Page 66 of Cocktails & Cauldrons

The welcoming smile she gave him glowed with happiness. He was one lucky bastard. Unable to resist a second kiss, he trailed his fingers along her jawline as he tucked her in bed. “Thank you for bringing color to my world, Brenna.”

“But you already had color.” She frowned adorably.

“No. It was black and white with shades of gray until you. Looking back, my all of my best work happened after I met you.”

“You’re just saying that,” she said with a snort. “You’ve always been a talent in the art world.”

“Sure, and maybe I made passable pieces, but your shining eyes influenced my choices and your soft sultry voice was the one I heard in my dreams, telling me how much ya loved what I’d created. It made me want to make beautiful things for you to admire.” Using the tips of his fingers, he traced her full lower lip. “With each commission, I didn’t work for the buyer. I worked for you, love. All I ever wanted was for you to discuss my current projects with me.”

Her eyes shimmered, and her mouth—Goddess, that sexy, generous mouth—widened with her happy smile. “And all I ever wanted was to be able to discuss those projects. I lived for whatever you designed or forged in your studio, Eoin. Your sculptures make my heart sing in a way I can never describe.”

“Thank you, love.”

“I should be the one thanking you. You rescued me from my drab world and breathed life into me.”

“You didn’t need rescuing. Just wakin’ up, and you did that all on your own, ya did. You stepped in when Odessa intended to steal my powers for herself. You ran interference for Alastair at the gallery. And I suspect you began doing that a long time before we came along.” His kiss was more than a simple sample this time. He tasted her completely, and with each touch, he burned hotter and wanted nothing more than to strip her bare to make love with her.

“I like the way you think of me, Eoin. How you believe I’m stronger and better than I am.”

“You are, Brenna. I promise ya, you are.”

He hated that he had to leave her, but Loman O’Connor’s return was a serious threat, and not one he could put off telling the others about. “Sleep now, love. I’ll be back soon.”

After clicking the door closed, he withdrew his phone and texted his siblings, asking them to join him in the inn’s kitchen. He’d just received their affirmative responses when his phone vibrated, indicating a call from Reggie.

“Reg!”

“We need to talk, scamp.”

He tried to recall a time when he’d ever heard his friend so serious and couldn’t do it. “All right. Where do you want to meet?”

“Your family’s pub, but I need you to do something for me.”

“Sure, and you’re sounding dire. What the feck is going on, Reg? Are you all right, man?” Apprehension began to settle in Eoin’s stomach. He wasn’t going to like where this was going, to be sure.

“I have a confession, and I need you to listen to what I have to say. But I also need you to have Ronan with you when you do.”

“Ronan O’Connor? What business do you have with that plonker?”

“I’ll tell you at the pub in one hour. You’ll need to meet me outside, though. Can you do that?”

“Aye.”

After hanging up the call, Eoin wasted no time meeting Bridget, Cian, and Carrick in the kitchen. Joining them were Piper, Roisin, and Ruairí.

“What’s so bleedin’ important we had to drop everything to be here?” Carrick asked.

“Loman O’Connor.”

“The man’s dead.” Bridget’s confusion was only natural. Last they’d all heard, Alexander Castor had won a death match and sent Loman to hell after the man had bombed the O’Malley businesses.

“Not according to Sabrina Dethridge, he’s not.”

“Fuck!”Ruairí’s response was natural. As a nephew to Loman, he would be on the man’s revenge list as a betrayer of the O’Connors. In Loman’s mind, Ruairí should’ve been fighting for their side in their centuries-old war and should’ve givenhimthe sword instead of Bridget. Once Ruairí had sided with her and declared his loyalty to the O’Malleys, he’d sealed his fate with his evil-incarnate uncle. “Does Ronan or my Uncle Alex know yet?”

“I’m not certain.” Eoin ran a hand along his jaw and scratched the stubbly growth as he suppressed a tired yawn. “We all know Ronan, Castor, and the Aether are friends, but I got the feelin’ Damian’s daughter was telling him for the first time, too.”

Cian grew thoughtful, and he gazed out the window into the darkening night. “If he teams up with Moira again, we’ll have a fierce threat on our hands.”

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