Not that I wanted Matt to do anything for me, either, except maybe physically. Physical affairs, with no strings attached, were all I allowed myself. I liked my independent lifestyle too much to risk answering to another man ever again.

Tonight was about proving I still had it. And getting lucky enough to find a four-leaf clover, that’s all. Not that I planned to do anything with the laddy’s shamrock—as Harm would say—other than take a peek for proof purposes only.

But I wasn’t at all positive whom I was trying to convince.

“Well, I’d better hit the hay. Gotta open up the garage at the crack of dawn, and then cover Harm’s shop on her lunch hour. Ma needs her, as usual. Cut the cord already, right?” Homer grunted and jerked his head to the side to flip the red strands of hair out of his green eyes.

“She will when she’s ready, doll,” I answered, remembering exactly why he didn’t do anything for me.

Homer was handsome enough, but still rough around the edges, whereas my tastes tended to run toward the more refined. An image of Matt McGinnis popped into my mind’s eye. While he might be big and rugged, he had an air of worldliness and charm about him.

“It’s closing time, Ms. Eisenhower,” Matt’s deep voice rumbled from right behind me, and I jumped. “See ya, Homer,” he added.

“Later, Matt.” Homer sent Matt a two-fingered salute. “Catch you on the flipside, Tiff.” He winked as he swaggered out of the bar.

“I thought you didn’t close until two?” I focused my attention on Matt, who was studying me with an expression I couldn’t quite read.

“That’s on weekends, lass.” He glanced around the interior. “It’s Wednesday, and the bar’s empty.” His gaze landed on my silk dress with a raised eyebrow as he added, “A woman like ye must have someplace to be?” before walking to the front door and flipping the sign to closed, then turning the lock.

“Nope.” Sad but true, I thought as I ran my finger around my empty martini glass. No date, no man…nothing.

All I had were a good-for-nothing ex who was bleeding me dry with more alimony demands, parents who didn’t want me, a sister who didn’t get it because she was the twin they kept, and my grandmother—the woman who raised me and the only person who ever loved me—but Grammy was losing her battle with breast cancer.

A lump formed in my throat.

I didn’t know what I’d do once she was gone. I couldn’t bear to think about that, so I focused on the only other thing I had going for me. My looks. A bit shallow, but true, and I worked hard to maintain them. Although based on tonight’s turn of events—Homer didn’t count—I was obviously losing those as well.

I sighed, glancing down at my empty glass. How many of these little lovelies did I have, anyway? It had been a long night, I thought as I stared deeply into Matt’s baby blues. Not a hard task to do by any means.

His smile dimmed and a brief flash of wariness flitted across his chiseled features, but then it disappeared. “Well, I’m a wee bit tired myself. C’mon. Ye can leave through the back with me.”

I followed him through the game room by the pool and poker tables and dartboard, thinking the time had come to pull out all the stops. Go for it. Give it all I had. When he reached for the handle, I put my hands on his back, feeling his muscles bunch, and noticed my head only came to his shoulders. I was five-ten.

Not too many men towered above me.

“Wait,” I said on a breathy whisper, the sheer size of him overwhelming me. I had to think of something to get him to stay. So far, I’d tried everything, but nothing had worked.

He froze, his back still to me. “Ms. Eisen⁠—”

“Tiffany. Call me Tiffany…please.” Give it all I had? I blinked.

Oh, my God, I had nothin’. When the hell had that happened? The reality hammered through me. Goodness gracious, maybe I really was losing my touch. This was no longer about a stupid bet. I just wanted to feel desirable. Special. But I didn’t feel special, I felt stupid. And alone.

And…old.

A lump formed in my throat. What the hell was I doing here? I really hadn’t expected turning forty would hit me this hard, and it didn’t help that I’d drank just enough little lovelies to make me emotional.

“Tiffany, I don’t think⁠—”

“Then d-don’t think.” I swallowed my sob.

He turned around slowly and dipped his head to look in my eyes. “What’s wrong, lass? Are ye crying?”

And that was all it took.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” I rubbed my eyes, keeping the tears at bay, thank God. I hadn’t cried in a man’s arms in about ten years, before my ex-husband had turned into an asshole, and I didn’t plan to start now. “I must have something in my eye, is all.”

“Here, follow me.” He took my arm and led me to the center of the room, then placed his hands on either side of my waist, his fingers nearly spanning the circumference as he lifted me onto the pool table.

“What about the felt?” I asked, startled at the turn of events. “I don’t want to ruin your pool table.”

“This old table has been in my family for decades. There’s not much you can do that my nieces and nephews haven’t already done. Besides, my uncle restores old furniture, so don’t worry about it.” He winked.

Well, now, this was a first. Me learning something new about men and romance. Who knew a little sincere vulnerability would work better than a peek at my girls. I decided to roll with it and continue being myself—an over-sensitive mess—but got distracted by his smell: soap, fabric softener, a touch a booze, and something uniquely…him.

“Tiffany, hello, are ye in there?” He arched a brow, his lips quirking up at one corner, granting me a glimpse of an adorable dimple. “I said, which eye has something in it?”

“Huh…oh, um, th-the right.” I cleared my throat.

He bent his knees slightly, so he was on eye level with me as he cradled my cheeks with his palms. I couldn’t breathe. Something about Matt rattled me, completely throwing me off my game every time I was around him.

Tonight was no exception.

Using his thumbs to hold my eye open, he tipped my head to the left and right as he searched the depths. The blue of his eyes was so pale, it resembled the calm waters of a Caribbean tide pool on a windless day. I wanted to reach out and touch them just to see if they would ripple.

He blew a soft puff of air square in my eye, and I flinched. “Oh.” I scrunched my eyes closed.

“A trick me mum taught me back in Ireland when I was a lad.” The deep timber of his voice vibrated my mid-section.

I pried my eyes open in time to see him beam as though he’d performed some intricate feat like eye surgery or restoring my vision.

“Feel better?” He waited expectantly.

I squinted, my eye now irritated, given that it had nothing in it to begin with. “Much.” I feigned a smile. “Thanks.”

“Yer welcome.” He started to lift me down, but I rested my fingertips on his corded forearms and his gaze snapped down to mine, a deep V forming between his brows.

“You come from Dublin, right?” I smiled a genuine smile, really just needing to be held. “It’s a beautiful city.”

A grin filled with warmth and pride replaced his frown. “Ye’ve been there?”

“A few times. I love the magnificent architecture, and those rolling green hills and jagged cliffs in the countryside,” my hand fluttered to my bosom, “why, it’s enough to take your breath away.”

His gaze finally dropped to my cleavage, and I realized what I had done. My confidence building, I wiggled my fingers and his eyes widened. Oh, yeah. I still had it. I let my lids close halfway and watched him, watch me, feeling my body tingle all over in response.

“That it does,” he managed, and then tore his gaze away from my breasts, giving my C cups the respect they deserved. “It’s yer birthday, right?” He looked as though he were struggling for a distraction.

I nodded as I moistened my lips.