Page 6 of Charmed

He cleared his throat, a tell he was nervous. "Are you cool enough?"

She slanted him a questioning look.

"The air conditioning?" He pointed to the vent. "Is it too cold?"

Irritating he could be considerate when he wanted to. Made it hard for a girl to keep walls in place. "I'm perfect, thanks."

He issued a grunt and shook his head, a smirk teasing the corners of his mouth. "I don't think anyone with a heartbeat would question that statement."

Sigh. And then there were the compliments he tended to toss around in casual conversation. Even hotter when he wrapped them in insults. Nothing more panty-melting than a guy who didn't back down, who could verbally spar. It proved she was worth the effort, that he had a mind of his own. Men tended to get awestruck in her presence, either following her around like a lost puppy or doing whatever she wished. So tedious. Riley? Not an iota. He issued World War III via dialogue whenever the opportunity arose.

He wore a thin, braided leather bracelet Ceara had made him and had spelled for protection. Why it added to his masculine appeal, Fiona hadn't a clue. Same went for the silver Irish Claddagh ring on his pinky. Tearing her gaze from the corded muscles of his forearms, she returned her gaze out the window.

"We agreed on something and the universe didn't implode."

"You're enough to drive a man to drink, Fi."

More compliments. "Stop, you'll make me blush."

He laughed, damn him. The coarse, low rumble filled the car and stole all oxygen. "As if such a thing were possible." He checked his mirrors. "Do we need to swing by your place or do you still have a change of clothes at mine?"

Cosmic how he kept leaving himself open for her taunts. "I can train in this."

With an are-you-kidding-me perusal, he took in her red dress and black heels before refocusing ahead. "Unless you plan on working out in your undergarments, I don't see how."

Goddess, he made it too easy. "Who says I'm wearing any?"

The car veered left and, with a sudden jerk right, he straightened the vehicle between the dotted lines once more. His jaw ticked. And ticked. "Yes or no to stopping by your house?"

She ran her fingers over her lips to hide a grin. "I have an outfit at the mansion." The brothers' maid had washed Fiona and her sisters' exercise clothes daily after their training sessions. Besides that, she also had a pair of jeans and a top in the locker just outside the home gym. "Would you like me to drive since you're having difficulty?"

He bared his teeth. "I drive just fine when I'm not being hit below the belt."

Since imagining what assets he had "below the belt" would be counterproductive to her sanity, she kept mum.

All three brothers had similar athletic body types and characteristics—black hair that was longish on top and cropped shorter on the sides, green eyes, wide jaw, and hovering close to six feet. Their personalities couldn't be any more different, though. As the middle brother in the fraternal triplet trio, Riley was the most laid back. He often used humor as a defense mechanism and it was an utter turn-on. She'd rarely been able to let her guard down and admired people who possessed the ability to let loose.

He also challenged her at every turn, something very few had ever tried, and it caused her pulse to trip. Why, oh, why hadn't she brought her car today?

Alas, the six of them had instilled the buddy system for a reason. The only two places on the island they were unequivocally safe were at Galloway House and Meath Mansion. Her family's Victorian hugged one side of the private elevated point, surrounded by meadows and gardens. The other side belonged to the brothers, where their fortress of a house took up most of the estate. A forest separated the households and had since the island's inhabitance.

Ceara had been able to erect protection wards on both properties, but the spell was restricted to only the buildings. Outside the walls, they were vulnerable. Greg Meath was hunkering somewhere, lying in wait to finish what he'd started centuries ago. They all had to be careful.

Riley turned onto their clandestine lane, and an eight-foot lannon stone wall teeming with Virginia creeper blocked the driver’s side view. The five-part purplish leaves of the woody vines, thick and pretty, had been planted by Aunt Mara a hundred years before.

After a short trek, Riley stopped the car at a two-winged gate. Wrought iron bars were separated by a stone pillar that continued on the other side. A metaphorically-implied split of Church versus State. The gate on the left held the Galloway trinity knot and the one to the right donned the Meath Clan shield, both in the same black iron. Past the bars was a steep hill, obscuring the view beyond. In front of the knoll, another narrow path like the one they’d just driven traveled in either direction.

Fiona pursed her lips. No matter how well they did or didn't work together, their bloodlines were at odds. Always had been and, she feared, always would. At least, to some degree. The this-is-my-side, that-one's-yours gate only amplified the fact and gave it physical credence.

Riley punched in the code on the divider wall panel and pulled the car forward, making a right as the gate swung closed behind them. He navigated the trail that hugged the knoll, then turned left to head up the steep incline toward the mansion.

As the estate came into view, she frowned. Not for the first time, she wondered what all the posh was about. The white clapboard exterior with its sturdy columns and endless expanse of windows didn't seem to suit any of the brothers. The original structure was colonial in style, but additions had been made through the years and it now resembled something more like Greek-revival. An eight-car garage was attached to the mansion through a glassed-in terrarium that housed a pool. Neatly trimmed bushes. A seating area to the left boasted an outdoor fireplace and gazebo. The ocean was a perfect backdrop.

Thing was, the Meaths were richer than God. They had this massive fortress, a few cars each, and dressed eloquently, yet they never flaunted their money. All three boys worked when they obviously didn't have to and not a one acted pretentious. Best she could tell, they rarely even had visitors.

Riley parked in the circular driveway, and she followed him up the brick porch steps. The interior was all white marble and polished dark wood. Paintings. Crystal. The winding staircase just past the foyer was straight out of The Great Gatsby.

He shuffled through a stack of mail left on the entry table and tossed it aside. "Are you hungry?"

---