He’s heard my name three times now. Are we trying to drill it into him?
“Hi Jenna,” he says, and immediately I want him to forget it and ask me my name again so he can say it back to me because it sounds so good in his voice. A voice that is husky and ragged. A voice that has an accent. An accent that is very possibly Irish.
Lord help me if it’s Irish.
“Hi,” I say again, like a fool, as he gets up and leans forward to shake my hand with a firm, warm squeeze.
“Nice to meet you.” He sits back down, leaving me standing there, resisting the urge to curl my hand in a ball to keep the heat he left there. “I’m Marty.”
Yes, he's definitely Irish. Did my right knee just buckle?
“Oh, like inBack to the Future?” Jake says, with a hand splayed against his chest. Marty’s kind smile tells me he has heard this approximately a thousand times, but he covers it up well with that broad, teeth-filled grin. Teeth that are all white and straight, apart from four at the bottom that overlap slightly, which I find adorable for reasons I can’t articulate.
“Well, no. Fortunately, my surname is not McFly. It's actually O'Martin.”
“Marty O'Martin? Are your parents alcoholics?” My brother’s mouth drops open. He overdoes aghast best of all.
“No, but I am, possibly,” Marty says, without missing a beat.
Oh, Christ.This conversation is like a landslide and I don't know how to make it stop.
“You'repossiblyan alcoholic, Marty O'Martin?” Much to my dismay, my brother is still talking.
“Possibly yes,” he says. “And my name is Aiden, but everyone calls me Marty. It’s a rugby club nickname that just stuck around.”
“Hmmm, rugby players...” My brother rubs his lips together and closes his eyes. “Tell us more aboutthat.”
“I don't play much anymore.”
Because I'm studying his face intently, I see a small dip in his smile, the dimples disappearing and his dark brown eyes losing their sparkle.
“And you just got here?” I ask, changing the subject because for some undefinable reason my urge to see those dimples again is sudden and strong.
“Yes, earlier today. I’ve already tested out some of the facilities. The gym, the pool and spa. All very impressive.” Marty nods at my brother.
“I aim to please,” Jake says with a quick flutter of his eyelashes.
“Dear God,” I whisper, but I smile when I see Marty is unperturbed, laughing to himself.
“How about you, Jenna, when did you get here?” He turns to ask me.
“Two days ago. The whole resort is beautiful,” I say, winking at Jake. “And the views from up in the villas are spectacular.”
“The view isn’t so bad here either,” Marty says, staring right at me. I feel a single bead of sweat slide down the valley of my back.
“So, what do you do, Marty O’Martin?” Jake fills the space my stunned silence creates.
“I'm a chef... well, no, technically I'm training to be a chef.”
This sobers me up quickly. It brings his youth front and centre of my mind. A trainee chef. Meaning he's a student or not yet qualified. Whatever it is, it means he’s young.
Tooyoung.
And yet earlier he pointed at me. And right now, he's smiling at me and kicking lightly at the chair I’m leaning against. “Are you going to sit down and join us? Or do you want me to get a crick in my neck from looking up at your beauty?”
My brother claps his hands together. “Oh, we have a live one here, Jenna! Quite the smooth operator!” He exclaims, easing a little of the tension in the air.
I feel myself blushing as I sit down and wish I had something equally quick and flirty to say back to him. Instead, I ask him a totally offensive and unsympathetic question.
