Kiss My Blarney Stone: Ghost of a Chance (Part 3 of a 3 Part Serial)

By Mimi Riser

Romantic comedy with an Irish lilt (part 3 of a 3-part serial)... The year is 1975. The place is Ramhaillim Manor, a whimsical old mansion (which may or may not be haunted) on the west coast of Ireland. The girl is Sharon O’Shaughnessy, an Irish-American spitfire who has just inherited Ramhaillim from her Great-Aunt Deirdre – or half of it anyway, as Sharon discovers when she reaches Ireland and meets Rory Egan, the handsome Irishman who has inherited the other half of the house. This could be a good thing, because Sharon loves horses, and Rory is a horse breeder. Except Rory is also full of blarney, Sharon is quite sure. He’s an incorrigible rascal, and a smart girl shouldn’t believe a word he says. Sharon, of course, is a smart girl. You’ll never find her falling under the man’s roguish spell. Or will you?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mimi Riser
• Release date: Dec 2, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310015922

Mimi Riser

Mimi Riser is a longtime author of fiction and nonfiction, including several series and spanning a variety of genres (with flavors ranging from sweet to spicy hot). Her books celebrate the upbeat, the offbeat, and “beating the odds.” She began life in the urban northeast, but now resides in the rural southwest with her best friend & husband Rob.

Book preview

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KISS MY BLARNEY STONE

Part 3:

Ghost of a Chance

MIMI RISER

www.mimiriser.com

Kiss My Blarney Stone is now released as a serial, which means it has been divided into separate parts that are offered individually. This is the third of three parts.

Serial Copyright 2014 by Mimi Riser

All rights reserved.

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Smashwords Edition, Smashwords License Statement: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

[Disclaimer: This novel is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.]

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Chapter 9

She awoke to late morning sunlight, a hellish hangover, and a dozen perfect roses in a vase on her bedside table. Taped to the vase was a note:

"My apologies for last night. It was Fionula’s idea, but I’m to blame for letting her proceed with it. You’re probably thinking it was a dirty trick, and it probably was. But it worked. I’m sorry if it made you angry, but I can’t be sorry it’s made you mine. I was willing to win you by fair means or foul—I want you that much. More than want. Believe it or not, Sharon, I do love you. I hope someday you’ll love me, too. If you don’t now, I figure I’ve got the rest of my life to work on it. Be warned. I intend to make you happy. ~Rory"

The only man alive who could make a declaration of love sound like a threat.

Sharon pulled the covers over her head and prayed for death. His. At this point nothing else could save her. She had sworn to marry him, committed herself good and proper. Sworn it on the Bible! That cinched it. She might have managed to escape Rory, but she couldn’t escape a vow made before God.

She was royally screwed.

Or would be after the wedding.

Groaning with the effort she crawled out of hiding and stumbled to the third-floor water closet, saved her bladder from bursting, brushed her teeth, splashed water on her face, then staggered back to bed, noticing that she was still wearing the slacks and jersey she’d worn to the scoraicht. That meant Rory had brought her home after she’d passed out, and had put her to bed, trying to be gentlemanly about it by not undressing her first. Then again, molesting a comatose girl, even a naked one, probably wasn’t his idea of fun. Whatever else his flaws, she doubted he was a necrophiliac.

Morbidly introspective, she sat propped against the headboard, wondering when he and Fionula had concocted their scurrilous plot.