Page 13 of Cocktails & Cauldrons

Eoin shifted uncomfortably, suddenly conscious of where he was and who was wide awake next to him. He wasn’t embarrassed by his wants or needs, but Brenna might be if she saw the tent forming in his trousers.

Peeking with one eye, he noted her thoughts were turned inward and she appeared to be in a different zip code. It bothered him that she was so worried about the future. She was young, bright, and from what he’d seen so far, resourceful. Like a cat, she’d land on her feet and be better for it. Whatever he had to do, he’d do it if it meant she could cut ties with that blackhearted bitch, Odessa.

What kind of woman forced their niece to live on the outskirts of society, wearing the equivalent of rags while working for free? The Odessa Sullivans of the world were takers. But Eoin intended to see Brenna get back some of her own, even if he had to bring down her aunt to do it. He hated injustice, and the way he saw it, what Brenna’s aunt had done was an injustice of the worst sort.

He had a moment’s pause but felt little guilt for upending her life. If someone hadn’t stepped in, she’d be Odessa’s unpaid attendant for life, and that, Eoin couldn’t abide. Brenna would be safe enough with him until she could establish a life of her own. Or better still, he’d hand her off to Roisin and Bridget. They were both the motherly sort and would help Brenna develop the confidence she needed to make it in the world.

Eoin grinned as he thought about a confrontation between his sister Bridget and Odessa Sullivan. Those two hardheaded women clashing would be an epic battle, no doubt with Bridget winning, and their fight would go down in the O’Malley chronicles for their children’s children to tell the tale.

With another glance Brenna’s way, Eoin drew the light blanket over his shoulder and got comfortable for the long flight home. Yes, he could’ve teleported, but he didn’t want to scare Brenna with the shocking knowledge that magic like his existed. As a Sullivan, she was probably aware witches were real, but the type of power the O’Malleys now possessed, since regaining their abilities, was enough to blow an average person’s mind. He’d have to find a way to tell her so she wasn’t surprised if he inadvertently used his magic in front of her.

As thoughts of learning to control his power crowded his mind, he was reminded of the O’Malley/O’Connor war that had lasted well over two hundred and fifty years. None but one enemy remained, and Moira Doyle was in the wind, so his return home should be relatively tame. He flexed his now-healed hand, remembering the excruciating pain of every finger Shane O’Connor had broken with his sadistic game of trying to extract information from Eoin and bring his son, Ruairí, to heel. Thank the Goddess for Alastair Thorne’s and his sister GiGi’s mega-powers, or Eoin would likely need to find a new method of creating his art.

Eoin also silently thanked the Goddess that Brenna wouldn’t be embroiled in what was a centuries-old, ongoing war. He certainly didn’t like the idea of her getting hurt because of his careless actions.

The sudden need to reassure himself that she was okay overwhelmed him, and he turned his head in her direction. A single tear, tragic in its solitude, trailed down her cheek, and she hurriedly brushed it away as she shot him a nervous look.

He gave her a tender smile. “It’ll all be all right, love. I promise ya it will.”

CHAPTER 6

Brenna wasn’t sure what she’d expected when they reached Eoin’s family home, but it wasn’t the quaint Black Cat Inn or the rowdy Lucky O’Malley’s pub right next door. They’d arrived late, and the bar was packed with locals and tourists alike. A ruggedly handsome Irishman strummed a guitar and sang in a voice so beguiling, Brenna had a difficult time tearing her eyes away.

“That’s Cian. My brother,” Eoin said over the crowd noise. “He’s got a bit o’ talent, yeah?”

“Yes.” She hadn’t heard music so hauntingly lovely since Gran sang to her. “Why isn’t he a household name?”

“As in selling his music?” At her nod, Eoin shrugged. “He’s no interest in anything but ‘serving up the louts in his pub’ and playin’ a few songs now and again. Oh, and of course, Piper, his new bride. She’s taking up all his spare time, to be sure.” He winked, and Brenna felt another blush blossoming on her cheeks. The man constantly had her face flaming. Every word from his mouth sounded suggestive, and it triggered an immediate Pavlovian response in her. One sexy grin, one wink, a lowering of his voice, and her ovaries stood up to take notice.

Stupid ovaries.

“Come. Let’s draw a few pints and head for the Black Cat.” He placed a hand on her lower back and guided her through the throng of customers toward the bar as she cast one last look over her shoulder at Cian, bemused the two brothers looked nothing alike. But perhaps their similarity lay in their art choices. Cian, his music, and Eoin, his paintings. Each was a master of their trade.

As Eoin and Brenna reached their destination, a gorgeous redhead squealed and charged toward Eoin, arms outstretched. Brenna had no right feeling salty about all the beautiful women throwing themselves at him, but her heart and brain were on two separate wavelengths.

With a wide, engaging smile, he enfolded her in his embrace and kissed her temple. “Bridg.”

“I didn’t know you were comin’ home! Why didn’t ya tell me so I could have a room ready for ya?”

“Sure, and I wanted to surprise ya.”

“Is Dubheasa here too, then?”

“Nah. She’s back in New York, trying to find ways to murder Ronan O’Connor and dispose of the body.” Eoin turned toward Brenna and held out a hand. “I’ve brought you another lamb to care for, and she’s in need of a friend, she is.”

Thoroughly embarrassed at being thought of as friendless, despite the truth of it, Brenna scowled and slapped his hand away. “I’m not a child, Mr. O’Malley,” she said stiffly.

He grinned as the woman laughed.

“I like her,” the redhead declared. She held out a hand. “Eoin’s having a craic. And I’m Bridget O’Malley. This eejit’s older sister,” she said with a gesture of her thumb.

“Brenna Sullivan. This eejit’s new personal manager, although he seems to like managing my schedule and not the other way around,” Brenna replied with a pert look toward Eoin, who wore an unrepentant grin. “I’m sorry we showed uplast minute with no warning. I assumed you prepared a room for us. If you’d like, I can find another place…” She trailed off, belatedly realizing she didn’t have the funds to pay for another room anywhere else. The only reason she’d agreed to come was because Eoin had insisted and was comping her room.

But Bridget was having none of it and said as much. “You’ll stay here, and I’ll not hear a word otherwise. It won’t be said that I couldn’t find a spare bed for members of my own family.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to offend!” Mortified at her blunder, Brenna put her hands over her mouth.

Eoin snorted and threw an arm over her shoulders, drawing her into a quick hug. “Bridget’s not offended, love. She’s just horrified by the thought of being the town gossip.” He drew Brenna’s hands down and lifted her chin. “But it’s not like she hasn’t been already, hookin’ up with Ruairí O’Connor, known to be our family’s sworn enemy, the rattled old tart.”

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