Page 2 of Dirty Eoin

“Eoin.”

As usual, there are no pleasantries between us. I’m sure she deliberately shuns manners and etiquette just to get a rise out of me. It works every time.

Uncouth. Unimportant. Insignificant.

She wants me to think her all three. At one point, I was naïve where she was concerned. It’s why I misjudged her. Why I underestimated her. A fact she likes to remind me of only too frequently.

Fool me once, Miss Jones? I assure you I never make the same mistake twice.

She must be wondering why I’m not surprised to see her.

I am.

She thinks me smug, selfish, and pompous, so that’s the mask I wear for her benefit. The one I’m wearing right now. Two can play her game.

She doesn’t know me at all if she believes those to be my worst attributes. I’m not sure she’d be quite so blasé about poking continually with her stick of blame if she knew the true monster she could rouse from beneath this polished exterior.

My eyes drift over her. She looks exquisite in the long cream-colored dress she’s wearing that gently skims her too-slim curves.

A vision, in fact.

Despite her biker blood and her reluctance to admit it, she fits in. She looks right at home surrounded by the trappings of wealth and the gold flock-papered walls of this ostentatious establishment.

She’s a fucking queen.

She could have been my queen once upon a time.

I frown inwardly. The reunion we’re all about to witness shouldn’t have been on the cards. At least not here. Not now.

Not yet.

But it’s unavoidable. Inevitable. And the timing couldn’t have been worse with the wedding yet to take place. We don’t need my brother getting cold feet. What the fuck is she doing in Manhattan ahead of time?

Her eyes dart from Sophia to Molly. One stands on either side of me. She knows exactly who they are. No formal introductions necessary.

“Eoin, our Dylan’s been trying to contact you. He says it’s urg…”

Paddy appears.

You could hear a pin drop.

A happenstance moment causes both their worlds to collide like the big fucking bang. Time stands still. Then just one word is spoken.

“Irish.”

Her name for him is a whisper on her lips and spoken like a subtle caress. She captures two years of pent-up love, longing, want, and need and crams them into that one single word. My eyes never leave her face as I witness the fleeting myriad of emotions that run through her as she takes him in.

First shock. Then disbelief. Then total and complete adoration.

For the love of her life. For her soul mate.

For my baby brother.

The man I threatened her over. The man I told her to stay away from when he became one half of an arranged marriage with the Sicilian mafia don’s baby sister. A union entered into to strengthen our Duster brand and to force him to settle down.

I shouldn’t be envious, but I am.

Even though my future lies with another, jealousy is all I feel coursing through my veins. I want her to look at me the way she’s looking at him. Like I’m the best thing in the world. Like I’m the only thing that matters.

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