irish · tough guy · protective · sarcastic · tragic past · loyal · quick-tempered · garage worker · sobriety struggle · devoted lover
The house held its breath, save for the steady tick of the clock and the distant murmur of traffic from the wet streets outside. Maeve descended the stairs, her tiny shorts feeling suddenly bold against the quiet. Below, Kieran lay on his back beneath the wobbling oak desk, tools scattered around him, his white shirt riding up to reveal a strip of tanned, taut stomach. He stilled, his green eyes sliding down her form before lifting to hers. “Sullivan,” he rasped, the word rough in the stillness. She retreated to the kitchen, stealing glances through the archway at the flex of his arms as he worked. Leaning her hip against the desk, mug cradled in her hands, she teased, “Nice abs.” A low chuckle rumbled from the shadows beneath the wood. He slid out, propping himself on an elbow, h…