Page 1 of Resurrection

Prologue

Carys

17 Years Ago

Finn’s icy gaze is piercing, even from across the crowded Irish bar. Our gazes lock, and he smirks. It’s enough to make me want to toss everyone out of the way, let him lift me onto the scarred wooden surface, and fuck me right here with an audience.Sexual napalm. Being around him is like an explosion in my loins. At twenty-eight, I had no idea a smirk from a man could cause my body to catch fire, until I started sleeping with Finn. I’ll be lucky to escape this affair with only third-degree burns.

“Carys.” Lorcan bumps my shoulder and drinks from his pint of beer. “Did you hear me?”

I toy with my straw, dropping my gaze from Finn’s to respond to his younger brother, Lorcan. “Don’t have a clue what you said. Sorry.”

“I asked how your first day in Ireland was going.”

“Took a couple meetings for my dad.” I shrug. My father is trying to solidify connections here for his arms company, and I volunteered to take the lead on the negotiations. “Businesscomes before everything else.” My focus strays to Finn again. The pleasure I mixed with my business earlier makes my legs tremble. I bite on my straw.

“Something going on between you two? Finn’s hardly noticed anyone else tonight.”

I raise an eyebrow and say, “Not really,” before drawing the straw into my mouth.

Lorcan chuckles, and the deep, full-bodied sound is one I’d expect to hear from someone much older than eighteen. He’s always been excellent at reading people, even back when I used to babysit him and his brother while our parents did business.

“Whatever you think you know”—I give him a sly smile—“you don’t know.”

His chuckle turns into a full-on laugh, and his sandy-colored hair falls into his hazel eyes. “I think you two have been fucking for years.”

With a grin, I take a long sip of my liquor and then look at Lorcan under my lashes. I wrinkle my nose. “We were a bit obvious?”

If that’s the case, I’m glad we’ve limited our interactions around my parents or his father. None of them would understand. Most of the time, I don’t even comprehend our connection.

“Only if you know mydeartháir morlike I do.”

Not long ago, there would have been a hint of humor in his comment. A shift occurred between Lorcan and Finn when Lorcan’s mother died. For some reason, their relationship never shifted back. I want to ask, but I’m not sure I need to. Finn can be a total jackass, and I suspect whatever has happened between the two of them, he started the trouble.

Lorcan takes my empty glass. “Another?” Peanut shells crack under his feet when he slides closer to the old wooden bar.

When I glance up, Finn’s eyes are still on me even as he chats with a university buddy. Sometimes I think I mean something to him, like now, when he’s staring at me so intently I could melt in a puddle on the floor. As soon as he breaks eye contact and focuses elsewhere, the surety passes. We’re not much more than friends with benefits. If I’m being honest, that uncertainty is a piece of the allure. No matter how hard I try, I can’t figure him out, and it’s been three years of this on-and-off pattern I thought we were keeping a secret.

Lorcan gives me another drink. Absentmindedly, I smooth a few blond strands that have popped out of my intricate braid. Later tonight, Finn will pull the braid apart with gentle fingers. A shiver races along my spine at the memory of his hands, soothing and persistent in my hair. That’s also an aspect of the attraction. The tenderness he shows me, coupled with his rough edges, is addictive. I’m valued and disposable.

“You trying to get Carys fucking drunk?” Finn’s voice startles me out of my thoughts.

How did I miss him weaving toward me? He ruffles his platinum-blond hair, which often signals annoyance or frustration.

“You like me drunk.” I draw the straw between my lips, the fruity liquid lingering in my throat. “Don’t you?”

One side of his mouth quirks up, and his gaze roams over me. “I like you all kinds of ways.”

Warmth floods me, from him, from the fog of alcohol. I want to loop my arms around his neck and press myself to him as tight as I can. There’s never enough with him. In my head, I’m begging for more. But I don’t move. We’re not into public displays of affection. My choice. Not his.

Lorcan stiffens beside Finn, and I half turn, prepared to make a joke in case he’s annoyed with our flirting. But Lorcan is focused on the entrance to the bar. Truthfully this place is moreof a pub, with dim lighting and old wood everywhere. The stench of polish, peanuts, and spilled beer hangs in the large open area. There’s nothing special about this Irish pub, but it’s within walking distance to Lorcan’s first-year student accommodation and near to Finn’s university flat. The reminder of his apartment and what we’ll be doing in just a few hours is enough to kick my pulse up a notch. I can’t wait to get him alone.

“McCaffery’s people,” Lorcan mutters.

“Bunch of jackasses.” Finn grimaces. “Always looking for a fucking fight.”

I rest my free hand on his bicep, and I cock my head toward the door. “Wanna get out of here?”

“Nah, they’re not chasing me away.” He squeezes around me to order another beer. “They want a fight? They can take their best shot.”

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