I’ve seen Boondock Saints and the sequel at least four times each. Why? Those brothers are HOT! And it’s not just about the way they look (which is yummy). Some of it is the way they kick ass. A lot of it is the way they talk. I’m a complete sucker for a Celtic accent. But it has to sound real. None of that “Faith and Begorra” crap. It doesn’t ring true. I have trouble believing that anyone in today’s Ireland ever utters that phrase. Or anything remotely like it.

So, when I began writing Irish Ice (Irish Stories Collection from Lyrical Press), I listened closely to the dialog in Boondock Saints, as well as other movies with Irish characters. I made notes on heavily used words (well, other than the F-bomb), paid attention to phrasing and slang terms. I wanted Colin (the Irish character in my novella) to sound right. I hope I succeeded, but you be the judge. Here’s a blurb followed by a short excerpt.

Blurb:

Danger and romance ignite when Irish Eyes become Irish Ice.

A killer is on the loose in Boston with possible IRA connections and ties to murders in London. When Jessica Grandville lands in Beantown for business, she’s charmed by Colin Keane, a much younger, sexy Northern Irishman.

As Jessica and Colin’s brief liaison develops into the start of a serious relationship, she begins to suspect there is more to him than she first thought. Drawn into a web of danger and intrigue, she believes Colin may be directly involved in the murders. And, although attracted to his warmth and wit, she fears his raging temper.

Jessica must decide if she’s willing to sacrifice her comfortable, yet dull, existence to pursue a relationship with the man who’s loving eyes can turn in an instant into Irish ice.

Excerpt:

“I still don’t understand how you could actually know the mayor of Boston.” Jess walked beside Colin on their way back to her hotel room after an amazing dinner at one of Boston’s most exclusive restaurants. “And how did you ever get reservations? I’ve heard it can take months to get in there.”

Colin glanced at her and frowned. “I told you, love. I’m a resourceful boy. Still, don’t put too much into my knowing the mayor. He’s a friend of a friend. Only a passing acquaintance. Besides, he’s a wanker.”

“A wanker? What’s that mean?”

Colin snorted, but didn’t enlighten her.

“He seemed sincerely pleased to see you. God, the food was heavenly, wasn’t it? I wish you’d let me pay, though. At least my half of the meal.”

“What kind of man would I be if I did?” He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the top of the head.

She sighed, sated from one of the finest meals she’d ever eaten, content with being in Colin’s company.

In her room, she kicked off her shoes and flipped on the TV news while Colin used the bathroom. Once again, the broadcast focused on the manhunt in progress for the killer or killers still at large in the Boston area. A new car bombing in London had annihilated six businessmen, making it one of the worst IRA attacks in months. Police in Boston and Scotland Yard still maintained an operative in the states had ordered it. A crude sketch of a man–a person of interest–flashed on the screen momentarily, alongside a number to call with any information on his whereabouts.

Jess did a double take. The image, though indistinct, could be Colin. Same eyes. Similar mouth. The shape of the face differed, but not significantly. Heart pounding, she jotted down the hotline number flashing at the bottom of the screen. It couldn’t be Colin, though. Could it? She thought back to the phone call he’d made earlier in the evening. How forceful, how nearly cruel, he’d sounded until he realized she’d entered the room. No. She mentally shook her head. It couldn’t be him. She slid the phone number in the desk drawer and turned as Colin came out of the bathroom.

The minute she saw him, she knew there was no chance he could be behind those killings. He slid off his jacket and opened the top few buttons of his dress shirt, revealing a heavily muscled chest. Walking slowly in her direction, Colin said not one word. The warmth of his eyes defined his desire and passion. Her heart melted, her stomach fluttered. She knew if he wanted her tonight, there was hardly a possibility she would deny him. Colin held out his arms, begging for an embrace. As though drawn toward the center of a vortex, Jess floated into those arms and lifted her head to meet his lips.

Softly at first, Colin touched his mouth to hers, parted his lips slightly and brought her body closer. In seconds, tongues met, fingers caressed, and gentle moans issued forth from one, then the other. “Is it all right, Jessica? Am I worthy of you? We can do this?” He leaned back to gauge her reaction and meet her gaze.

“It may not be all right. But you’re more than worthy. And, yes, we can do this. I think I need to do this.”

Colin issued a low chuckle, led her to the waiting bed and made slow, sensuous love to a woman who had almost forgotten how sweet the act could be.

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For more information about Emly Forrest and her other title, The Last Resort, visit www.emlyforrest.com or email her at emlyforrest@gmail.com.