Page 1 of Illicit Heir

PROLOGUE

Devin O'Connor

The ball flies past the goalie, and the pub erupts in ear-shattering noise as everyone jumps into the air.

It's the All-Ireland Senior Football Championship, one of the biggest sporting events of the year, and I've never seen the pub so packed. Normally, the energy would pump up my adrenaline, even though I'm not a huge fan of the sport.

My brothers and I grew up mostly in New York but spent summers and long periods in Belfast. Our father tried to instill the love of what he calls football—and we still want to call soccer—into our heads…and hearts. Yet none of my brothers are overly enthusiastic about the sport.

Boxing's the thing we love more than anything. We've spent countless hours in the ring, so all of us would rather see a boxing match. Or we'd get more excited about American football or even rugby. At least there's more aggression in those competitions, but when we're in Ireland, there's no choice but to embrace what they call football.

Usually, a few pints of Guinness will get me into the sport, and I'll cheer with the other lads, especially for this big of a game. Yet all I keep thinking is one thought: I'm bored and over Belfast.

I scan the crowd for the hundredth time, and my frustration only grows. There are at least a dozen women I've conquered in this room. Most of them several times, a few only once. Yet not one of them currently does anything for me.

I'm antsy.

I down my Guinness and glance at my brother, Tynan. He scans the room and then meets my gaze.

One thing is clear. He's just as fed up with Belfast and the current selection of lasses as I am.

One of my longtime friends and fellow clansman, Cathal, steps next to me. His eyes buzz with alcohol and the excitement only victory can bring. He wraps his arm around my shoulder, shouting, "Greatest day of the year, mate!"

I scoff, muttering, "Sure it is."

He pins his eyebrows together and leans closer. "Did ya not see that winning shot?"

"Aye. Course I did."

"Then why aren't ya ordering another round?"

Another clansman, Brogan, steps up to the other side of me and hands me another pint. He grins. "The lasses are going to be wild tonight. I'm calling dibs on..." He glances around and then sets his leer on a brunette he often takes home. He eyes her over and declares, "Her."

Tynan groans. "Mate, you're so fucking predictable."

Brogan's grin widens. "Predictable is good when ya got a lass who can do the things she can with her pretty little mouth."

"Here we go again," I mumble, then down half my pint.

"Which one ya taking home tonight?" Cathal questions me.

I study the pub for another moment, then finish my pint. I set the empty glass on the table and shake my head. "No one."

Brogan smirks, leans closer, and taunts, "Is your cock not working? Got issues ya need to discuss?"

"Fuck off!" I scowl.

Brogan, Cathal, and Tynan all chuckle.

I point at my brother. "What are ya laughing at? There are no birds in here you're interested in leaving with tonight either."

Brogan looks at Cathal and states, "Have our O'Connor boys switched sides?"

Tynan slaps him on the side of the head. "Watch your mouth."

"Ouch!" Brogan grunts.

Cathal asks, "What's wrong with you two? The pub's crawling with lasses ready to spread their pretty legs. It'll never be easier than tonight to get what or who ya want."

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