Irish Sex Fairy: Ellora's Cave by Kelly Jamieson (the lemonade war series TXT) 📕

life lately. For a while I was dating a nice guy but it just wasn’t…right. You know?”

“Hmm.” Shrewd emerald eyes, just like her own, assessed her. “Yes, I do know. So he was a nice boy. How was the sex?”

Again, Keara’s breath stalled. She shook her head. “It was okay. That’s what I meant…he was nice but not…you know.”

“Ah. No good in bed.” Maeve shook her head sadly. “That’s too bad, but that’ll kill a relationship every time. So you’re not seeing anyone right now?”

“No.” Keara sighed. “I work long hours. I have my girlfriends, and we go out together. Some dates, but…” She hitched a shoulder. “I guess I’ve been too focused on my work.”

“Being a bank manager is an important job,” Maeve said. “Your parents would be proud of what you’ve accomplished.”

“I hope so.” Regret that her parents hadn’t lived to see her success sent an ache through her. They’d been killed in a car accident just after she’d started her career at the bank.

“But you’re young. You should be having fun.”

“I do have fun.”

Maeve smiled slowly. “With a man.”

“You’re one to talk.” Keara clasped her hands around the warmth of the cup. “You never got married. You must not think it’s that important.”

Maeve’s face softened and her eyes focused on something behind Keara for a moment. “Yes, I never married,” she finally said. “But that doesn’t mean I was never in love. And,” she snapped her gaze back to Keara, “it doesn’t mean I don’t have men in my life.”

Good God, she was seventy years old! Keara didn’t know whether to cringe or be impressed. She decided to go with impressed. “So, who are you seeing, then?” she asked mischievously.

“Well, Glen O’Donnell and I have been out a few times.” Maeve’s eyes twinkled. “He’s a widower, and quite a hottie, too.”

Keara laughed. “A hottie? Oh, my goodness, I have to meet him.” Then she had a thought. “I won’t be cramping your style if I stay here, will I?”

Maeve waved a hand. “No, no. We can just as easily go to his place. Don’t worry about it at all.”

Okay. Keara swallowed her amusement. Not only did seventy-year-old Maeve have more energy than Keara, she had a better sex life too. Damn.

Maeve glanced at her watch. “I should get back down and let Jayla take a break. Why don’t you go get your things and unpack? You can stay in the spare bedroom, as usual of course.” She stood and led the way toward it, shaking her head. “Although it does seem like a very long time since you’ve been here and done that.”

Thirteen years. When she put a number to it, it was an embarrassingly long time ago. How had she let time get away from her like that? She’d gone to college, started her career. Her life was busy…she rolled her bottom lip in and sucked on it as she followed Maeve, guilt weighing heavy on her shoulders. God. As if she didn’t have enough guilt wearing her down right now.

“Here you go,” Maeve said. “I’ve redecorated the room. I hope you like it.”

“It’s fine.” Keara’s gaze moved over the Limerick lace curtains at the window, the lace cushions on the bed. She walked over to the dresser and stroked a hand across the polished golden oak, then smoothed the woven cotton throw on the bed with its intricate Celtic knots pattern. “It’s so pretty, Maeve.”

“Thank you.”

Keara followed her back down the stairs but she went out to her car parked on the street just down from the shop. The stone and beamed style of the buildings lining the street, the hanging wooden signs in front of the shops, and the curvy wrought iron street lamps made her feel like she was in Europe. As a teenager, she’d thought it a little cheesy, embarrassing even, for someone of Irish roots who didn’t really think much about her heritage.

She hefted her suitcase out of the trunk of her little BMW convertible, purchased as a reward when she’d been promoted to manager at Palladium Bank. The March sun warmed her face and the cool breeze held fresh green hints of spring. Saturday traffic clogged the street, and throngs of tourists wandered in and out of the small shops and pubs.

She carried the suitcase through the store and back upstairs, with a wave for Maeve, who was showing some customers a selection of lubricants. “This one is water based,” Keara overheard as she passed by. She pursed her lips against the smile tugging them. Lubricants. Jesus.

She spent a while unpacking her things, arranging her toiletries on the dresser, hanging some clothes in the small closet. Compared to the huge walk-in closet in her condo, it was miniscule, but then, she hadn’t brought her extensive wardrobe with her. Probably even the bank managers in Kilkenny didn’t dress in Donna Karan suits and Stuart Weitzman pumps.

Keara shut the closet door and sighed. She loved clothes and shoes, and shopping was a major pastime for her and her girlfriends. But what did it matter here if she wore ragged jeans and T-shirts every day? Nobody would mind, and clothes didn’t seem worth worrying about.

The quiet apartment sent her back down the stairs seeking some human contact. Maeve and Jayla stood behind the counter, Jayla ringing up a purchase for a customer while Maeve slipped a large box of condoms into a small, bright green plastic bag. Discretion must be the reason for the plain bag with no logo.

Keara lifted her eyes from the purchase to the customer. The man laughed at something Maeve had said, and two deep dimples creased his tanned cheeks. Something fluttered low inside Keara and she stopped just inside the doorway.

Sapphire eyes sparkled beneath dark, thick brows. Black hair cropped short on his perfectly shaped head, neat sideburns and a shadow of dark beard made him look just like an Abercrombie and Fitch model.

Shane.

Heat and memories swept over her as she stood there in the doorway. The last