Page 8 of Cocktails & Cauldrons

“But it’s your generous spirit that entrances, love. You’ve a kindness not many do and a moral compass few possess. There’s where your true beauty lies, to be sure.”

He released her hand, sat back, and sipped his beer as if he didn’t just leave her raw and aching to have him possess her in every way. More than ever, she wanted to cry. In all her twenty-six years, no one had trulyseenher, outside of her gran. No one had ever cared to look beyond the surface to discover the woman hiding there, beneath the “outer trappings” Odessa had purchased for her. Only Eoin. And he’d thrown it out there in such a matter-of-fact way, it couldn’t be denied or ignored—or acknowledged. To acknowledge it meant she’d reveal her true feelings for him and what his words meant to her.

Drawing on years of hiding her reactions, Brenna lifted her drink and wet her parched throat. “So, not drab, then,” she finally managed as she blindly surveyed the bar.

She thought she heard him snort, but when she glanced over at him, his expression was bland. It was only when she peered closer that she noticed the laughter lurking in his eyes.

Were his irises lighter in color?

They certainly seemed to be. How it was possible, she didn’t know, so she dismissed her fanciful thought.

“Not drab, then,” he agreed.

Brenna couldn’t help but grin.

“Brenna?”

Eoin heard the man’s voice before he saw him, but he didn’t fail to notice the way Brenna lit up as she looked at the person behind him.

“Brenna Sullivan! Itisyou! Here, and I’m shocked that old dragon has let you out of her sight.”

“It’s good to see you, Ronan,” she said warmly as she was tugged to her feet and embraced in a bear hug by the newcomer.

Ronan?

A sick feeling rushed over Eoin, and he leapt to his feet. His worst fears were confirmed the instant he turned and recognized Ronan O’Connor, who until recently had been his family’s enemy. Also one of the most gorgeous men in existence. There wasn’t a woman alive who didn’t turn feeble minded when they saw him.

“Get your fucking hands off her,” Eoin growled.

Both Brenna and Ronan stilled.

“Eoin?” Brenna’s tentative voice made him feel like a shite, but no way was Ronan Fucking O’Connor getting within ten feet of her. His family had done enough harm to the O’Malleys, and Brenna wouldn’t be caught in the crossfire of another stir-up. Eoin’s previously tortured fingers still experienced phantom pains now and again.

“O’Connor, you get your fecking hands off her and back up, or I’ll be cleaning the floor with your face. I’ll not have you acting the maggot with her.” Eoin probably just signed his death warrant because Ronan had recently acquired the formidable powers of a Guardian,thestrongest magical being next to an Aether, who kept the balance between good and evil.

Ronan’s hard silver-eyed stare summed up the situation in an instant. He no doubt recognized Eoin was deadly serious. With grudging respect, Ronan held up his hands and backed a step away. “I’m glad to see someone appreciates Brenna for who she is and not what they can get from her. Or are you after something more…meaningful, O’Malley?”

Rage exploded in Eoin’s brain, and he lunged.

Brenna threw herself in front of him and barely avoided being mowed down. Only Eoin’s quick reflexes allowed him to catch her and swing her to safety.

“Never do that again, Brenna,” he scolded as he cradled her pale face between his palms.

She nodded shakily, and those wide, timid eyes caused his heart to ache. Her trembling body told the story of her fear.

He swept her into his tight embrace and rested a cheek on her silky-haired head. “Jaysus, Brenna. Don’t be afraid of me. I’ll not hurt ya.”

Her arms crept around his middle, and Eoin released his tension with a sigh. He hated that his back was to Ronan, and he expected a knife through the ribs at any moment—such was the O’Connor way—but the shaken woman in his arms was his priority.

“I know you won’t, Eoin,” she said in a low voice. “You’re too nice.”

Ronan possessed the hearing of a bat, and he snorted his disbelief at Brenna’s comment. “The word ‘nice’ isn’t usually associated with Eoin O’Malley, dear Brenna. If he’s ‘nice,’ he wants something from you. Be careful your knickers don’t end up around your ankles, all the same.”

“I swear to feck, I’m going to kill him!”

With a fine sense of Eoin’s intent, Brenna gripped his shirt and held tight. “Please don’t.”

Scrunching his eyes closed, he nodded and took pleasure in the small circles she’d begun to rub on his back.

---