Page 8 of Illicit Heir

In a firm voice, I answer, "No, it is not."

He glances at the other men, asking, "What am I missing?"

They shrug and look just as confused as Devin.

Emily puts her hand on my arm, stating, "They're just nobodies on a lads' weekend."

Devin's head jerks backward and insult fills his expression. He declares, "Nobodies? I can assure ya we aren't a bunch of nobodies!"

"Then who are ya?" I repeat.

He scratches his head. "I thought I already told ya my name is Devin."

I peer at him closer.

"It's fine," Emily quietly states.

"Is there something we need to know?" Devin's possible brother asks, crossing his arms.

I glance at Emily. She gives me a reassuring smile.

Relief hits me, but something else fills my stomach.

Is he lying?

I glance closer, studying him, and decide he's harmless, even though I feel he'd break someone in two if needed. I declare, "No. Two rounds. Get moving. I don't want to be here all night."

The two other men brush past me. One of them claims, "Well, I'm ready for a Guinness, and I want two shots to start with it." He pulls a bar chair away from the counter.

"Aye, go take the table. We're not sitting at the bar," Devin orders.

I tilt my head, inquiring, "What's wrong with the bar?"

He shrugs. "That table over there fits eight. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight," he states, pointing at everybody in the room. "If we sit at the bar, how will we have a good conversation?"

"Who said we're going to have a conversation?" I retort.

He sniffs hard. "Do you always fight back, lass, when there's no reason to fight?"

"Do you think this is fighting?" I challenge.

His lips twitch again. "No, but something tells me I might want to see ya fight." He gives me another dirty stare that lights up my core.

Jesus, help me.

I turn and walk away, trying to cool the heat rushing to my cheeks. I call out, "Two rounds. Then you're out of here. Don't try to get any more."

He calls back, "Sure, lass. Now don't forget your rounds as well. And come put your pretty self in this chair." He pats the wooden seat next to him and adds, "It would be a shame to let us drink alone."

"Pretty sure ya can handle drinking with your lads without us involved," I say back.

His smile twists. His eyes darken so much I shiver, and he catches it. The intensity of his expression only grows, and his arrogance expands. He challenges, "Are ya scared to have a few drinks?"

My mouth turns dry, and my heart races faster.

"Well?" he questions, arching his eyebrows.

Jessica interjects, "She doesn't drink a lot."

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