Page 63 of Tempting Irish

“She left ye?” I hear the incredulity in his voice, mixed with a hint ofanger.

I shrug, like it wasn’t the thing that broke me most. “There was always some new guy. The one who would finally make her happy.” I close my eyes, suddenly feeling drained, both emotionally and physically. “Never did seeColorado.”

I didn’t hear about the car accident until her body had been cold in the ground for weeks. I’d managed to get away from Frank by then, even though he’d tried desperately to keep me under his thumb as a way to still have some control over mymother.

Not that it worked. She didn’t care enough about me to come back. Not for threats. Not for the surgeries I had to repair the damage to my hand. She choseloveover her daughter everytime.

“Bree.” Owen’s voice filters through the haze of dreams and memories. “We’rehere.”

I blink, shifting in my seat and stretching the stiff muscles in my neck. “I fellasleep.”

“I know.” His expression is soft, and he gives me a crooked smile. “Ye weresnoring.”

“Was I?” Embarrassment burns mycheeks.

He chuckles and opens his door. “Comeon.”

Dense trees line the property, hiding the one floor, dark gray stucco ranch from the road and any neighboringhouses.

“Do ye know where ye are?” he asks, watching me as I get out of thecar.

I shake myhead.

“This is the old Fraserproperty.”

“Really?” I glance around, recognizing nothing. But then, even an Irishman could get lost in these parts, where every hill and field looks thesame.

He pulls my bags from the back and carries them towards the door, then punches in a series of numbers in the alarmpad.

Ivory-colored granite, dark maple wood, floor-to-ceiling windows. The place looks like it belongs in Malibu, and not in the middle ofIreland.

“Wow.”

“Ye approve?” His lips are dangerously close to my ear, and a delicious shiver moves down myback.

“It definitely has rock star written all over it.” Luxury. Power. Wealth. It reeks of all thosethings.

“Not sure if that’s a compliment ornot.”

I shrug. “It suitsyou.”

He grunts, turning on more lights, as well as the gas fireplace in the center of the large livingroom.

“Come here,” he motions me towards the sliding doors at the back of the house that lead to a wraparoundbalcony.

My breath gets trapped in my throat when I step out. The house backs onto the lough that we used to swim in as kids, and the old oak tree,my tree, is only a few yardsaway.

“This is why I built it here.” He leans with his forearms on the balcony, looking out. “I always loved thisview.”

“Metoo.”

We stand in silence for a few minutes. His body is close to mine, but nottouching.

“The last time I saw you, I was sitting in thattree.”

He chuckles. “Ye used to scare the bejeezus out of me, with all yerclimbing.”

“Never fellonce.”

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