Page 7 of Cocktails & Cauldrons

He studied her for all of ten seconds, then pushed his Guinness across the table. “Here. Try this.”

She guzzled a third of it before pushing it back to him with a laugh at his stunned expression. “Gran practically raised me on the stuff. What can I say? I prefer it to that overly dry red Odessa insists we drink.”

“I’m an eejit for assuming,” he muttered as he scooped up the wine. “I’ll get you a proper drink.”

Brenna watched as he conversed with the bartender and held up two fingers. The sexy twenty-something woman wore an inviting smile and leaned across the counter, showing the bulk of her wares in the low-cut red tank top. She touched Eoin’s arm and laughed at whatever he’d told her. But Eoin surprised Brenna by withdrawing and shoving his fisted hands deep inside his jeans pockets. He gestured with a tilt of his head, and the woman’s attention shifted to Brenna.

Brenna fought the urge to give her a finger wave.

With a careless shrug, the bartender left to build the beers.

“What did you say to her?” Brenna asked when Eoin returned.

“Nothing much.” When she snorted her disbelief, he chuckled. “I may have said you were my girlfriend to get her to back off.”

The desire to preen was strong, but she nodded instead. He’d used her as an excuse to tell another woman no. That didn’t mean he wantedher, but at least she was good for something.

“What are you thinking, Brenna?”

Ever watchful, Eoin had picked up on her relentless self-deprecating thoughts. “Nothing much,” she replied with a too-casual sip of the Guinness.

His lips curled into a delighted smile. “You’ve got sass. Sure, and I like it.”

Because he felt like a friend, possibly the only true one she’d ever had, she gathered her courage to ask what had been bothering her since he practically abducted her from the gallery. “Was Reggie right? Am I drab?”

“No. Reggie’s an arse.”

Eoin appeared angry she’d brought it up, and she experienced a moment of misgiving. Would he think she was a needy pain in the butt who required constant attention?

“You’re perfect the way you are, love. If others can’t see your incredible light, it’s on them.”

No one hadeverused the words incredible or perfect to describe her, but it seemed Eoin had a compassionate heart, if his words were anything to go by. Brenna knew not to invest in his compliments. If she did, she’d be disappointed when he rejected her, as he was bound to do.

“I’ll not tell ya tall tales, Brenna. I’ll always speak true.” He scooted his chair closer to hers and picked up her hand. He waited until she met his steady regard, then said, “Could your hair do with a highlight or two? Meh. If you truly want them. Should you be left alone to shop for clothes? Abso-fecking-lutely not. Your tastes are questionable.”

Appalled at his bluntness, her mouth dropped open.

He tapped it shut and warmed to the subject. “Those cat-eye glasses are atrocious, if I’m to be honest.”

Brenna withdrew her hand and balled it in a fist, tempted to punch him in his flawless fucking face. “On that note, I suppose we should get down to business and off the topic of myappearance,” she said stiffly, knowing her burning cheeks were a dead giveaway of her outrage.

Not one to be dissuaded, Eoin retrieved her hand and kissed her knuckles. She felt a wave of heat all the way down to her girl grotto.

“You’re mistakin’ me, Brenna.” His tone was intimate and caring, his eyes admiring.

She thought she might’ve had a psychotic break. Maybe they were back in the gallery and she was still lusting from afar, caught up in the fantasy of Eoin noticing her. She cleared her throat as she surreptitiously pinched her thigh to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

“H-how do I m-mistake you?”

Christ, she sounded like a dying bullfrog!

“Because clothes and glasses are outer trappings. Hair can be cut and colored. But the things that are truly beautiful about you can’t be purchased.”

Her heart began to hammer, and she couldn’t rip her gaze away from his for all the money in Odessa’s bulging bank account.

“Your eyes. They’re the color of the sea where the water kisses the sand. They reach in and trap a man’s soul with one passin’ glance. Your voice is pure music to the ears, a delightful symphony, and sweeter than a songbird’s.” Butterfly soft, he brushed his thumb across her cheekbone. “And your skin, it’s enough to make a grown man weep at the silkiness of it. Sure, and it fosters dreams of what other parts of you might be that lovely.”

Brenna’s heart stopped in her chest. Just stopped. Right along with her lung and brain functions.

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