She’d played me.
And I want to know exactly what her fucking game is.
I slam my palm between the elevator doors just before they close, startling an elderly couple waiting inside.
Bree’s eyes widen when she sees me. The same face, and the same body, that had rocked my foundation last night, now looked up at me with real fear. Good, she should be nervous. Because I’ve never been so mad in my entire life.
“Owen-”
“Not here,” I say sternly, stepping in, every muscle in my body tense.
The media would love the fight I know is coming. And I’ve learned from experience that there are eyes and ears everywhere.
The lift stops on the fourth floor and the couple gets off.
“I know you’re upset, and I’m sorry,” she starts, her hands twisting together. “But I never meant-”
“I said, not here.”
Her mouth clamps shut, but I catch her gaze, her blue eyes wide and filled with so much damn emotion that I almost forget my anger.
On the fifth floor, she starts to move to get off, but I place an arm out, stopping her.
“My room,” I growl.
She sucks in a shaky breath and nods, smart enough not to say another word until we’re in my suite and the door closes behind us.
“Owen, if you’ll let me explain-”
“All right. Explain,” I demand.
She inhales, then lets out a long, shuddering breath, and says slowly, “I thought you knew who I was. And when I realized you didn’t, I…”
“Ye what?” I narrow my eyes at her.
She glances away, clamping her lips closed.
I grunt, dragging my fingers through my hair as I start to pace the room, suspicion flooding my mind and dulling the rightness that I’d felt last night.
“Jeezus. I almost…we almost…” I rough my palms over my face. “Do ye have any idea the shit I’m going to get when the others find out?”
“They don’t have to. Nothing happened. We kissed. That’s all.”
I move towards her, towering above her small frame. But instead of shrinking back, she juts her chin out and matches my glare. I hold her gaze, the heat of her body drawing me closer, and hell if I don’t want to crush my mouth against hers, take her hard, punishingly.
I swear to God, my eye starts twitching because of the anger I’m holding back. Never in my life have I wanted to both strangle and kiss a woman so desperately at the same time.
“If Shane hadn’t called, I would have fucked ye, and ye would have let me.”
“So?” Her arms cross over her chest. “We’re both adults.”
“So?” I say with exasperation. “Ye’re…”
“I’m what?”
I drag my fingers through my hair and curse. “Ye’re family.”
“Family?” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “I used to think that word meant something.”
“It means everything. And I’ll do anything to protect mine.”
Anger glitters in her eyes, and she says bitterly, “Always the hero.”
“Ye didn’t seem to mind last night. Or, maybe the whole damsel in distress act was another one of yer lies.”
“Screw you.” She tries to push by me, and I grab her arm, stopping her.
“Is that what ye want, sweetheart? Why ye came here?”
Her gaze drops to where my hand makes contact with her skin. I feel the tremble that races through her, and see her chest rise and fall on an unsteady breath.
“Are you upset that we almost had sex?” She meets my gaze, ice replacing the fire that burned there last night. “Or are you worried your precious Emer will find out?”
“Careful,” I grit out, tightening my grip, her words slicing a little too close to the truth. “Did ye come here to cause trouble between us?”
Hurt crosses her features for a brief moment, but she quickly blinks it away.
I barely hear the words when she whispers, “You’re hurting me.”
Fuck. I release her forearm, wincing when I glance down and see the red fingerprints on her skin.
“I’ll get my bags and go.”
“We’re not done talking.” Because I still haven’t figured out what I’m going to do with her, or what the hell I’m going to tell the guys when they ask me what the fecking hell triggered my anger this morning. There’s only so much asshole behavior I can blame on my damn headaches.
I step in front of her when she starts towards the bedroom.
“Let me get my bags.”
“Ye still haven’t answered my questions.”
“You haven’t asked me any, other than if I’m here to cause trouble. I’m not. I came here to see my…family,” she says the last word with a curl of her lips, and it sends all sorts of warning bells off in my head.
“Ye knew they’d be here. That I’d be here.”
Pink creeps up her neck into her cheeks, and she glances away. “Yes.”
“And last night? Was that part of ye’re coming home plan?”
“No.”
“Tell me the truth. What’s yer game? What is it ye want?”
“I’m not playing a game.”
“Is it money, a few minutes of fame that ye’re looking for? Or is it something else?”
She shakes her head and glares at me, but she doesn’t defend herself.
“If ye’re thinking about using this against me. Against the band-”
“Fuck you.” Hurt flashes in her eyes, but it’s quickly replaced by rage. “I can’t believe I ever thought you were…different. That I ever cared…” Her eyes are glassy with unshed tears, but to her credit, she doesn’t let them fall. She takes a few steadying breaths, then says flatly, “Thank you for making this easy on me.”
“What?” I growl out, expecting a threat.
“Forgetting about you.”
Chapter 8
Bree
Ignoring Owen’s caveman-like demand that I stay, I rush out of his suite, trying to contain the damn tears that burn my eyes. But when the elevator doors open, and Cillian steps out, dark brows drawn down when he sees me, the emotional dam inside me bursts.
The horrified look on Cillian’s face when he sees my tears would almost be humorous, if I didn’t have a large, Owen-sized hole in my heart.
“Feck,” Cillian mutters, rubbing the back of his neck and creating a barricade between me and the damn elevators. He glances down the hall towards Owen’s door, then back at me with a knowing look. “Ye all right?”
“Yeah, perfect,” I say with a sharp laugh, moving past him and stepping onto the elevator.
He stops the doors from shutting, and just gives me the look that says he really doesn’t want to know, but he feels obligated to ask. “Ye sure?”
Who would have thought it would be Cillian Gallagher standing here trying to console me? The irony makes me snort and shake my head.
“Fine,” I mutter, jamming my thumb at the number I want to go to, then wrapping my arms around my chest.
Cillian lets out a deep sigh before finally releasing his hold on the door.
When the doors shut, I close my eyes.
Anger.
Hurt.
They well inside my chest.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, my brain screams. Because, part of me thought that sleeping with Owen would finally cure me of the adolescent crush I had on the man. But, when has sex ever cured anything?
Thank God, nothing happened.
But something did.
We may not have had sex, but the connection was there. For one perfect moment, he was mine.
And that thought, right there, is everything I’ve fought against my entire life.
Stupid romantic fantasies that always led to heartbreak.
Owen’s words, the accusations, the distrust; they eat away at me. I know, in a way, I deserve them. But it doesn’t take the sting out of the blow.
Forget him, my brain demands, forcing the walls back up around my hea
rt. Forget all of them.
I should never have come back. There’s nothing here for me. Just memories of people who never gave a crap about me, who forgot I even existed the minute I was gone.
Owen was wrong when he said you had to have strong roots to survive. I’d done just fine on my own. My only weakness was thinking I needed them in the first place.
Chapter 9
Owen
“Please tell me ye didn’t fuck the girl?” Cillian glares at me as he strides through the door.
I wince, realizing he must have seen Bree coming from my room just now.
“Shit,” he mutters, when he sees my face. “Ye did.”
“No. I didn’t. But if Shane hadn’t…” I shake my head and let out a pathetic breath. “I didn’t know it was her. Not until this morning at breakfast.”
Cillian just frowns at me, his lips tight, brows drawn down, and I know he’s holding back from saying something I probably don’t want to hear.
“What?”
“She was pretty upset.”
“I’m the one that should be fucking upset.”
He grunts. “It’s Beatrice.”
“Bree,” I mutter.
“She can change her name, but she’s still the same girl who used to idolize ye. And, she’s still Agnus’ niece.”
I groan at the mention of Agnus. “The woman will have my balls marinated and roasted on a spit if she finds out. I swear to fecking God, I wouldn’t have touched her if I knew who she was.”
“And ye told her that?”
“Of course.”
Cillian snorts and rolls his eyes. “Ye really are an ass.”
Maybe I am. But she’s the one that lied. The one who pretended to be someone she wasn’t.
I sit down heavily on the couch and rub my palms over my face, guilt eating at me. Because Cillian is right; it’s Beatrice we’re talking about.
I’d cared about the girl. Saw how lost and alone she always was. The way she always held herself back from the others. She’d practically attached herself to me the last summer she’d been in Ireland, and I saw the way she looked at me like I was some kind of savior.
The same look she gave me last night. Shit, I see it now, and I don’t know how I didn’t recognize her.
Those eyes. Bluer than an Irish summer sky.
“She knew who I was,” I mumble, as if the fact somehow lets me off the hook, even though I know it doesn’t.
Cillian shakes his head. “Of course she knew who ye were.”
“And she knew we were here. She admitted it. She came here for a reason. And I want to know what it is.”
“And ye think the reason was ye?” He raises an eyebrow at me. “Seducing ye?”
“I don’t know.”
“Ye think she has some big plan?” He leans against the wall, his hands in the pockets of his jeans, a grin tugging at his lips. “Maybe she wants yer babies. Or, are ye worried she’s going to conspire with Agnus and have yer dick tied in a matrimonial knot?”
“This isn’t funny.”
“It’s a little bit funny.” He keeps grinning at me.
I glare at him. “What do we even know about her?”
My comment makes him frown. “She’s family. That’s enough. And from what I’ve heard, the girl went through hell when she left.”
My chest constricts, remembering the bits and pieces I’d heard over the years about her. Not much, but enough to know that the Yank her mother married turned out to be a controlling bastard.
But I was too caught up in my own life at the time. Losing Emer to Aiden, then my father’s drinking, and Cillian’s rebellion and anger as I tried to be both mother and father to him. Then, the night when the booze finally won, and my father drowned in his own bile, leaving me alone with a mortgage, a mountain of debt, and a numbness in my chest that never really went away.
Until last night.
Shit. I push the thought away.
“I’ll deal with it,” I mumble.
“Like ye’ve been dealing with everything else?” The humor is gone from his tone, and his frown hardens when he glances over at the empty liquor and beer bottles that litter the coffee table. “Ye’re drowning, brother.”
“I’m the one who taught ye to fecking swim. I always keep my head above water.”
He grunts. “Pretty sure those were Dad’s words before he-”
“I’m not Dad,” I growl out.
Cillian sighs. “No, ye’re not. Ye’re a better man. And ye deserve to find some happiness.”
“Just cause ye’re shitting rainbows and unicorns these days doesn’t mean that’s the fecking definition of happiness. I’m fine. And I’d be a hell of a lot better if everyone would stop harping on my ass.”
“All right.” He holds his palms up in surrender. “I’ll lay off. But I do have to warn ye that Shane just went to pick Agnus up at the train station, so whatever ye said to that girl to make her cry, ye better fix it quickly. Because if she leaves and Agnus finds out it was ye who ran her away, she’ll do more than cut off those balls ye’re so worried about.”
I drag my fingers over my face and let out a low moan, knowing he’s right. “She can run all she wants. But she’s not going anywhere.”
“How do ye know?”
I give a sheepish grin. “Because I have her luggage. And I won’t give it back until I get some answers from her.”
Cillian chuckles as he walks towards the door. “Ye really are an asshole.”
Chapter 10
Bree
I curse Owen under my breath as I struggle with the keycard to get into my hotel room. Just when I finally hear the click, and see the small green light on the door, I hear my name behind me. I don’t need to turn around to know that it’s Emer.
Damn it.
It would be easy to scoot inside the room, shut her and all my problems out. And for a second, I consider it.
I glance over my shoulder, while still keeping my hand on the slightly opened door.
She frowns when she looks at me, and I can only imagine what she sees. Red eyes, blotchy skin, a mess of emotions that I’m trying desperately to keep contained.
“If Cillian told you to check on me-”
“Cillian?” She frowns and shakes her head, her lips pursed. “What did he do now?”
“Nothing. I thought…” I sigh, looking back at the door, not wanting to have this, or any, conversation right now.
“I came to ask ye to join us for dinner tonight-”
“No.” I stop her before she has the chance to finish. “Thank you. You’ve been really sweet and, like I said earlier, it was nice seeing you. But this was a mistake. Coming here. Thinking…”
She tilts her head, studying me. “Thinking what?”
“Nothing.”
“Just as stubborn and guarded as always,” she says with a small shake of her head, despite the affection in her voice when she says it.
My defenses go up. “I’m not-”
She laughs. “See. Ye always had to argue with everything.”
“I don’t,” I mutter, knowing the words only prove her point.
“Do ye remember when ye used to lock yerself in the henhouse because ye didn’t want to go to church? Or when ye ate a whole pumpkin pie by yerself because Cillian bet ye couldn’t?”
I groan. “I was sick for days.”
Silence stretches between us.
“We didn’t forget about ye, if that’s what ye’re thinking.” Emer says gently, giving me a sad smile. “I missed ye. We all did.”
There’s a little girl inside of me that wants to shout at her that if she cared at all she would have written or called. But what would that prove now?
“I missed you, too,” I say softly, wishing the admission changed something. But it doesn’t.
Her smile returns. “So, ye’ll come to dinner?”
She’s persistent, I’ll give her that. And if I hadn’t made a big mess with Owen, maybe everything between Emer and I coul
d be different.
“I made an ass of myself with Owen,” I admit, not sure why I tell her, other than that I don’t want to be the person that Owen accused me of being. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a liar. “I lied to you. I knew you were staying here.”
A sad smile tugs at her lips. “I figured that.”
“You did?” Heat fills my cheeks and I glance down at my hand, still resting on the partly opened door.
“It was a bit of a coincidence that ye’re in the same hotel.”
“I guess it is.”
“I just wish ye would’ve come sooner.” Her hand rests on my forearm, and she squeezes it gently.
I let out a shaky breath. “I figured when you didn’t write or call, that you all forgot about me.”
“Oh, Bree, I wrote ye a hundred letters! But I never got any in return.”
I blink at her. “That’s not possible. I didn’t get them.” Confusion wars inside of me. My mom would never have kept the letters from me; she knew how much I missed my family. And all the letters I wrote to Emer—to Owen—why wouldn’t she have sent them?
I know the answer.
Frank.
It had to have been him who threw them out. The man was controlling, sometimes violent, but I never imagined he was that cruel.
I knew he never liked my Aunt Agnus. He’d rant that she was a nosey busybody who’d be happy if their marriage broke up. He started restricting our calls, saying the long-distance charges were too expensive.
Had he made her throw out the letters?
“All this time, I thought…”
Emer wraps her arms around me, crushing me against her extended belly. When she pulls back, her eyes are glistening with tears.
“Ye’re home now. That’s all that matters. Now, tell me what ye did to get under Owen’s skin.”
I wince, heat creeping into my cheeks as I say, “I...kissed him.”
Her mouth drops open and her brows raise, but then she says with a touch of humor, “Was it that bad?”
“No.” I laugh, despite how rotten I feel. “It was…perfect. But…”
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