by Sienna Blake
I nodded. That was it. There were footprints in the yard, by the tree, and leading up to the porch. Someone had been here very recently.
“Let’s check it out,” I said, turning off the car and stepping out before the other two had even unbuckled their seatbelts.
“Maybe it was Paddy?” Donncha said, coming to stand next to me. We stared down at a footprint.
I shook my head. “These feet are too small to be Paddy’s.”
“And those look like tire tracks,” Tristan said, pointing to the set alongside the car.
Leading the way up the porch steps, I pulled out my house key. But when I tried to insert it, the door opened.
“It wasn’t latched?” Donncha asked, stopping at my side.
“No. It wasn’t.” I pushed the door open farther, glancing around. No one came running out at us, so I took that as a good sign. We stepped inside, one after the other.
“Look at this.” Tristan pointed to an old weathered bag hanging next to the door. There was a pair of small boots on the floor beneath it.
“Are those women’s shoes?” I asked with mild surprise.
Donncha nodded.
Tristan reached out and grabbed an umbrella from the stand nearby. “We should arm ourselves. Whoever it is, she might not be alone.”
I couldn’t argue with that. Stepping into the living room, I grabbed a poker from the fireplace while Donncha picked up a brass statue of a lion from the mantle. We made our way through the first floor, room by room, moving silently. The only further evidence we found of an intruder was in the kitchen. A plate and a glass sat drying on the rack by the sink. Nothing seemed to be missing, which was confusing.
“Should we check upstairs?” Donncha whispered.
I gestured to the steps. “Lead the way.”
Every muscle in my body was tense as we reached the top landing. I grabbed Donncha’s arm and pointed. The door of my bedroom was ajar. The three of us shared a look before stepping forward. I placed my hand on the door, pushing it open slowly with the fire poker raised.
My eyes zeroed in on a figure lying in the centre of my bed. In the darkness of the room, it was impossible to tell who it was. I reached out and flicked on the overhead light.
I froze as I took in the sight of the woman lying there, her red hair spread out over my pillow, her chest rising and falling steadily. I felt like I was punched in the stomach as I realised what I was looking at.
Orla, the girl who had been such a huge part of my life until three years ago, was in my bed. My eyes ran over her greedily, taking in flawless ivory skin and long, dark eyelashes. The last time I’d seen her, Orla had been fifteen years old, a developing teenager. Now, she was a woman. A gorgeous woman. She’d shed the childlike quality that her features used to possess.
It felt like a dream, seeing Orla like this. She was the one that got away, and now she was back.
Donncha
Donncha
[say: Don-nah-kah] means brown-haired warrior
“Holy shit.”
Orla stirred as the words left Aogán’s mouth, stretching and blinking at the bright light. I couldn’t believe what I was looking at. How many years had it been?
Three? Four?
It hardly mattered. Time had been good to her. I could hardly believe that this was the girl that I used to think of as a little sister. We used to play pranks on the neighbours together and fight over stolen freshly baked cookies from the trays in her mother’s kitchen. We were thick as thieves. Looking at her now, my feelings were far from brotherly.
Emerald eyes opened, and a gasp slipped out between full lips. She sat up quickly, her gaze darting between the three of us in rapid succession. Fear shined through her eyes, and I didn’t like the look of it one bit.
“Hey there, ginger snap,” I said, using my old nickname for her, hoping it would soothe her. I dropped the statue I was using as a makeshift weapon onto the nightstand and stepped closer, my movements slow and measured as if I was approaching one of the wild mountain horses we used to try to capture as teenagers. “Long time, no see.”
“What are you doing here?” Aogán asked, his voice hard. He loved playing the part of the hard-ass.
“I’m sorry. I just…” She averted her eyes to the duvet and bit her lower lip. “I need a place to stay.”
“And you came here?”
I shot Aogán a dirty look. “What he means is, it’s good to see you again,” I said to Orla, sending her a flirty smile.
“I was trying to go home, but the house…it’s gone.” Her voice cracked.
“Yeah, Barry bought the property a few years ago,” I said. “Tore the house down to expand his field. He grows barley there now.”
Barry was our cantankerous neighbour, and I’d never liked him. He was the driest shite this side of the Black Rock.
“I figured it must be something like that.”
“So you just decided to break into our house?” Aogán said.
What is his problem? Aogán’s aggression was starting to get on my nerves.
“Calm the hell down,” I said. “She’s not a stranger, she’s Orla. It’s not like our house was ever not open to her.”
Meanwhile, Tristan’s piercing gaze was trained on Orla, but he had yet to open his mouth, so I had no idea whose side he was on. He was always too good at hiding what he was thinking.
“It was freezing. I had nowhere else to go.” Orla explained herself to Aogán with her chin set even though her voice shook. “Look, I…need a place to stay, just until I can work out my next move. I’m not looking for a handout, I’ll make myself useful. I can cook, clean, whatever you need.”
“That sounds good to me,” I agreed. This was exactly what we needed, another person around to keep the three of us from killing each other.
“No way.” Aogán crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head.
“Come on. What harm would it do?” I tried to reason with him.
“She broke into our house, Donncha. After being gone for three years. We can’t trust her.”
“Are you serious?” I asked. The tension between us was crackling now.
Aogán swung his scowl toward Orla. “Why do you need a place to stay, huh? You in some kind of trouble?”
Orla hesitated for a split second before responding. “I’m just trying to figure out my future. That’s going to be a lot harder without a roof over my head.”
I couldn’t help but notice that she didn’t really answer the question.
“What’s wrong with the roof you’ve had over the past three years?” Aogán pressed.
Something dark passed through Orla’s eyes, but she shut down the emotion too quickly for me to decipher the meaning. “It’s not an option anymore.” The tone of her voice made it clear that the topic was closed for discussion.
“What do you think?” I asked Tristan. He was the deciding factor out of my “yes” and Aogán’s obvious “no”.
“Let’s step out of the room,” he said, turning around and walking out before either of us could respond.
“I’ll be right back, babe,” I told Orla. “Try not to miss me too much.”
She gifted me with a small smile.
Tristan led us down the hall and into a guest bedroom. As soon as we were shut inside together, Aogán started pacing.
“No,” Aogán proclaimed. “She can’t stay here.”
“Seriously, what’s your problem?” I asked. “Why are you so against her?”
“Why are you so willing to welcome her with open arms?”
“She’s our friend.”
“Not anymore, she’s not. She’d been gone for years.”
Confusion filled me. “Her parents died, and she was put into the system. How can you be mad about that?”
Aogán just glared at me. I let out a sigh. Turning to Tristan, I quirked an eyebrow. “Care to chime in?”
“I don’t think she’s telling us everything…”
Aogán snorted. “T
hat’s for bleedin’ sure.”
“…but I don’t think she’s dangerous… I think we should let her stay,” he said.
“Two against one,” I said, clapping my hands together. “She stays.”
“No. I’m not okay with this,” Aogán argued, anger flashing through his eyes.
“You’re outnumbered.” I shrugged. I saw a muscle tick in his jaw. “Accept it. Or we could call up Ma and Da and see what they say. It is their house after all.”
Aogán made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. I knew I had him. Our parents loved Orla as much as they would if she was their daughter. They’d let her stay in a heartbeat, and Aogán would get his head eaten off for even suggesting we turn her out.
Aogán yanked the bedroom door open and stormed out, his heavy footfalls stomping all the way down the stairs and out the front door, slamming it behind him.
“Stubborn bastard,” I muttered.
“We should probably move her out of his room to avoid World War Three,” Tristan said.
I grinned. “She can stay with me.”
Tristan gave me a warning look. “She would probably like her own space. I’m thinking we’ll put her in here.” The guest room was an average bedroom, but the bed was bare. Paddy had only put linens on our beds, since we weren’t expecting company.
“You’re such a killjoy,” I muttered.
I walked out of the room, leaving him behind. When I got back to Aogán’s room, Orla was nowhere to be seen. I checked the bathroom next door, but it was empty too. Did she leave while us boys were chatting? Damn, Aogán.
“Looking for me?”
I turned to see Orla standing behind me, holding the knapsack that we’d found downstairs. Now that she wasn’t buried under concealing blankets, I let my eyes roam freely over her body, taking in the swell of her breasts and the curve of her hips. She was wearing tight jeans on her long legs, and I had the image of them wrapped around my waist. Jaysus, she’d really grown up in the last few years, transforming from a cute but awkward teenager into a gorgeous woman.
In that moment, I was determined to get Orla into my bed this holiday season, one way or another. Returning my gaze to her face, I thought I saw desire reflected in her green orbs. She hid it quickly, but that was all I needed to know that this attraction wasn’t one-sided.
I gave her my most charming smile. “Sure am.” I nodded at her knapsack. “You going somewhere?”
“I know I’m not welcome here, so—”
“You can stay here for as long as you like.”
She eyed me, her bottom lip disappearing between her teeth before she spoke. “Aogán didn’t seem—”
“Aogán is a grumpy bastard who doesn’t rule this house. He was outvoted by me.”
“And Tristan?”
“Yeah, him, too.”
“You sure?”
“Totally sure, ginger snap.”
This brought a small smile to her face. “I completely forgot that you used to call me that.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest, bringing my attention to her breasts. Thank God for low-cut sweaters. “It’s nice to hear it again.”
“Well, I aim to please.”
She rolled her eyes at my blatant flirting but gave me a small smile. “You always were a flirt.”
“I prefer to think of myself as endlessly charming.”
At that moment, Orla covered her mouth, trying to stifle a yawn.
“Still tired?” I asked.
She nodded.
“Come on,” I said, grabbing her knapsack from her and swinging it over my shoulder. It was so light. She must have barely anything in here. “I’ll take you to your room.”
On the way, I stopped at the linen closet, grabbing a full bed set before leading her down the hall. The guest room was empty, but I didn’t waste time wondering where Tristan had gone and what he was up to. He liked to disappear into his own head. Even in Dublin I could go days without seeing him or hearing back from him. I didn’t take it personally. That was just Tristan. Moody bastard, I called him. An artist’s temperament, our ma liked to correct me.
“My room’s right next door,” I told her as I opened the door. “Just in case you get lonely in the night.”
Orla rolled her eyes but I swear there was a hint of a blush on her cheeks. Taking the sheets from my hand, she walked over to the bed. I followed and helped her with the fitted sheet.
“So…Aogán’s not exactly happy to see me, huh?” she asked, avoiding eye contact as she smoothed the sheet with the palm of her hand.
“You know how Aogán is, a bit of a moody shite, if you ask me.”
“Yeah, but he’s never been like that before. Not with me.” There was some kind of significance to her voice, as if she was holding something back, but I had no idea what it was.
“Aogán’s had a stick up his ass since he took over the company from our parents. He’s all about work these days.”
“Really? Don’t you help him run things?”
“As much as he’ll let me. I’m in charge of marketing, but that doesn’t mean that he sees me as anything more than a glorified salesman.” Even I could hear the bitterness in my voice.
We had put the flat sheet onto the mattress, so I picked up the duvet and flipped it into the air above the bed, letting it settle into place. Orla was stuffing her pillow into its case and looking at me thoughtfully. “Maybe Aogán just needs to be reminded how to have some fun.”
I snorted. “Yeah, sure. Good luck with that.”
The bed was now made, so I came around to the other side, standing in front of her. Reaching out, I took a strand of her flaming-red hair between my fingers. It was even softer than it looked.
“Thanks for letting me stay,” she said, her eyes misting over with emotion.
“Anything for you,” I said, my voice light. “Goodnight, Orla.” For some reason, calling her by her name felt even more personal than using her old nickname. It was as if I was acknowledging things had changed, that she had changed. I couldn’t look at her the same way as before.
I backed out of the room. I wanted her, but she seemed too vulnerable to me right now.
I left the room and headed downstairs. I glanced out the living room window and saw that Aogán’s SUV was gone. Good. Hopefully he’d cool off before he came back.
I flipped on the kitchen light and grabbed a bottle of whiskey out of the cabinet by the sink. As I poured myself a measure of the golden liquid, movement out the window caught my eye. Tristan was walking across the backyard, leaving a trail in the previously undisturbed snow as he headed to the pole barn. Last summer, our da had converted the top floor into a design studio for Tristan, giving him a private place to work his magic.
I was alone in the house with Orla, who was upstairs, probably lying in bed. I wondered what she was wearing…sleep shorts? A flimsy slip? Nothing?
The temptation to go back up to her room was strong. I took a sip of whiskey instead. This wasn’t the right time.
But it would happen.
I resolved to turn on my charm and get her into my bed before Christmas was over. A game of seduction was just what I needed. And I would make sure she got what she needed. And more.
After all, if I was stuck here with my brothers for the next few weeks, I might as well find a way to enjoy myself. A fling with an old friend seemed like a great place to start.
Orla
If my foster father didn’t wake up to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and grilling rashers, there was hell to pay. After three years of that, I was an early riser, so I was the first one to wake up in the Cassidy house the next morning. I told them I’d cook and clean as thanks for letting me stay, so I had a full Irish fry-up in mind for breakfast.
First, I needed to clean up. In the bathroom, I stripped down and started the shower. Standing in front of the full-length mirror, my gaze drifted down to my stomach. It looked normal—flat but not toned. A few days ago the doctor had told me that I was eight weeks
along. Suddenly it wasn’t just about me. It wasn’t just my life I had to take care of. To protect. That’s why I ran.
I ran my hand over my belly. Soon the baby bump would start developing. Then the world would know.
Bitterness flooded my mouth, coating my tongue. The shame I carried inside me would be obvious for the world to see. I turned on the shower and stepped into the steaming rush of water, praying for it to wash away the grime that coated me. In the cover of water, I let a few tears escape.
As I washed my body, my hands drifted to my stomach again. This time, my chest filled with resolve. Suddenly I had someone. Someone I had to look after. Someone whose life meant more to me than my own.
Someone who was mine.
For the first time since my parents passed away, I felt tethered. Like someone belonged to me and I belonged to them, too.
I promise I’ll keep you safe. No matter what, little peanut.
This tiny, innocent life was already my reason. My savior. My purpose. No matter what had been done to me, the love building inside of me made my anger pale. It made me stronger. Prepared to fight. To build a life from scratch—a good life. For her or him. I didn’t know how yet, but I would.
I stayed in the shower too long, letting the water soothe my tense muscles, until I feared using up all the water. I couldn’t help it. There was no banging on the door, no demands of me. The peace was a luxury I couldn’t help savour.
After my shower, I slipped on a long dress that brushed the floor when I walked. Looking in the mirror, I caught sight of bruises peeking out from under the sleeve. I dug a white sweater out of my bag and pulled it over my head to cover them up. They would fade. I was determined that any memories of him would, too.
When I went downstairs, Aogán was sitting in the dining room with a mug full of black coffee in front of him and his cell phone in his hand.
“Good morning,” I said. I was hoping that his attitude last night was related to the shock of seeing me and that friendliness would help to bridge the gap between us.
He grunted in response.
Well, so much for that idea.
