Page 2 of Cocktails & Cauldrons

Eoin had been in the process of sipping his champagne when her comment hit him. Glass arrested halfway to his mouth, he stared.

“What?” She fiddled with the snap on her clutch, opening and closing it as if she had an attack of nerves.

“You’ve never been toÉire?Ever?”

“Is it so unusual?”

“For you? A Sullivan? Yeah.” He took a casual sip of his drink and shook his head. “How is it you haven’t gone yet? Sure, and we’ve only discussed my homeland in relation to my landscapes, but I always received the impression you loved it there, all the same.”

She shrugged and gave him a sad half smile. “I’m positive I wouldifI had a chance to go. Aunt Odessa has been somewhat”—she glanced around then leaned in—“demanding.”

A lightbulb went off in his brain. “She couldn’t spare you, could she?” And by spare, he meant let go of the leash enough to give shy, unassuming Brenna freedom. Why should she? Odessa had the perfect little servant in her niece.

Eoin studied her objectively. She was a petite, benign creature with bland brown hair that couldn’t decide whether it wanted to be blonde or brown, so it settled somewhere in the middle. If he were being kind, he’d say it was caramel, but calling her frizzy mop caramel would be romanticizing the unremarkable shade. Her clothing was as lackluster as the rest of her. And if there was one thing Eoin abhorred, it was uninspired clothing. Perhaps Reggie’s lofty preferences were getting to him.

Brenna blinked, and tears flooded her eyes, making their color an even brighter shade of blue. Those soulful aquamarine eyes of hers made him want to promise her the moon and stars. Eoin wasn’t quite certain why.

“Sure, and you should come home with me,” he blurted.

They both stared at each other in astonishment. She looked like he’d suggested they murder Odessa and dump her body off the Brooklyn Bridge. He, with his heart thudding rapidly, wondered what the hell had prompted such a suggestion. When Brenna’s gaze dropped and lingered on his crotch, Eoin cleared his throat. Her skin darkened to a distressing shade of crimson and drastically clashed with her hair and dreadful glasses.

Not her eyes, though.

Those soul-destroying peepers of hers were enhanced by the contrast.

“I only meant, my family owns an inn. I’m happy to comp you a room,” he offered. When she looked as if she’d object, he hurried to add, “To pay you back for rescuing me.”

Why the hell was he pushing so hard? It was no skin off his back if she didn’t set foot outside of New York. And yet, the sight of her poignant face triggered something inside him similar to the new influx of magic.

“You’re kind, Mr. O’Malley, but I couldn’t possibly impose.”

Her rejection irritated him. “You wouldn’t be imposing, now, would ya? I’m asking you to be my guest, Brenna.”

Brenna suckedin her breath and struggled not to choke on her own spit. Eoin O’Malley had quickly become a living legend in the art world, and here he was, taking the time to converse withher. He’d just invited her to Ireland and acted as if her acceptance of his offer meant something to him.

She found herself nodding. Mainly because she’d always wanted to be in his orbit, to bask in the beauty of Eoin’s stunning creations—and maybe get lost in those all-seeing emerald eyes of his, too.

Brenna wasn’t a fool. She knew Eoin wasn’t homosexual. He’d simply grasped the first excuse he could to dissuade Aunt Odessa from mauling him to death. Although Brenna wasn’t interesting enough to attract a man like Eoin, she could at least be his friend, if he was willing.

“I do want to go,” she said softly. She shot a glance to their left, where Aunt Odessa was, even now, copping a feel of an unfortunate server’s bottom. Brenna frowned. “Um, excuse me, I have to—”

“No, you don’t.”

She whipped her head back to stare at Eoin, her mouth agape. “Pardon?”

“You don’t have to run off to save Odessa from her own outrageous behavior. Sure, and let her suffer the consequences for once.”

“You don’t understand, Mr. O’Malley—”

“Eoin.”

“Mr. O’M—”

“Eoin,” he insisted again. “My name is Eoin.”

Brenna almost melted into a puddle. Not only was he severe and assertive in his insistence, but he was focused solely on her, as if her compliance in calling him by his first name was of utmost importance to him.

“Eoin,” she whispered lovingly.

---