the birthday girl. Michael had been charged with guarding her virginity. Her parents believed “sweet sixteen and never been kissed” was a good thing and wanted it to stay that way.

  Other than confiscating some bootleg gin from Gregory Barnes the evening had been uneventful. The girls giggled and danced together and the boys looked uncomfortable. He checked his watch, almost midnight. His duty was about over. He thumped his empty glass on the bar and headed to the men’s room for a piss. Would it be too late to go to Monique’s? He had the key to her house in his pocket and an open invitation, but he might wait until morning. Surprise her with breakfast in bed followed by Irish sausage.

  As he did his business voices floated through the open window. He didn’t recognize them but he knew a damsel in distress when he heard one. He finished up, washed his hands, and headed outside to investigate. Gregory Barnes, again. The little shite. He had his hands on either side of some poor lassie’s head and was pressed against her in a most unseemly way. The poor young thing was shov
ing at him and begging for him to get off.

  Michael grabbed him by the back of his shirt and dragged him away. The lad’s dick was out of his pants, but the young girl’s clothing appeared to be intact. Michael growled with anger. When a woman said no she fucking well meant no. “Put that fucking thing away and be gone before I kick your arse, you horny little shite.”

  The boy fumbled to slip his flaccid dick in his pants as he backed away. Michael turned his attention to the poor distressed young girl. He saw two dark blue eyes filled with tears, and he swore under his breath. “Maggie Riley. Are you all right? Did he do anything to you?”

  She shook her head and then let out a sob. Michael tugged her against him and let her cry out her distress into his best white shirt. Once she settled he moved her back and tipped her face up with his fingers. “Where’s Sian?”

  “Not here.”

  “And your ma and da?”

  “Don’t tell them. Please don’t tell them.”

  Her words were slurred and he leaned closer to catch the smell of booze on her breath. Shite. She was underage and drunk. If she was his little sister he knew what he would do. His affair with Sian had only lasted until her mother found out about him, but that didn’t mean Maggie wasn’t his concern. He tugged off his jacket and slipped it over her shoulders before wrapping an arm around her and leading her to his car.

  She hesitated when he opened the passenger door. “What are you doing?”

  “Taking you home, darlin’, before you get yourself in more trouble.”

  “Okay.” Without another word she slipped inside and fumbled with the seatbelt.

  He went around and climbed behind the wheel. Gunning the engine to life, he peeled out of the parking lot. He glanced at Maggie. She had her head back, eyes shut, and he hoped she wouldn’t puke in his car. He kept an eye on her. She was going to be a beauty in a few more years. No wonder Gregory had singled her out. Long dark lashes rested on her pale cheeks. Dark curls tumbled around her face and over her shoulders. The pudgy baby fat she’d had was almost melted away, but she would never be stick-thin like Sian. She had the beginnings of womanhood evident beneath her tight top. Her parents should be taking better care of her. Sian was a slut, but Maggie had been too distraught to be heading in that direction. She needed guidance, but instead she was stuck between two extremes, a sister who fucked for sport and a mother who never dropped her knickers.

  He pulled the car to a stop a couple of doors down from her house. She opened her big dark blue eyes and stared at him. “Do you plan to seduce me?”

  “What the fuck?”

  She turned in her seat and leaned closer. “I watched you having sex with Sian. My mum says men like you are not to be trusted because you only think with what’s in your pants. Are you thinking with what’s in your pants? Do you want to ravage me? Isn’t that what you do?”

  “I don’t ravage young girls and certainly not when they’re drunk.”

  “You slept with Sian.”

  “Sian was eighteen.”

  “I’m seventeen, so old enough to know what I want.”

  “You’re still drunk.”

  “What if I was sober? Would you want me then? I’d love you to have your evil way with me.”

  He chuckled. “Bollocks. If you were sober, Maggie, you would never ask.”

  She smiled. “I like it when you call me Maggie. Everyone else calls me Meg, except my mum when she’s angry at me, but Maggie sounds heavenly when you say it. Your accent is dead sexy and it gets stronger when you’re mad and when you’re screwing. If you screwed me and whispered my name I would die.”

  He shifted in his seat, decidedly uncomfortable with the way the conversation was going.

  She pressed closer.” What about a kiss?”

  He frowned. “What?”

  “If you don’t want to make love to me can I have a kiss instead? I bet you’re brilliant at kissing.”

  He chuckled. She was adorable. “Have you ever been kissed, darlin’?”

  Her dark curls bounced when she shook her head. “No, but I want to be. Gregory said he would kiss me but…” Her bottom lip trembled and her eyes filled with tears.

  Michael placed a hand on her arm. “If I kiss you do you promise to keep away from the likes of men like me and Gregory?”

  She nodded and closed her eyes. God help him, this was stupid. He placed a hand on her cheek and pressed his lips to hers. She touched her tongue against his bottom lip, and he humored her by brushing his tongue against hers for a moment before breaking the kiss. “Now away to bed and don’t be leading any more men astray.”

  A huge smile spread across her face. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you. I don’t care what my mother says. I love you.”

  She climbed from the car and steadied herself. He chuckled as he waited to make sure she made it inside safe and sound. Maggie’s confession had been so earnest it touched him. Shame she would never remember it when she woke up in the morning.

  *

  Meg fumbled with the key and got the door open. She stepped inside and turned to watch the red Mazda disappear into the night. She sighed and touched her fingers to her lips.

  Sian appeared next to her. “Meg Riley, were you with a boy?”

  She shut the door and shook her head. Michael was her little secret and she wasn’t sharing. Her insides danced the hula and she felt strange and warm in places that had never felt warm before. She shoved past her sister and lurched up the hallway toward bed.

  “Meg, have you been drinking?”

  Meg turned and flipped her sister the bird before giggling like a ninny. She made it to the bedroom and managed to crawl out of her clothes and into bed. She wrapped her arms around herself as she relived the feel of Michael’s lips pressed against hers and the warmth and softness of his tongue. She wanted him to do it again. She closed her eyes and the world started to spin. With a moan she rolled over and Sian shoved a bucket under her nose as she vomited up Katy’s half digested birthday cake.

  Chapter 4

  Three years later

  Michael stood sweating and spent. The two-hour dancing lesson had been grueling but he loved every minute.

  Monique smiled. “I have been making plans.”

  Michael’s stomach twisted. Not this again. Why? Why? Things were fine the way they were, except in three years she had never been anywhere with him. His da thought Michael had taken a vow of celibacy. At least Monique and dancing had kept him from getting arrested for running the streets naked.

  “I don’t want to talk about plans.” He grabbed her and swung her in his arms but she shoved him off.

  “Non. First we talk.”

  “Why, Monique?”

  “I have been talking to a friend in London.”

  “About?”

  She looked at him, her expression so earnest. “You are wasted here with me. I have nothing more to teach you. You need to use your talent. Why do you refuse to dance for money?”

  “I don’t need people to know I dance.”

  “You mean your family. They might surprise you if you just tell them what is in your heart.”

  “You’re in my heart.”

  She shook her head. “You are twisting things. That is not what I mean. Michael, if you won’t dance here dance in London.”

  “What? Why would I be going to London to dance?”

  “I have a friend, Philippe; he runs a dance studio in London. He can help you get started. Once you are huge success you can tell your family. The world needs to see you dance.”

  “Philippe?”

  “He has agreed to provide you with accommodation and to introduce you to some people. I can buy your ticket. Please, Michael. Please for me.”

  Michael clenched his teeth. “If you fucking well want rid of me you don’t have to buy me off with plane tickets and fucking pipe dreams.”

  Monique grabbed for him as he marched toward the door. “Michael, please. You ar
e too young to waste your life with me. There is a young girl out there for you. Someone you will fall in love with. Someone who will bear your babies.”

  “I love you.”

  She smiled. “You don’t really. You are happy and comfortable with me. The love making is pleasing, more than pleasing but the spark is missing.”

  He scrubbed a hand over his stubbly chin and choked back tears. God, she was right. Life was passing him by and he needed to move on.

  Fuck, he was nervous as hell. He’d been in London two weeks and Philippe was getting fed up with him. If he didn’t get the call back from today’s audition he was out of ideas and almost out of cash. He could just go home with his tail between his legs, but Monique had made him promise not to come back until he was a real dancer. Bollocks. He should have said no. He should have stayed delivering beer with Declan.

  He tapped his foot and waited with the other wannabes. When the assistant producer appeared in the waiting room, he stood straight and offered up a word of prayer to a God he had long since stopped going to church to worship.

  The man shouted out name after name and then held the clipboard to his chest. “Thank you all for coming and good luck.”

  Michael resisted the temptation to kick or punch something.

  The large man next to him growled. “Fuck.”

  Michael glanced at him. “Not now, I’ve got a headache.”

  A roar of laughter made him smile. Maybe he could pursue a career as a standup comedian instead. The man offered a hand. “Chad.”

  “Michael.” He gripped the man’s hand. “You want a beer?”

  “You read my mind, and I know just the place.”

  Chad led the way and Michael followed. Once outside the big man turned left. Michael kept pace. “Have you been to many auditions?”

  The man snorted. “Too many. You?”

  “A few. Thing is, I need a job or I’ll have to go home.”

  “Ireland?”

  Michael grinned. “Australia, same as yourself.”

  Chad stopped. “Well, in that case.” He wrapped an arm around Michael’s shoulder. “Maybe I can set you up with a little something.”