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Pushing Her Luck
Lucky in Love #1
Audra North
Releasing May 9th, 2016
He says she’s a nuisance. She thinks he’s a jerk. Together they might be the perfect match.
Riordan Faraday is about to reach his breaking point. He’s got art classes to teach, a needy mum to care for, and most importantly, a painting to finish. But without time or inspiration, he hasn’t been able to paint a thing and it’s driving him mad. So when a silly American girl shows up on his doorstep with a wild proposal, he shoots her down perhaps a bit more harshly than she deserves…but it’s for the best. He can’t afford any more distractions at the moment, especially not beautiful brown-eyed ones.
Samantha Meyer—Sam, to her friends—is on a mission to find her late grandmother’s necklace. The long-lost piece of jewelry is the only thing she has left of Gram and Sam is determined to see that dream fulfilled before she returns home to New Jersey and takes up the reins of the family business. But she wasn’t counting on a sexy, surly painter to stand in her way.
Bing bing!
Riordan set down the
palette with a growl. Even if he hadn’t already had a morning from hell, that
goddamn doorbell would be much too cheerful-sounding. He made a mental note to
get it changed, grabbed a rag from the easel, and stole one last irritated
glance at the blank canvas in front of him.
Bing bing!
“Piss off,” he muttered
under his breath. But, then, louder—
“Yes, I’m coming!”
He swiped the rag at the
oil paint on his fingers as he walked toward the front door of his small
cottage, but cleaning it off was nearly impossible without turpentine. Christ.
He’d managed to paint absolutely nothing since February, yet here he was, about
to answer the door to God knows whom with the stuff all over his hands simply
from holding the palette.
It made him feel like a
fraud.
Though, really, the person
at the door was probably just Mum, coming ‘round again on his day off, in spite
of him telling her time and again that he needed to get these paintings done
and would it be really be such a lot of trouble to let him alone from time to
time?
Of course, there was also
the once-a-year chance that it was the mother of one of his students, dropping
by to suggest a much more thorough and intimate parent-teacher conference with
him. He was the grade school art teacher, for shit’s sake. Whoever
needed a parent-teacher conference over tempera paint and tissue paper
collages?
Except…no, it couldn’t be
one of those ladies, since Frank McEvoy’s mum had already been by to try her
hand at seducing Riordan this year, back in March. Riordan shuddered at the
memory and prayed that this visit would not double the average annual
number of inappropriate advances made on him by married women.
He slid the bolt back.
Turned the knob. Slowly pulled the door open…
“Hi!” A pretty young woman
stood on the other side, practically bouncing on her toes and grinning at him
like he was supposed to have half a clue who she was. Wait. Oh God. Was he supposed
to know?
He took a second to study
her.
Long, strawberry blond
hair gathered back in a ponytail that swayed back and forth as she bounced.
Medium height. Young. Maybe twenty four? Twenty five? Though her apparent youth
might simply be due to her being so chipper and wide-eyed. Wide brown eyes—
Hmm, interesting. A ginger
with brown eyes. Not a combination he’d been expecting, but the effect was
striking. In fact, he revised his earlier judgment. She wasn’t pretty. She was quite
pretty.
Though a tad bit exuberant
for his taste.
Before he could so much as
open his mouth to inform her that he had no idea who she was, she spoke again.
“I’m Samantha Meyer. I’m
from America. Which you can probably tell from my accent.” For some reason, she
pointed to her mouth, which he supposed was to indicate the aforementioned
atrocious American accent, but the motion had the added effect of calling
attention to her rather plump, sweet lips. He found himself fighting the urge
to subtly flex his arm muscles in a correspondent display.
“I mean, I don’t
think I have an accent. But I guess I do, for you. Since we’re in Ireland and
all. Anyway, nice to meet you.”
Were all Americans like
this? The ones he saw on the telly didn’t seem half as daft. But then she
blinked oddly, and it took him a second that she was holding out her hand,
waiting for him to take it.
Never let it be said
that the Irish aren’t a hospitable lot.
Slowly, he extended his
own hand to meet hers, fingers curling around her small palm. Her skin was warm
and her grip was firm, and for a brief moment, a shudder of arousal went
through him at the contact.
He still hadn’t said a
word.
“Oh, check that out!” She
was staring down at their joined hands.
What was she on about
now?
“You have paint on your
hands. Are you a painter? I mean, an artist painter. Not a house
painter. Though that’s cool, too! I’m not trying to say that’s a bad thing. I’m
just curious because I used to want to be an artist painter but I really can’t
even draw to save my life.”
Good God. How was it
possible for a person to natter on so?
“I even failed art in
fifth grade. I don’t know if you remember fifth grade, but it’s really, really
hard to fail art when you’re that age.”
She looked up at him, and
it took a few beats of silence before he realized that she was finally, finally
giving him a chance to reply.
“Impossible, in
fact,” he snapped.
Her face fell, and she
jerked her hand from his, looking stunned.
Shit. He hadn’t intended to hurt her.
Perhaps, if the muses had
been a bit more charitable toward him this morning, he might have at least been
polite. Possibly, if he hadn’t checked his e-mail immediately upon wakening and
read that fantastically enraging message from Michael, he might have sent her on
her way with a half-smile and a Have a good morning, then.
But as it was, this…American—who
wasn’t his mother, who wasn’t offering him sex, and who seemed to be completely
ignorant of the fact that one doesn’t go calling at half seven in the
morning—had come to his home and interrupted his painting (fine, his attempt at
painting) for no other purpose, it seemed, than to spout utter nonsense about
accents and house painters.
Though she was quite
pretty.
Audra North is the contemporary romance author of the Pushing the Boundaries series from Samhain and the Hard Driving series from St. Martin’s. Sign up for Audra North’s newsletter to get free books, extra scenes, and exclusive subscriber giveaways. You can also connect with Audra on her website, AudraNorth.com, on Facebook, and on Twitter.
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