by Ava Miles
“Yeah,” he said. “You’re the best.”
“I know. Why else would I have shared a womb with you?”
He was laughing when he hung up. While he loved everyone in his family, he and J.T. had a special bond even he couldn’t fully understand. Okay, now he was really acting like a Hallmark card. Time to get down to business and find Connor a new tract of land.
After falling for Becca, there was no way he was going to let his brother take away what she held so dear.
Chapter 16
The one person Becca hadn’t expected to see at dinner was Trevor. She smiled at the other guests as she wove through the tables to where he was sitting alone.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, trying not to look too conspicuous. The other guests didn’t need to know she was having an affaire de coeur with someone staying with them. Besides, she didn’t want it to hurt her or The Wild Irish Rose’s reputation.
“I decided to let the older people enjoy themselves,” he said, picking up his whiskey and toasting her. “Besides, I’d rather be here with you, and since you couldn’t go, I thought I’d eat here.”
She signaled to the nearby server and grabbed the water pitcher off his tray to pour Trevor another glass. After returning it to the server and sending the man off with a smile, she said, “But I can’t eat with you.”
He shrugged. “I still get to see you, and that’s enough.”
If she’d been holding the water pitcher, she would have dropped it for sure. That was enough? Yes, from the soft look he was giving her, she knew he meant it. “I’ll try and finish up early.”
The way he sipped his whiskey made her want to shiver. “That would be nice.”
Nice? Yes, it would be. “I’ll find you.”
He gave a knowing smile, and she realized she’d better move away, or she’d implode right then and there. Goodness, what this man did to her. Composing herself, she nodded and left to see to her guests and check in with Chef Padraig, who’d topped himself tonight with the pan-roasted black bass and sorrel sauce. She’d had a plate earlier and almost swooned in sheer delight. This year she was hoping for a visit from the Michelin people because she and Chef both wanted a star. Two or three, in fact.
Everything seemed to be coming together.
When she searched for Trevor an hour later, she couldn’t find him at first. He hadn’t responded to her knock on his door, and he wasn’t in any of the common rooms. Something made her go to the back door and look out, and that’s when she saw his silhouette. He was standing at the edge of her cliffs.
Her heart seemed to leap after him, full of longing to be beside him, outside on a land she loved but rarely traveled. The feeling grew. Should she try and go to him? Oh, how she wanted to. The thought strangled her, and she found herself unable to breathe, her chest as tight as if someone were ringing her out like dye cloth.
Bending over at the waist like Cian had taught her, she sucked in air and waited for the sensation to pass. Boru laid his head against her thigh, but she was barely aware of him. She saw stars, the urge to pass out strong, but she gritted her teeth and kept breathing while tears streamed down her face. When she finally could breathe again, she raised herself back up.
Tears continued to stream down her face, and they didn’t stop when she told them to this time. No, she was crying for herself—for the girl who’d lost her parents and a treasured freedom of feeling safe in the world. Then she realized she was also crying for the woman she was now, the one who longed to feel the warm arms of her man around her as they listened to the sea crash against the cliffs.
Anger burst forth inside her. She was tired of feeling like a prisoner. Her tingling hand rose to the doorknob, but she didn’t have the strength to open it. Part of her was still terrified the dark would smother her again. Something horrible would happen. In the daytime, she could trick her mind into forgetting that feeling, into burying it down deep, but it had always refused her efforts at night, just as it did now. Instead, she tunneled her fingers in Boru’s fur and waited for Trevor to return.
When she saw his dark shape returning to the main house, she busied herself by fussing with the flower arrangement in the main hall.
“Hey!” Trevor called from behind her. “I was hoping you’d come join me outside.”
She schooled her face, praying the color had returned and all traces of tears were gone. “There were a few things to see to. Shall we…” She stopped herself from saying ‘go to my rooms’ because they were in a public place. Then she wondered if he’d prefer to go to his room for a change. She didn’t dare, not when someone might notice and start talking.
When he simply took her arm and led her to her chambers, she was glad for it. Still, as they were walking up her stairs, she said, “It might be awkward if I were seen coming out of your suite.” This morning, she’d been so careful to avoid suspicion. She’d brought a fresh stack of towels to his suite when she’d gone in to find him a new set of clothes. She’d even left the door cracked in case anyone walked by.
“I understand,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it.
Oh, how she liked those small romantic touches. At the top of the stairs, she gave in to the urge and hugged him. Her heart was so full.
Cian’s words about heartache filled her mind, a reminder she didn’t need after her failure to step outside earlier. She didn’t doubt him. There would be heartache when Trevor left, yes, but she would enjoy him for as long as she could. Love glowed inside her, and she longed to share it.
She led him to her bedroom, no pretense of an after-dinner drink on the table now. Shooing out Boru and Hatshep, she closed the door behind them.
“I thought we might have better luck keeping your clothing if I kicked them out,” she said, tugging her top off.
He sat on the bed. “Good thought. Ever find my things?”
Her lips quirked. Apparently, he intended to sit there and watch her undress. “No, if you can imagine it.”
“I have a feeling we’ll be safe this time,” he said, toeing off his shoes as she slid down her pants. “They must know by now that they don’t have to steal my clothes to keep me here.”
The hitch in her heart was almost like a flash of lightning.
“I plan to spend every night in your bed,” he said, resting his hands on his open thighs. “Now, take the rest off and come here, Becca O’Neill.”
She slid off her bra and panties and padded across the floor until she stood between his legs. He cupped her breasts, his brilliant green eyes still on hers.
“I plan to love you thoroughly tonight,” he said, his voice husky.
Hadn’t he done so last night? She stroked his jaw, loving the evening stubble. “Good. We’re of the same mind then.”
And so they were as the shadows of night shifted and stars fell outside the window. They supped on each other as if a feast of paradise lay before them. His groans became a music she craved, and his touch, so silky yet so reverent, inflamed her senses. Under him, she felt like a siren reborn, calling out to him from across what had been the lonely expanse of her heart. Now her heart was on fire, and it burned for him.
When he cuddled her close, his body heavy with sleep, he whispered, “Take a walk with me later.”
Those words didn’t create fear this time. Instead, hope surged in her heart. She could see herself walking beside him in the daylight, his warm hand curled around hers. In fact, she felt the same excitement she experienced thinking about walking to the old kitchen.
“Yes,” she heard herself say. And then again. “Yes.”
When he kissed her softly on the lips and nodded off to sleep, she lay awake listening to him breathe.
A miracle had just happened, and she wasn’t going to miss a moment of it.
Chapter 17
Trevor left Becca the next morning feeling like a new man. He’d lived in Ireland long enough to believe in things like magic and destiny, and those special fates had arced between them last night
. Of course, he’d never admit it to another soul, but in her arms, he’d found an oasis, the kind men had traveled across deserts for. Perhaps Ireland had finally fully rooted itself inside him here on her land, but he was thinking fanciful thoughts these days. One thought that was far from fanciful?
Becca had changed everything.
The urgency to find Connor a new tract of land pressed on him all the more. Once he did, he could usher his brother onto a new course, offsetting his grief and guilt. Everyone could rest assured their cousin, Patrick, would be safe, and Uncle Liam wouldn’t have to worry about losing another son. He could clean the slate with Becca and tell her the Merriams would never make a play for her land, not now, not ever.
And then he could tell her that he wanted to stay with her on the very land he’d come to buy.
If she’d have him.
But the more he dug into the scouting report of the area, the more depressed he became. There simply weren’t any other options. Becca owned four hundred acres, and according to the geothermal imaging and other data in the report, the perfect drilling point for the oil running from the sea floor to dry land was on the cliffs he’d walked last night.
Looking at Connor’s Plan B, Trevor knew it was going to be a bitch and a time-suck. The land was littered with stone, making it hard to both drill and construct an on-land rig. The upfront investment on the land would mean less profit for Merriam Oil & Gas, something Connor seemed unusually keen to accept. But people’s lives were at stake in his brother’s mind, and this prevented it.
His hopes for an alternative looked to be impossible. What was he going to do? God, he couldn’t wait to hear J.T.’s assessment.
Someone pounded on the door, and he shut his laptop. No one on staff was so obtrusive, and he knew who it was before he opened the door. Uncle Arthur was glowering beside a fierce-looking Aunt Clara. Hargreaves bowed to him and took off for his room down the hall.
“We should speak inside,” he said, knowing what was coming. It had been a risk to leave them alone with Cian and Aileen for dinner, but he’d been honest with Becca. He had stayed because he wanted to be close to her.
“I assume you know why I’m here,” his uncle said without preamble after closing the door.
“I could sock you,” Aunt Clara said, “and I’m not a violent woman. If you hadn’t been with Becca when we got home, I would have burst into your room and punched you, Trevor.”
“If it would make you feel better, go ahead, Aunt,” he said, opening his arms wide.
His uncle scoffed. “So this is why you were so eager to have us visit you. You needed an in here at The Wild Irish Rose. You used us.”
Hearing him say it like that brought on the guilt. “Yes, and I’m sorry. Truly. Will you sit down and let me explain?”
His aunt crossed to him and did sock him in the chest like she’d threatened. She was surprisingly strong. “I’m so mad at you. How could you even think about buying this beautiful place? Then there’s how you’re acting with Becca—”
“Hold it right there,” he interrupted immediately. “I am not with Becca to persuade her to sell. We were clear about that up front.”
Uncle Arthur took his aunt’s arm. “I told you he had more ethics than that. Come, sweetheart. Let’s sit down and hear him out.”
His aunt was still shooting daggers at him, but she took a seat beside her husband on the red sofa in the small living room. Trevor thought about ordering tea, but the very thought was ridiculous. This conversation was no tea party.
“Let me say up front that I don’t plan on buying this land for Merriam Oil & Gas anymore,” he said, sitting in the gold-studded chair across from them.
His aunt reached over and patted his knee. Of course, it was less of a comforting pat than the way an angry person swats a fly, but he’d take it. “Good.”
“But Connor still wants it.” He told them the reason and how it related to Corey’s death.
Uncle Arthur looked out the window when he was through, almost as though searching for oil. “So your brother is afraid to drill out there.”
He hated hearing it said like that, but it wasn’t untrue. “Not for himself, perhaps, but for Corey’s brother, Patrick, and our other employees. J.T. and I are trying to find him another alternative close by.” He decided not to share his morning’s findings.
His uncle popped in a red hot and offered one to everyone. Trevor took one, but Clara declined.
“I read in The Irish Times about how controversial offshore drilling is with the locals,” his uncle said. “I can’t imagine how controversial onshore drilling would be.”
“Very,” Trevor said simply. He decided not to bore them with talk of the Barryroe oil project, also off the Cork coast, or the recently abandoned projects in Druid and Drombeg which hadn’t borne out—even though his uncle might have been curious.
“I thought something was wrong with Cian’s attitude toward you,” Uncle Arthur said, “so I might have asked some leading questions last night.”
“By leading, he means he was a regular Tom Brokaw,” Aunt Clara said, taking her husband’s hand.
Uncle Arthur fingered a button on his shirt. “Of course, Cian had his own questions about you. In the end, I didn’t have to probe much. Aileen was tipsy on beer and let loose the beans about Connor’s offers. And yours. When Cian asked what you wanted the land for, I told him that we came into the situation blind. And I couldn’t find any information when I looked on Clara’s smartphone after we got home.”
“Our offshore acquisition hasn’t been public yet because Connor is trying to persuade the Irish government to allow him to drill on land—something they’ve never done before.”
“So you could still drill offshore?” his uncle asked.
“I’m not involved in Connor’s discussions with the government officials, but yes, I believe so.”
“Connor just doesn’t want to,” Aunt Clara said. “What a pickle.”
That was one word for it. “What did Cian want to know exactly?” he pressed.
“He wanted to know what you did for the company,” his uncle said.
Trevor’s gut tightened. “What did you say?”
His aunt swatted the air. “He told the truth, of course. Really, Trevor.”
“Uncle,” he said. “I need to know. What did you tell him?”
“I said you handled the toughest negotiations and acquisitions for Merriam Oil & Gas.”
Shit. So far Becca hadn’t asked him why he’d wanted to buy her land, and since she’d hung up on Connor, twice, he knew she hadn’t asked him either. This new knowledge could change things. Oil drilling was controversial enough, but onshore drilling… He imagined Becca would have strong views about it. Many felt it would hurt tourism, and that would concern her, he imagined.
“And then Aileen asked if you only work on oil and gas issues,” his aunt said, “because she knows Merriam Enterprises is into a lot of things. They thought you might want to create some posh hotel or something.”
They did have a branch of luxury hotels, so that guess wasn’t half bad. Well, he’d deal with the fallout. He imagined Becca knew something now.
“They weren’t very happy last night or this morning—something you would have seen if you’d come down for breakfast.” His aunt gave him a knowing look.
“I had some urgent business,” he said. “I’m sorry I used you both.”
“You’d better be,” his uncle said, “and you sure as hell had better not do it again.”
He made sure to meet Uncle Arthur’s gaze. “I won’t, sir.”
The man harrumphed. “Let’s circle back to the problem. Can you sell the offshore claim here?”
“Yes, but Connor still wants the oil.”
“He won’t drill offshore anymore?” his aunt asked.
“Since our cousin Corey died, Connor has sworn all of our new operations will only drill on land.”
“What about all the offshore holdings you already have?” A
unt Clara asked.
“They’ll continue because we can’t afford to stop operation.” He supposed Connor could sell them, but that would cause the board to riot. Offshore was half their oil business now.
“This sounds like a costly business decision,” his uncle said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out more red hots. Trevor took another, knowing his uncle chewed on the candy like some NFL coaches chewed on gum. It was part of his thinking strategy.
“Building and maintaining an offshore rig is very expensive, so in some ways, Connor’s plan might be better for business long-term,” Trevor said cautiously, although he didn’t believe his brother had made the decision for that reason.
“Less accidents and environmental spills too,” his uncle added.
“Well, I think Connor’s idea stinks,” his aunt said, crossing her arms. “I don’t want to see this place pockmarked with oil rigs. It’s beautiful.”
“I’ve tried to tell him that, but Connor is adamant, Aunt. To protect Becca’s land, I need to give him an alternative.”
“If I need to chain myself to something like those Greenpeace people do, I will,” Aunt Clara said.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Clara,” his uncle said, crunching on his candy.
Trevor’s lips twitched. “You could go to jail, you know.” Part of him wanted to see how committed his aunt was to the cause.
She narrowed her eyes at him, sensing the challenge. “I figure Irish jails can’t be that bad.”
He barked out a laugh as his uncle grunted. “You might die before your parole comes up,” Trevor pressed, raising his brows.
She gave a dark chuckle. “You reminded me of Grandpa Emmits just now. He was always one to take a joke too far.”
“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, Aunt,” he said, wishing Grandpa Emmits, as his heirs all called him, was around so he could talk to Connor. After all, he’d founded the company after striking oil in Oklahoma. But he wondered if his brother would listen.
“Is it too early for a martini?” Aunt Clara asked.