Page 38 of Seducing Bran
“Off-limits.”
Hunt frowned. “If I didn’t know you were celibate, I’d sayyouwanted her.”
Bran shifted the baby to his other arm, and she grabbed on to his shirt with tiny pincer fingers that were strong as hell for something so small. “Just being practical. I’m assuming you’ll want a Harlow of your own one day. You’ll need a pair if you want to accomplish it.”
Hunt cringed. “Stop talking about my balls as though they’re going somewhere.” He glanced in the direction of the front door and grinned. “Don’t worry about Ireland. I know what I’m doing.”
He started toward the door, and Bran swung his arm out, slamming into Hunt’s chest. “I’m dead serious.”
Hunt’s eyes narrowed, and he jerked his chin up. “That’s what I thought. Next time you want to claim a woman, just say so.” He walked off before Bran could argue.
Didn’t matter. Who cared if his brother thought Bran was interested in Ireland? He was, to a degree. That didn’t mean it was serious.
Hiking the baby higher, Bran walked toward the kitchen to greet the newcomers. And Ireland. To be polite.
Ireland was a buttoned-up professional when she came into Prime as a consultant, but the few times Bran had seen her outside of work, she wore clothes that hugged her insane figure. Tonight was one of those nights, and the visual had Bran’s heart tripping over itself. She was miles of natural curves with a gorgeous face, and it killed him.
Ireland was probably the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Of course he wanted to get close to her. No reason for Hunt to get huffy. Bran’s attraction to Ireland was natural. He was simply trying to figure out how to get close without complications.
At one time, when he’d first met Ireland, the curvy bombshell look had put him off. It still did—when it came to other women. But he didn’t see Ireland that way anymore. She was more than a beautiful face.
God knew what kind of damage would happen if Bran fully gave in to his attraction to Ireland. But give in a little? How much could that hurt?
Bran played it cool. He approached the new arrivals and shook Jaeg’s hand. He greeted Cali next, then turned to Ireland. “Good to see you.”
Cool. Calm. That was what he was. When the last time he’d been with Ireland, his tongue had been down her throat, and her hands were tearing at the fly of his jeans.
Bran swallowed, attempted to block out the image or risk embarrassing himself.
And then the baby grabbed Bran’s nose, tiny fingers all up in his business, reminding him where he was and introducing him back to the land of humility.
Ireland laughed. “She leads you around by the nose, does she?”
So much for cool. Bran grabbed the small fingers holding on to his nose and kissed the top of Harlow’s dimpled hand. “Meet Harlow, my niece. She knows how to get my attention.”
“I like her tactics. Subtle. I’ll have to try it sometime.” The humorous spark in Ireland’s eyes remained.
“You lead me around in other ways.”
She lifted her eyebrow.
Okay, so he was flirting. The harm? A little flirting never hurt anyone. It was the “more” that had nearly killed him last night. That was the first time he’d nearly forgotten protection since high school.
Ireland cleared her throat. “About last night—it was…unexpected. Don’t feel you need to follow through. We don’t have to-to, uh, continue that.”
Adam reached over and stole Harlow, and Bran frowned.Damn his brothers. He turned back to Ireland. “You mean our date? Plans are already in place. Unless you’re having second thoughts?”
She shook her head. “No.” A soft smile settled on her full lips. Lips he’d drowned in…
Bran rubbed his thumb over his chin, holding back the urge to reach out and continue the kissing frenzy they’d started less than twenty-four hours ago. “What do you think about dinner? Not in a restaurant. Someplace else. Being in the restaurant business typically has me not wanting to hang out in one after work.”
She cocked her head slightly. “What did you have in mind?”
“A surprise.”
“Incoming.” Adam thrust Harlow back into Bran’s arms and rushed away.
Bran scrambled to control the wiggle worm. “What the…?” He cast a look in Adam’s direction, just as Wes laughed from across the room and held up a diaper bag. Bran stared down at the baby. “Son of a…gun.”
