You turn the lights on and off here and if you can’t sleep and want something to read there are books in the living room…” her voice broke off. “Wait. Can you read?”
His chin took a slight tilt upward. “Aye,” Faolán replied, his voice cool, “in English, Gaelic, Latin, or French. My Welsh is a bit rusty, and I doona remember any of the Greek I was taught except for words not fit for a lady’s ears. I can also count all the way up to…” He looked down and wiggled his large bare toes, “…twenty.”
– Faolán MacIntyre
Tag: love writing romance dreams sex relationships irish magic ireland mystery scotland memories erotic paranormal witchcraft contemporary celtic tarot florida book-reviews rogue blogging lyrical-press past-life goodreads gaelic cups rt-book-reviews shannon-macleod trs-featured-author astral-sex blog-tour celtic-hearts romance-reviews romance-writers-of-america
Och, lass. Yer going to have to not do that.” Faolán exhaled. “Creeping up on a man is a dangerous thing, and I confess I’m jumpier than most. Yer feet are soft as a cat’s.”
“I wasn’t creeping anywhere, I was going to make coffee and this is my house, I’ll creep anywhere I like,” Colleen muttered with a petulant scowl. “But I wasn’t creeping.
Tag: love writing romance dreams sex relationships irish magic ireland mystery scotland memories erotic paranormal witchcraft contemporary celtic tarot florida book-reviews rogue blogging lyrical-press past-life goodreads gaelic cups rt-book-reviews shannon-macleod trs-featured-author astral-sex blog-tour celtic-hearts romance-reviews romance-writers-of-america
The Scots (originally Irish, but by now Scotch) were at this time inhabiting Ireland, having driven the Irish (Picts) out of Scotland; while the Picts (originally Scots) were now Irish (living in brackets) and vice versa. It is essential to keep these distinctions clearly in mind (and verce visa).
W.C. SellarTag: humor history irish scottish
Tossing it to a corner, he turns back to take my hand. And I’m facing the chest that I’ve not been able to dislodge from my brain for weeks. The one that instantly makes my breath hitch. The one that I’ve never had a chance to stare at so blatantly while sober. And I do stare now. Like a deer caught in headlights, I can’t seem to turn away as I take in all the ridges and curves.
“What does that mean?” I ask, jutting my chin toward the inked symbol over his heart. Ashton doesn’t answer. He avoids the question completely by sliding his thumb across my bottom lip.
“You have a bit of drool there,
It doesn’t even—” one word “hurt ” was supposed to come out of my mouth. Instead, a string of obscenities to make a lifelong sailor proud shoot out.
“What thefuck are you doing? Shit! You don’t pour it on like that, you fucking jackhole! Fuck!”
I’m seething in pain, the sting agonizing. Ashton isn’t paying any heed, turning my hand this way and that to examine it closer.
“Looks clean.”
“Yeah, because you just bleached the shit out of it!”
“Relax. It’ll stop stinging soon. Distract yourself by staring at me while we wait for this to settle down. That’s how you got yourself into this mess to begin with . . .
Tag: irish livie ashton-henley
A horn honks.I look up, expecting to see the white Audi. But there’s a sleek black four-door with shiny silver rims instead. e driver side opens and a tall, dark figure in a trendy fall leather jacket and aviator sunglasses steps out and stalks around the car to open the passenger door. “Irish! Get in.” And I decide that Dr. Stayner is an evil wizard with a crystal ball and puppet strings attached to his fingers. He has somehow masterminded this entire situation. He’s definitely cackling in his office right now.
K.A. TuckerTag: irish livie ashton-henley
Yes, he’s my psychiatrist,” I say quietly as I stare out at the road. I can’t meet his eyes right now. I don’t want to see judgment there.
“And why are you seeing a psychiatrist?”
“My unruly sex drive?”
“Irish...” the way he says my nickname makes me glance in time to catch him lift in his seat and tug at his jeans slightly, as if to make himself more comfortable.
“Tell me.
Author? Author? Did you write these legs?'
'Yes."
'Well, I don't like dem. I don't like 'em at all at all. I could ha' writted better legs meself.
Tag: writing humour irish authors legs
Many people die of thirst but the Irish are born with one.
Spike MilliganWith a hand full of beer and a heart full of cheer, I’m as Irish as I can get, but add good times and some quick funny lines… and gold I make leprechauns sh!t. Sláinte! - Jess
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