Her use of an Irish curse seemed so ridiculous coming from a proper little thing like her, he couldn’t help but laugh. “There you go. You’ll fit right in with a mouth like that.”

She grinned. “When in Ireland…”

Gad, she was pretty, Riley mused. Not at all what he usually pictured when he thought of American women. He’d met a fair number of American students in pubs all over Ireland, but his image had been finely honed early in life, by old episodes of Baywatch-long blond hair, tight bodies and tanned skin. And breasts that seemed a lot larger than those provided by nature.

Nan was fresh and feisty, with a very simple, straightforward beauty. Her short-cropped black hair curled softly around her face and long, dark lashes ringed vivid green eyes. She was stubborn and opinionated, the kind of woman who would make charming her a tough go, even for the most experienced Casanova. But then, Riley enjoyed a challenge.

Though he had been anxious to get back to the pub, now that they were on their way, Riley decided to get off the expressway and enjoy the rest of the trip. The local roads back to Ballykirk provided a picturesque drive and he found himself wanting to spend a bit more time with Nan before delivering her to the cottage.

“So, you mentioned that your family had a pub. Do you serve lunches there? I’m starving. The food on the plane was awful.”

“Best lunch in all of Ballykirk,” he said.

“Are you the cook?”

“No. I tend to the bar every now and then.”

“You’re a bartender.”

“No. Actually, I make my living as a musician. I write songs and sing. At the Hound and at other pubs around Ireland.”

“You sing,” she said, as if surprised by the news. “Really? Are-are you famous?”

“Depends on what you consider famous. I’m no Elvis. But people know who I am. They come to see me. They buy my CDs. But I’m not planning a stadium tour anytime soon.”