Page 17 of Cocktails & Cauldrons

“Magic? Brenna’s a witch like us?”

“She’s a Sullivan. Of course she’s a witch.” Reggie sighed as if put out, and likely he was at Eoin’s ignorance. But the history of magical families had never been of much interest to him in the past. All that mattered was taking the images from his mind and recreating them in art form.

“Let me guess. She doesn’t know what she is, nor does she know what you are? Am I close?” Reggie compressed his lips into a thin line.

“We’ve not talked about it, but whether she is or isn’t, it’s all the same to me. I’ve hired her to do a job, and she’ll be grand.”

“Right. Well, best of luck to you, my darling scamp. I’ve a date with a handsome—”

Eoin held up his hand. “Kindly keep it to yourself. I’d need a feckin’ spreadsheet to track your lovers, I would.”

Reggie grinned and, with a devilish sparkle in his eyes, winked. “I’d give them all up for you, you know.”

“So you’ve said, but we both know I’d not make you happy. Besides, you’re playing for a team I’m not a part of. It’s too late to be drafted.”

“Pfft. It’s never too late. You simply like your supermodels and starlets too much to consider switching.” With a frown, Reggie said, “It’s why I can’t understand your preoccupation with the girl.”

“She’s a woman grown, and I’m not obsessed.” But he sort of was, though he hated to admit it. “Go on with ya, man. I’m off to bed—to sleep, in response to your next comment.”

“I like you, Eoin O’Malley. Damned if I don’t.”

“Sure, and why wouldn’t ya? I’m feckin’ awesome.”

Reggie laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “You should go give your little mou—er, friend her case. I’ll call you in a few days to see if you need anything.” After kissing Eoin’s cheek, Reggie turned to go.

“Reg?”

“Yes?”

“Do you want to get a pint first?” Eoin nodded toward Lucky’s. “It’s the least I can offer ya after the favor you did for Brenna.”

With a soft smile but suddenly serious eyes, Reggie shook his head. “You know I’m more of a wine man, Eoin. Perhaps when you start stocking my preferred brand of chardonnay, I’ll visit your quaint little pub.”

As his friend turned and walked away, Eoin had the nagging sense Reggie was lonelier than he let on.

“You’re a snob, Reg!” he hollered with a laugh but received no more than a wave in return.

With a shake of his head, Eoin turned toward the inn. Maybe when he delivered Brenna’s suitcase, she’d take pity on him and let him pull up a section of floor to sleep. He was certain he could persuade her to allow him at least that, if not a place on the bed, but he was also certain Brenna was halfway to infatuated with him. If hedidsleep in the bed, he’d likely have sex with her and probably destroy any chance of a working relationship they might have.

Not that he wouldn’t enjoy the shagging—and he had no fearhecould remain professional after—but Brenna didn’t strike him as the type of woman to engage in sexual activity without her heart being involved. And Eoin wasn’t exactly looking for commitment. With permanent relationships came family ties, and he didn’t want a drain on his time and art right now. Marriage andweenswere great for some, but not for him. Notat this juncture. Female demands were the reason he’d ditched Margo.

He stopped in the kitchen, surprised to find Brenna there, nursing a hot drink. He dropped the suitcase by the door and straddled the bench seat next to her. “What are ya doin’ down here, love?”

“I couldn’t sleep. Strange place, I guess.”

And because his mind was still on shagging, he went where he shouldn’t and said, “There’s a cure for that, there is.”

“I’m well aware what that cure would be, thank you,” she stated primly, causing him to chuckle.

“Sure, then why aren’t ya sound asleep by now?”

As was her standard, her response was a blush, but one that was adorable on her. He bit his lip to hold back a laugh when she shot him a death glare.

“That’s none of your business, Eoin O’Malley. And I thank you not to discuss such things with youremployee.”

It belatedly occurred to him he’d practically shanghaied her into doing his bidding.

Feck.

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