Page 20 of Savage Guardian

He wanted Aoibheal. That meant he wanted Carrie.

Right?

So…why was the urge to lean forward and breathe in the scent ofFae—heather and vanilla—tearing at him?

Across from him, unaware of his insanity, Fae grinned and replied, “My dad and grandda taught me. He was first generation because his father, my grandda, was from Inverness. He and my granny came to the US in the 1950s for the chance at a better life. My grandda got a job at a granary, my granny did sowing and laundering, and they had my dad and my uncle Seamus.”

He nodded, grinning back. “So that’s why you sound like a native.”

She blushed once again, the pink of her cheeks adorable as fuck.

“You speak as a native as well, and you know that isn’t easy. True Gaelic is difficult, even for the Scots.”

“Aye, I ken,” he said, teasing. “My father is a Scottish as haggis—and just as appealing, and he still lives there.” And so did his brother.

“Do you visit him often?”

Warmth fled his body. A chill born of icy hatred and betrayal moved through him, nearly stealing his breath.

“No.” Not withthemthere, sticking up the very air with their taint. “Too busy here in the states. I call him once in a while, though.” For Christmas and his birthday. After his father took Hawk’s brother’s side, Hawk had lost respect for the older man. To him, the name McGregor was a burden now rather than a boon.

“It’s good to be close. My dad and I were closer when my mom was alive,” she said, a sadness softening her voice. “We still talk, but it isn’t the same as it was. He has Jane now, and Carrie, so he doesn’t always have the time to chat about unimportant things.”

And what did Mr. McCabe consider unimportant?

None of your business. Carrie is your business—stick with that.

“So, you use your skills in Gaelic to help Carrie write her songs? I assume that since she doesn’t speak a word of it, you’re the one doing the translating for the lyrics. Although, I don’t understand why she decided to write and record music in a language she doesn’t even know.”

The smile faded from her face, the glittering of her eyes dulling.

What the hell just happened?

“Yeah. I do the translating,” she answered, her tone flat. “It’s a tribute, the music, to our heritage.”

“Carrie’s your step-sister, right? Her mother married your father.”

“My mom died twelve years ago, and he met Carrie’s mom two years later.”

“Is Carrie’s family Scottish?”

“Um…I think her grandparents are Ukrainian.”

That gave him pause. Why was a Ukrainian-American writing and performing Celtic music? Wouldn’t writing and singing Ukrainian music be a better tribute to her heritage?

Mentally logging that question on the list of questions he’d ask Carrie later, he let it go.

Checking the time on his cell, he opened his mouth and shit fell out.

“You want to hit the clubhouse? It might not be like what you read in your porn books, but you might enjoy seeing one in real life.” For whatever reason, the idea of ending their—whatever the hell this was—right then, made something twist in his belly.

She rolled her eyes and curled her lips into a smile. “Like…go and meet your club brothers?”

He shrugged, fighting down the surge of protectiveness that slammed into him. He would absolutely fuckingnotacknowledge the surge of jealousy that came with it. She didn’t need to meet his brothers—he was the only Savage Raider she needed to know.

Fuck!

He couldn’t take it back now, though. He’d already shoved his foot in it, and her eyes were wide and bright and shining with excitement.

---