Tempting Irish

by C. M. Seabrook

  “But what?”

  “He didn’t know who I was. I should have told him last night. And now he thinks I deceived him on purpose. Maybe I did. But I didn’t mean to. I didn’t come here for this. Not really…” I’m rambling now, not making any sense. “Now, he has my luggage held hostage in his room.”

  Emer starts to laugh.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “It makes sense now. Owen’s expression at breakfast, when he figured out who ye were.”

  I grumble. “He hates me.”

  “No. There’s not an ounce of hate in that man’s body. Unless it’s for himself. But I can imagine his shock.”

  “I know I should have told him who I was. But I was afraid…” More heat infuses my cheeks. I can’t believe I’m admitting this. “I wanted one night. That’s all.”

  “Just one night?” She raises a brow and gives me a knowing smile.

  “It’s his thing.”

  “Ah, yes.” She rolls her eyes. “I’ve heard. But ye want more?”

  “No. Maybe.” I sigh, and confess, “Of course, I want more. He’s Owen freaking Gallagher.”

  She chuckles. “I always knew ye had a crush on him.”

  “And he was in love with-” I stop myself before saying her name, and say instead, “His music.”

  She shrugs. “They all were, and still are. But music only soothes the soul for so long. If ye want him, then ye should go after him.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “I watched my mom love a man who never loved her, and it destroyed her. I won’t make the same mistake.”

  “Then Owen will just have to get over himself, because now ye’re definitely coming to dinner.” She chuckles. “And I can’t wait to see him squirm.”

  “You’re not going to tell him you know, are you?”

  “I’ll keep yer secret. But I can still have my fun.”

  “Emer,” I warn.

  She laughs again. “Ye’re coming to dinner tonight. And that’s not a request.”

  “Even if I wanted to, I don’t have anything to wear. Owen has my luggage.”

  “I’ll take care of that.” Her gaze roams down my body, and a smile plays on her lips. “What size of shoes do ye wear?”

  “Six and a half.”

  She nods, grinning from ear to ear. “You and Delaney are about the same size. I’ll have some clothes sent to yer room.”

  “What? No.” My protest is to her back as she walks away. “Emer.”

  “Be ready at seven,” she says over her shoulder as she presses the elevator button. “I’ll have Shane come and pick ye up.”

  She waves a hand before disappearing, and I groan as I enter my hotel room. But, despite the anxiety of having to see Owen, there’s a lightness inside of me that wasn’t there before. That maybe I was right to come here.

  Hope. I haven’t felt it in years, and it takes me a moment to realize what it is. And despite the warning bells that ring inside my head, I let it stay there. I may have messed things up with Owen, but maybe there’s still a chance to be part of the family I left behind.

  Chapter 11

  Owen

  I paced my hotel suite most of the day, waiting for Bree to come back for her luggage.

  But she didn’t.

  What the hell was with this girl?

  I know she has a room. Called down to the desk to make sure. But I still have all her clothes. Her purse. Everything.

  I didn’t think there was a more stubborn woman in this world than Emer and Agnus, but I’m starting to think that the girl inherited the gene.

  Sure, I was a bit of an asshole this morning. But she’s the one who deceived me. If she wants to play this game, then I’ll wait her out. See how long she can go without her things.

  Sitting on the couch, I strum a few chords on my guitar, but not even the usual solace of my music stops the clusterfuck of thoughts and emotions that spin inside of me.

  My cell buzzes with a message from Cillian, reminding me that I’m supposed to be meeting them at X70 Bistro in twenty minutes.

  Shit. Guilt creeps unwittingly into my chest, because I know Bree should be there. But even if one of the others invited her, she doesn’t have a damn thing to wear while I’m still holding her bags hostage.

  I walk the five blocks to the restaurant, keeping my head down as I pass through the busy streets.

  Hidden behind a pair of dark aviator glasses and the knowledge that most people don’t actually expect to see a celebrity walking the streets, I manage to get to the small Temple Bar bistro without anyone recognizing me.

  It’s quaint. Off the tourist radar. But it’s also Agnus’ favorite restaurant, which is why we’re here.

  A man plays Thomé’s Simple Aveu softly on a baby grand in the corner of the restaurant. Dripping candles seem to be the main source of light, and it takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust.

  “Monsieur Gallagher,” a stout man wearing a full tuxedo says. “Your party is waiting.”

  I follow him to the back of the restaurant, to a table that is somewhat hidden from the rest of the patrons.

  Aiden and Cillian sit beside their wives, and give me a nod when they see me. Agnus, who is sitting beside Emer, stands, the corners of her eyes crinkling in genuine affection as she reaches out to embrace me.

  “Look at that beard,” she admonishes, running a hand over my scruff and shaking her head. She teases, “Ye look like ye should be handling an ax rather than a guitar.”

  “I haven’t heard any complaints from the women,” I say with a wink.

  She gives my arm a small smack and chuckles.

  “Where’s Shane?” I ask, noticing he’s still missing. I hadn’t spoken to him since breakfast, which is odd considering everything that went down last night.

  “I asked him to drive Bree,” Emer says, watching my reaction, like she expects one.

  I don’t give her the satisfaction.

  “Can ye believe she’s here?” Agnus says, tears misting her eyes. “After all these years.”

  “Yeah,” I mutter.

  Emer’s gaze is still on me, studying me, and I wonder for a moment if she knows something. But if she does, there isn’t any judgement in her expression.

  “There they are now,” Emer says, standing when Shane leads Bree into the room.

  There’s a whirlwind of commotion around me as Agnus rushes to embrace the woman. I’m pretty sure Emer is speaking to me, but I don’t hear her words, all my attention narrowed in on the vision in front of me.

  I swallow hard as I drag my eyes from the silver heels, up the toned calves and thighs to where the form-hugging black dress starts, accentuating every curve of her lush little body. As usual, she’s wearing little, if any, make-up. Not that she needs it. Her skin is flawless. Her dark eyelashes frame her cool blue eyes, and the hint of color in her cheeks isn’t artificial.

  Stunning.

  “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Emer’s voice infiltrates my thoughts, confirming what I’m thinking.

  I grunt and grab the open bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon on the table and pour myself a glass.

  “Ye look so much like yer mum,” Agnus says, placing her palms on Bree’s cheeks, emotion flooding her words.

  I don’t hear Bree’s reply, if she even gives one, but I see the stiffness in the way she holds herself, the reservation, and the way her gaze keeps glancing my way.

  Agnus leads the conversation as the wine is poured and appetizers are brought to the table. But I don’t miss the guarded way Bree answers each of her questions.

  “Emer told me ye go by Bree now.” Agnus says, frowning slightly. “Beatrice was yer grandmother’s name, ye know.”

  “I know,” Bree says softly, reaching for her glass of wine and taking a deep sip, more color infusing her cheeks.

  Agnus can come across as a bit abrasive at times, but there’s nothing malicious or even judgmental in her words, even though I have a feeling that Bree takes them that way.

 
“I like the name Bree,” Emer says, giving her a reassuring smile.

  “The name is fine,” Agnus continues, obviously not catching the hint, or seeing Bree’s discomfort. “But it’s not the name I gave her.”

  “You gave me?” Bree blinks at her, frowning.

  Agnus nods. “Maggie was sick after she had ye. Ye came five weeks too early, and there were a few days when I thought we’d lose ye both.”

  “My mom never told me that.”

  “No,” Agnus sighs, her gaze growing distant with the memory. “I don’t imagine she would have. She had a lot to deal with during that time, with yer father leaving and all. I’m the one that took care of ye for the first three months of yer life.”

  Bree’s brows draw down and she frowns. “Where was my mom?”

  “She was sick. She would have cared for ye if she could. But I didn’t mind taking ye.” Agnus clutches Bree’s hand. “I already had my two. And they were more than a handful. But I fell in love with ye the minute I saw ye. Maggie told me to give ye a good, strong name. Said ye would need it. But the moment ye opened yer mouth and let out an ear-piercing wail, I knew ye were a fighter. Still, I gave ye the strongest name I knew. Beatrice.”

  Everyone is quiet. A part of me feels like I’m interloping on what should be a private moment.

  The silence is finally interrupted when the server approaches the table, replacing the empty bottle of wine with a new one. And conversations start up again, as people talk over each other, telling stories with the easy back and forth banter of family.

  I watch the transactions, noting the way Bree starts to relax, opening up a little more with each consecutive glass of wine.

  As the dinner crowd disperses, the tables are pushed back, opening up a small area of the floor for dancing.

  A silver-haired couple takes the floor as the pianist switches from the classical repertoire he’d been playing throughout dinner to a rendition of Billy Joel’s Just The Way You Are.

  “I love this song,” Delaney says, standing and pulling Cillian up.

  “I thought ye didn’t like dancing?” Cillian says.

  “I like it with you.”

  He chuckles, shaking his head as she leads him to the floor.

  Emer whispers something to Aiden that makes him glance over at me, then shake his head at her. I can tell she’s conspiring, and I have no doubt it’s about me.

  “Shane,” Emer says, her voice like honey. “Ask Mom to dance.”

  He frowns, glancing up from his phone that he’s been texting on throughout dinner. And I wonder if he heard anything more about the woman from last night. From the scowl he’s worn the entire evening, I doubt whatever news he’s gotten is good.

  “I’d love to dance,” Agnus says, before Shane has a chance to ask.

  Shane stands, giving Emer a pointed look before taking his mother’s hand and leading her to the dance floor.

  “Owen.” Emer turns her gaze on me, and I know what’s coming next. “I’m sure Bree would like to dance.”

  “No, I…” Bree stutters, looking horrified.

  “And I think ye should learn not to meddle.”

  Emer’s face falls, her mouth dropping open, and Aiden coughs to cover a laugh.

  “Come on,” Aiden places a hand under her elbow and helps her stand. “I’d like to dance.”

  Emer looks between me and Bree, frowning, before finally letting out a sigh and following Aiden to the dance floor.

  Bree shifts in her seat. “I’m sorry about that-”

  “She knows, doesn’t she?” I say accusingly. “Ye told Emer what happened?”

  “I didn’t want there to be any more lies.”

  I grunt. “And did ye tell her the truth? That ye lied about who ye are?”

  “Yes.”

  I hold her steady gaze, waiting for her to look away, but she doesn’t.

  “I’ll ask ye again, Bree. Why are ye here? What do ye want?”

  “I already told you. I came to see my family-”

  I lean closer, watching the heat creep up her neck and into her cheeks, aware of the warmth that spreads through my own body as I close the distance between us.

  “I meant from me. What is it ye’re hoping to gain?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Ye said no more lies.”

  “I’m not…” She shakes her head. “You want to know the truth?”

  “Yes.”

  “The truth is, I wanted last night. I wanted that kiss. Wanted more.” Her voice is a rasp, thick and throaty. “Wanted everything your eyes promised. And yeah, I was willing to lie to you about who I was to get it.”

  I hold her gaze, searching her eyes. Not sure what to do with her confession.

  There’s no denying the pull between us, the heat that sizzles in the air.

  “I should have told you who I was.”

  “Yeah, ye should have.”

  “But all I want is to forget that anything happened.”

  I grunt, knowing as long as she’s here, it’s an impossible task. Because, despite my brain’s protests, my body aches to touch her, to finish what we started last night.

  Her thumb traces the pattern of the Dara knot on her inner wrist.

  I take her hand, feeling her flinch slightly at my touch, then flip it over so I can see the pattern etched into her skin. A memory pulls at the back of my mind, making my chest squeeze.

  “This,” I say, brushing my thumb across it. “Tell me about it.”

  She tries to pull her arm back, but I hold her. Her gaze drops to the floor, and she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth.

  “Beatrice,” I demand, using her real name to remind me who she really is.

  “That’s not my name.” She yanks her arm back, this time with enough force that I have to release her or hurt her.

  I drop my hand.

  She’s hiding things. I feel it in my gut.

  Pain and hurt wraps around her like a cocoon, and I have a feeling I won’t like what I find if I keep digging. But there’s something inside me that needs to know more about her.

  Because I want to protect my family.

  That’s the reason. It has nothing to do with the insatiable need to touch her. To possess her.

  Fuck.

  I lean back, watching the struggle that wars in her features. The insecurities that battle against the walls she’s constructed around herself. And I see the child she once was in the woman she is now. The same damn loneliness that always haunted those blue eyes.

  Laughter floats through the restaurant from where the others are dancing.

  Bree glances towards them, a small smile pulling at her lips.

  “You’re lucky,” she says, watching them. “To have them. To have each other. I wish…”

  My chest hurts for the words she leaves left unsaid. Because I see the longing in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry ye had to move away.”

  Her lips tighten and she lets out a small sigh. “Even if I hadn’t, I was never part of your group. I was always just the annoying kid that followed you around.”

  “Ye’re wrong.”

  “Am I?” Her eyes remain on the group.

  Damn, the emotion that stirs inside me, wanting to wipe the sadness off her beautiful face.

  “Come on,” I say, standing. “Dance with me.”

  “Why?” Her brows drop in suspicion.

  “Because I don’t want another one of Emer’s lectures. Which I’ll get if I let ye sit here brooding all night.” I take her hand and pull her to her feet.

  “I’m not the one brooding,” she says, angling her chin at me.

  My palm on her lower back, I lead her towards the others, ignoring the smile Emer gives me. Dancing with Bree will probably only encourage whatever plan she’s plotting, but I’m pretty sure I can’t win no matter what I do right now.

  “Are you ever going to give me my bags back?” Bree asks, her body molded to mine as we move to the music.

  “Ye’re th
e one that left them in my room.”

  “You could have had a porter send them down.”

  “I could have,” I agree, smirking.

  She rolls her eyes. “I used to think you were the nice brother.”

  “I’m still the nice one.” I chuckle, glancing over at Cillian, who raises an eyebrow at me.

  I give a small shake of my head and give him a I’ve-got-this-handled look, even though I know I don’t.

  Hell, if the girl doesn’t have me all tied up inside. I make the mistake of glancing down at her at the same time she blinks up at me. We’re close. Too damn close.

  When the song ends, I release her a little too abruptly and take a step back.

  “Thanks for the dance,” I mutter, plotting my escape. And not just from her, but from all of this. But I can’t turn away from the blue eyes that hold my gaze. All the images from last night flood my brain.

  “My turn,” Aiden says, taking Bree’s hand and spinning her around, breaking the connection and causing her to gasp in surprise.

  “Well?” Emer says, beside me.

  “What?” I don’t look at her, because I can’t take my eyes off Bree.

  “She’s pretty, isn’t she?”

  No. The woman isn’t pretty. She’s gorgeous.

  “Don’t do that,” I warn.

  “What?” She says, feigning innocence.

  “Ye know what. I don’t need ye meddling.”

  She laughs. “Ye need something. And I have an idea what it is.”

  “I’m warning ye, Emer.” I glare at her, but she just smiles. “I know she told ye what happened. But keep it to yerself. And stop whatever plotting is going on in that head of yers.”

  “I’m not plotting. I just think-”

  “Stop thinking.”

  Emer tilts her chin, studying me, then shakes her head, clamping her mouth on whatever she was going to say.

  “And don’t do that, either.”

  “What?”

  “Judge me.”

  “I just want ye to be happy.”

  “I know ye do. Just don’t push this. Even if I was in a place to settle down—” I grimace at the words.“—it wouldn’t be with Bree. The girl is trouble-”

  “Owen.” Emer stops me, her eyes widening when she glances behind me to where Bree and Aiden are dancing a couple feet away.