Page 70 of Tempting Irish

Chapter 21

Owen

Itwistmy fingers with hers, and kiss each of her knuckles. “Ye feel goodhere.”

She murmurs an agreement, but she’s gone quiet again, and I have no idea what she’sthinking.

My thumb traces the tattoo on her wrist, a symbol she’d marked herself with to remind her of Ireland, of her family,ofme.

Hell, how am I going to let this girlgo?

Raw emotions build inside me. The need to know her, every broken part she’ll allow me to see, isintense.

“Ye never told me where ye went after yer momleft.”

She tenses in my arms, then starts to roll away. “Why do you keep pressingthis?”

I lean on my forearm, and watch all the walls she’d let down build back up, brick by brick. She grabs my t-shirt and pulls it over her head, then sits down on the edge of the bed, brushing her fingers through the dark tangle ofhair.

“I want to know more aboutye.”

She huffs a frustrated breath towards theceiling.

I sit up, and pull her against me, so that her back is resting against my chest, then thread my fingers with hers. “Ye’re a part of my world now. Once the media finds out, people will start to dig. If there are skeletons yerhiding-”

“If it’s the band you’re worried about, yourreputation-”

“I’m worried aboutyerreputation. Yer name being dragged through the gossipcolumns.”

“I haven’t killed anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about,” shemutters.

“Good to know,” I chuckle, burying my face in her hair and inhaling her intoxicatingscent.

“Why are you so convinced I’m hidinganything?”

“Am Iwrong?”

She doesn’t answer, just gives a small shake of herhead.

“Tell me aboutFrank.”

She tries to sit up, but I wrap my arms around her, holding her to me. “Frank was anasshole.”

Darkness skates across her features and dread curls in my stomach, warning me that I won’t like what I find if I keepdigging.

“But yer mom left ye withhim?”

A sad sigh slips from her and shenods.

The admission strikes me deep. I know about loss. About losing a mother to her own fucked-up desires. My mom left Cillian and I when we were still kids, started a new family, like the one she had wasn’t goodenough.

But she’d left us with my father. And even though he was a drunk, he loved us. And at least Cillian and I had each other, had ourfriends.

Bree had noone.

“Did he hurt ye?” I ask, my chest feeling like it’s being squeezed, because it’s the question that’s been spinning through my head all day. The way she keeps favoring her one hand. The distrust I see in her eyes; not just for me, buteveryone.

“Owen,please-”

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