Page 4 of Wine & Warlocks

“Beat it, man. Sure, and you can see she’s my—”

Dubheasa gasped at his territorial tone. “She—meaningme—is your nothing, Ronan O’Connor. And you can take that to the grave!”

Jerking her arm from his grasp, she approached the stranger. “As you can see, I need to be off-loading some baggage, but I hope you’ll be enjoying a pint on me until I can join you.”

The American smiled ruefully. “I suspect that’s going to take longer than you realize, but I’m happy to wait.”

A wave of indignation rolled off Ronan, and she could feel the heat slam into her back. With a glance over her shoulder, she saw his gaze locked on the American, and if he could’ve gotten away with it without facing her wrath, Ronan likely would’ve made short work of the man in an instant.

A small thrill chased through Dubheasa’s body at his possessiveness. She wasn’t one to care for a man’s posturing, but Ronan’s interest was genuine—that much she knew to be true. The real problem was that his last name started with O and ended with Connor. Added to the fact he’d lied to her numerous times already, and she had difficulty trusting him in general, not just with her heart.

But, oh, the sex had been grand. And maybe if Ronan simply wanted to shag a time or two, she’d forgive him those few lies and give up the chase. But he’d begun spouting things like “fated mates” and “destiny,” which Dubheasa was inclined to shun at all costs. Sure, and she had her own life to live without any help from the Fates.

The American made his way to the bar, leaving her to deal with the problem of Ronan. Dubheasa found herself reluctant to face him. She didn’t care to see the disappointment she knew would be on his countenance. Disappointment in her choices. Or rather, her not choosinghim. But wasn’t she a woman grown, without a da to answer to?

“Go have your drink, Dove,” Ronan said in resignation. “But if you even think about shagging the man, I’ll kill him.”

Thathad her turning.

“You’ll be killing no one, Ronan O’Connor,” she growled as she drilled a finger into his chest. “I’ll fecking shag who I want, when I want, yeah?”

“No, darlin’, ya won’t.” The steely look in his eye made her gulp. Leaning in, he placed his lips next to her ear, causing her to shiver as he said, “You’re mine, and don’t ya be forgettin’ it, Dubheasa O’Malley. I’ve waited a lifetime for you, and now that I’ve had ya, I’ll not be letting you go.”

Sure, and weren’t they the words every woman, in her heart of hearts, wanted to hear? But today’s women weren’t supposed to give in to sexy Neanderthals or their steamy gazes or their… ah, feck. Who was she kidding? Certainly not herself. She wanted to claim Ronan as badly as he seemed to want her.

But she wouldn’t.

Not until she had assurances that he’d not be lying to her again, in any way, shape, or form. And certainly not until she could be assured there’d be no coercing her into the job of Guardian before she was ready.

“I hate you.” And maybe she did a little because she didn’t want to experience the yearning he made her feel with a single look. It was as if he stole her will with every searing glance her way.

A mask fell over his features as he stared down at her. “Fair enough. But remember what I said about the American, yeah?”

“Feck off.”

* * *

Across the pub,Dubheasa laughed and flirted with the stranger, and each warm smile, every touch of the man’s arm, all the signs she was into the guy, made Ronan’s skin feel too tight for his body. His stomach was a mess of bloody knots, and he wanted nothing more than to abduct Dubheasa. To steal her away forever. Away from the desire-filled eyes of the men around her. Away from the loudness of laughter and music. Away so he could slowly undress her as he’d done in her New York apartment when she had no idea who he was and she was open to new thrills with a stranger. But the romantic tower had come tumbling down the second she learned he was Ronan Fucking O’Connor.

He snorted before he took a sip of his pint. Only his Dove, with her fighting spirit, would label him as such.

“You all right there, man?”

He glanced up to see Ruairí wiping down the bar next to him, concern for him in his eyes.

“Sure, and I’m right as rain, I am.” And tired to his soul. What was it about him that made women run as fast and as far as they could after bedding him?

“You’re not, but I’m not after prying, all the same.” His cousin tossed the bar towel over his shoulder and gave Ronan a severe look. “But you’re not alone in the world. You know that, yeah?”

“I know.” Rising to his feet, Ronan checked his watch and tossed a handful of bills on the counter. “Watch out for her, will ya? Don’t let her go home with that plonker out of spite for me.”

He didn’t have to clarify it was Dubheasa he was referring to. Although they were cousins, Ruairí was like a brother to Ronan, and they overshared when they drank together. His cousin understood his romantic woes, just as Ronan knew his. There were many a time when he had put himself in the line of fire to protect Ruairí from their clan because all his cousin wanted was the woman beside him at the bar. An O’Malley.

Bridget O’Malley.

A firecracker in a compact, curvy body. One his cousin couldn’t take his eyes from. The two had gone through hell and back, but a couple more destined to be together than Ruairí and Bridget would be hard to find.

“I’m glad ya went against Shane and Loman to be with her,” Ronan said. “You deserve your happiness, Ruairí.”

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