Bree

“Bree, wait.” Emer stops me outside the restaurant.

Humiliation warms my cheeks and I don’t want to stop, but I do. “Please don’t say anything. I just want to go.”

“Let’s get Shane to drive ye back to the hotel. It’s not safe walking alone.”

I exhale heavily. “All right. But I’m not going back in there.”

Can’t.

Won’t.

I’m not just hurt by Owen’s words, I’m mortified that he said them to Emer.

Trouble. That’s what he thinks of me. He’s not entirely wrong. But still.

Emer gives a tight smile, then disappears back inside the restaurant.

A cool wind skates across my skin, causing goosebumps to form. I rub my hands over my arms, but the chill is bone deep.

Why are men such assholes?

All of them.

As if providence is emphasizing my point, a group of three clearly intoxicated men shout a series of cat calls from across the street as they start towards me.

Great.

One of the men, a good-looking blond guy in his early twenties, stumbles as he steps off the curb of the sidewalk. His buddy, who’s having almost as hard a time staying upright, lets the guy wrap an arm over his shoulder.

“Hey, beautiful,” the blond says when they’re a few feet from me, his accent filled with a deep southern drawl. “You looking for some fun?”

“No.” I glance over my shoulder towards the restaurant, but there’s no sign of Shane.

“Come on, darling,” the taller of the three, who’s currently holding the blond up, says. “We haven’t had a taste of Irish pussy yet.”

The other two men hoot with laughter.

There are other people walking the streets, and even though the guys are being assholes, they’re not dangerous. If I thought they were, I’d go back in the restaurant.

“With that mouth, I doubt you get any pussy,” I say, crossing my arms and jutting my chin at him.

The men laugh again, but the blond frowns and steps closer. “I was giving you a compliment. You don’t have to be a bitch about it.”

“Come on, Derrick. She’s not worth it.”

The man doesn’t budge, just looms over me, his eyes glossy with alcohol, and his breath reeking of stale beer.

“Yeah, Derrick,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “Keep walking.”

Normally, I would keep my mouth shut. I know bullies. Dealt with them all my life. Taunting never helps, but I’m pissed. At Owen, for not being who I thought he was. At myself, for believing even for a second that he was different. And at this drunk asshole in front of me, who thinks he can talk to me any way he wants because I’m a woman.

“Skank,” he sneers, starting to turn back to his friends.

“Asshole,” I mutter.

He rounds back on me, and the next thing I know, my back is against the stone wall, a hand wrapped tightly around my throat.

“Disrespectful, bitch-”

The man doesn’t have a chance to finish his sentence before he’s pulled back and a fist slams into his face. Despite the blond’s size, the man drops with a single blow.

“Get yer friend, and get out of here.” Owen growls at the other two men who stumble to help the blond stand.

They don’t argue, eyes wild and full of fear. They shuffle back, tripping over each other. It would be almost comical if the man hadn’t just assaulted me.

Owen’s back heaves as he watches the men disappear around the corner.

Shane is beside me, talking to me, but I don’t hear him. Blood pounds in my ears. My adrenaline is spiked. It’s been a long time since anyone’s put their hands on me like that.

I misjudged the danger of the situation, something I haven’t done in a long time, either.

Pinpricks of cold race across my skin.

“Ye okay?” Shane’s voice filters through the rush of noises inside my head. “Bree?”

I flinch when my cousin touches me. “I...”

Owen and Shane exchange a look, one that I can’t interpret.

“I’ll get the car,” Shane says through a frown.

I don’t move. Can’t.

“Bree?” Owen says, as if expecting an answer.

“What?”

He exhales, his nostrils flaring as he reaches out and touches my neck. “I asked if ye’re all right.”

“Yeah. Fine.” I’m not. I hate how weak I feel. How vulnerable. Not just because of those assholes, but because of him. Because of Owen.

“Why do men do that?”

“What?” His hand still rests on my neck, his thumb gently caressing the area that will no doubt be bruised tomorrow.

“Think they can use their strength to control.”

His lips pull tight. “Not all men are like that.”

“Maybe. But they’re all jerks.”

His mouth twitches slightly. “That, I can agree on.”

When I shiver, he wraps an arm around my shoulder and pulls me against his chest, holding me. I breathe him in, inhaling his heady scent, trying to quell the hammer knocking against my ribs.

His posture softens as he draws me closer, wrapping me in his secure arms. My head drops to his chest, my fingers playing along the buttons of his shirt.

I should pull away. But I don’t want to. I take his strength, allowing it to refill my own.

God, I’m pathetic. Wanting a man who just said in clear terms that he doesn’t want me.

“Car’s here,” he mumbles against the top of my head, before pulling back and leading me to where Shane awaits.

Owen opens the back door, surprising me when he slides in next to me and takes my hand.

I know the gesture doesn’t mean anything, other than the support he’s offering. But it stirs something inside of me. Something dangerous.

“I’ll take her up to her room,” Owen says when we pull up outside the hotel.

I see Shane nod in the rearview mirror.

Owen doesn’t say anything as we walk into the hotel. But when I go to press my floor number, he stops me, reaching over and pressing the top number.

“My room,” he says, going all caveman on me, and confusing me once again.

“I’d rather just-”

“Ye need yer stuff, and I don’t think ye should be alone.”

I cross my arms. “And who says I want to be with you?”

He lifts an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips.

I shake my head, reaching out to press my floor number again, but he steps in front of the board.

I let out an exasperated breath. “And why would you want to spend time with me? Considering I’m trouble and all.”

“Ye are trouble. Ye proved it tonight.”

“You’re blaming me for that asshole’s behavior?”

“No. But if ye hadn’t run off-”

“God, you’re unbelievable.” I push on his chest when he takes a step towards me.

“And ye’re hiding something.”

“Just because I’m not willing to spill my entire life story, doesn’t mean I’m hiding anything.”

The elevator pings, and the door opens, but neither of us move. We’re trapped in a battle of wills, both too stubborn to look away.

When the doors start to shut again, he mutters a curse, and stops it. “Come on.”

I hesitate before following him, wanting only to get my bags, then go back to my room.

He goes straight for the mini-fridge, pulling out a beer, uncapping it and drowning half the bottle in one swig.

“I’ll just get my luggage,” I mutter.

“Stay.”

I raise a brow at him. “Why?”

He pulls another beer out of the fridge and motions for me to take it.

I look at it, then him, but I don’t move, because I have no idea what game he’s playing at. One minute he’s ice, the next fire.

“Take the damn beer, Bree.”

“You used to be a lot nicer, you know that?”

“And ye used to be a lot less stubborn.” He places the bottle on the counter with a shake of his head. “But I’m not leaving ye alone after what happened.”

“Would you stop acting like I’m still twelve? I’m fine. I’ve dealt with a hell of a lot worse assholes-” I clench my teeth and look away when I see the hint of concern in Owen’s eyes.

He sits down on the couch and picks up his guitar, strumming his fingers over the strings while finishing the last of his beer.

“Do ye still play?” Setting the beer on the table in front of him, he starts to pick out a few chords.

“No.”

Nimbly, his fingers play over the strings, creating a melody I haven’t heard before.

“What about the piano? Ye were always good at that.”

When I don’t answer, he looks up at me, while still playing and I lift my shoulders and let them drop.

“When I’m able.”

He tilts his head, his gaze questioning.

“I had an injury.” I lift my right hand. “It left me with some nerve damage and arthritis.”

“What kind of injury?” His gaze narrows.

I pick up the beer and uncap it. “Why so many questions?”

“Why so many secrets?”

I take a deep sip. “It’s not a secret. I just don’t like talking about it.”

“Seems like there’s a lot ye don’t like talking about.”

“Do you pry this much with everyone?”

“No.” He stops playing, and frowns at me.

“Right. You’re just worried I’m here to cause trouble for you all.”

He puts the guitar down and stands. “I don’t think those are yer intentions.”

“How kind of you,” I say, not trying to hide the sarcasm that drips from my voice.

“But I get the feeling trouble finds ye wherever ye go.”

He’s not wrong. “And you want me to stay away…from Emer, from you, from my family.” I throw the last word out, knowing it’ll hit a nerve.

His jaw clenches and he’s silent a moment. “No. Ye belong here.” He moves towards me. “I just want to know more so I can protect ye when the trouble comes.”

“I don’t need protection.”

“I think ye do.” He reaches out and brushes his knuckles across my cheek, down the curves of my neck. Energy sparks at the light contact, and my heart leaps in my throat.

A flutter of uncontrolled nerves stirs in my belly, and I bite my bottom lip to contain my reaction.

His eyes, his body; they tell me he wants me. But every word out of his mouth contradicts what I think I know.

The man confuses me.

Maybe I’m so desperate for him that I’m deluding myself, believing his touch is something it’s not.

“What are you doing?” I say breathlessly.

He drops his hand, a frown pulling at the edges of his lips as he takes a step back, dragging his fingers through his hair and breathing out roughly.

“Nothing I should be,” he mumbles.

He could break me down so easily if I let him. The cliff is so close, my already fragile heart is struggling for balance.

He pulls out his cell from his back pocket when it rings, his frown deepening when he answers. “Yeah.”

His distraction gives me the chance to move away from him, to get my bags and leave. I try not to listen in to his conversation, which is more of an argument, with Owen grunting and growling half of his words.

I’m halfway across the living room, with my luggage in tow, when Owen sees me.

“Fine,” he snarls into the receiver while stalking towards me, giving me a look that tells me I’m not getting out of here without a fight.

He ends the call, shoving his phone back in his back pocket while blocking the door.

“Owen, just let me go.”

“Can’t do that. Promised Emer I’d-”

“Is that what this is about? Her?”

“No.” His eyes narrow, and he takes the bottle from my hand and places it on the table beside me.

“Then what? Because one minute you’re acting like you hate me, and the next-”

His fingers fist tightly in my hair, and the next thing I know, my back is against the wall, his thigh pushed between mine, trapping me.

Gray eyes frantically search mine, his breath rough and ragged, and my own confusion is mirrored in his expression.

My palms rest on his chest, and I can feel the frantic beating of his heart. “What are you doing?”

“Going to hell.” His mouth crashes down on mine. Hard.

The kiss is hot, demanding, and filled with pent-up desire.

I struggle to curb my reaction to him, to fight the part of me that craves this…needs this.

Impossible.

Something throbs inside of me, so deep, so overwhelming that it threatens to swallow me whole, and I know that no matter how hard I try to fight against the emotions stealing the breath from my lungs, this man will not let me leave Ireland with my heart intact.