Wild Irish Rose

by Ava Miles

  She walked back into the bedroom and stopped short at the sight of Trevor grinning at her from her bed. Goodness, but that man had a fine chest.

  “I’ve decided I’m looking at this all wrong,” he said, rising up onto his knees and resting his elbows on them. “If your animals want me to be your exclusive sex slave and never leave your tower—so to speak—I’m all in.”

  Sex slave? Heavens, she was going to combust right here. “Some of us have to work.” Then she realized he had work too, and she felt the floor fall out from under her almost like she was in an elevator.

  His sensual grin softened, as if he knew her thoughts. “You forget the pros of having a sex slave, Becca.”

  “Because I’ve never had one before.”

  His grin flew back at her wording, and she wanted to smack herself. “As the slave to your every sexual fantasy and pleasure, I’m at your beck and call. You can manage breakfast with the guests and then pop back here and demand that I kiss your creamy little thighs.”

  Creamy little thighs? Oh, my. “Some of us need to be better grounded in reality. I can’t just pop back here for sex.”

  He cocked his head to the right, studying her. “Why not?”

  She didn’t have a clue. “It’s not responsible. I have tasks, things people count on me to do. Oh, why are we talking like this? I need to get dressed so I can fetch you clothes.” She supposed she could have Aileen go fetch them, but the woman would laugh herself silly and rib Trevor terribly when she delivered them. Becca planned on telling Aileen—nothing got past the woman—but she’d spare Trevor the embarrassment.

  Crossing to her closet, she walked in. “Sex slave. That man…” But she was flushed and breathless.

  “You’re thinking about it,” Trevor called in a playful tone. “I know you are.”

  As she looked down at the rug they’d made love on, she realized she was, indeed.

  * * *

  Clara Merriam Hale had lived long enough to know when a woman was in love, and seeing Becca spring into the dining room where everyone was eating breakfast was like having a front-row seat.

  And Trevor, the sweetheart, hadn’t made an appearance yet. Hmm…

  She elbowed Arthur, who was busy reading The Irish Times with a single-mindedness she imagined would never fade away. Since his retirement from his own newspaper, she hadn’t known what to expect of him. He loathed golf, he’d told her. Had never had a true hobby outside of work, which wasn’t a hobby so much as a passion. Cheekily, he’d asked her if matchmaking could be a hobby, and she’d smacked him in the chest in response. She loved smacking him around playfully, and since he typically barked out a laugh or gave an emphatic harrumph, she knew he loved it too.

  “I’m going to talk to Becca today,” Clara told Arthur, “and see if she can come with us tonight.”

  “Cian said she couldn’t,” Arthur said, turning the page dramatically. She knew it was because he loved the sound of the paper crinkling and crackling.

  “Still, I imagine there’s a way for her to come,” Clara said. “Besides, Trevor wants her there, and I suspect Becca will want to spend more time with him too.”

  “My dear, you know plenty, but perhaps let them figure it out.”

  She lifted her cup of tea. “Did I just hear the so-called great matchmaker, Arthur Hale, say two young people should figure things out?”

  “Yes, when it’s going well,” Arthur said, not looking up from his paper. “The woman is practically glowing, and you know what that means.”

  “No, what does that mean?” she asked to be contrary.

  “It means, madam, that the young Trevor and Ms. O’Neill had relations last night,” Hargreaves took the opportunity to interject from his usually quiet place at the table.

  Arthur lowered his newspaper. “Hargreaves, never, ever say that word again. This isn’t the Victorian era. Good God, don’t any of us have a sense of propriety?”

  Clara couldn’t believe her ears. Arthur, propriety? She wouldn’t have married him had he possessed a single bone of propriety in his body. “I’m off to talk to Becca.”

  “You should sit yourself down and have more tea,” her husband said, resuming his perusal of Irish news.

  She stood because a woman had to do what she wanted. “Hargreaves, look after him for me.”

  “Always, madam,” her ever-loyal butler and companion said.

  “I don’t need looking after, for Pete’s sake,” Arthur balked as Clara walked off.

  She wasn’t going to remind him that he’d had a mild heart attack only a few months ago. Of course, he seemed as fit as a fiddle now. Cosmo said sex at any age helped keep a person young, and they were both glowing in that department, to use his phrase. But she still worried about his health from time to time. They’d finally found each other again after so long. Now she wanted them both to live past one hundred. One night she’d told him she’d already planned their twentieth anniversary party, and he’d gotten teary-eyed, the dear man. No wonder she loved him so.

  Catching sight of Becca moving quickly across the open hall, nodding to the other guests, she took up the chase. She managed to intercept her when Aileen stopped her for a word. Clara felt bad about intruding, but she didn’t want to miss her chance. Perhaps if Becca knew about the outing this early in the day, she would be able to find someone to fill in for her.

  “My dears,” she said, putting a hand on Becca’s arm. “Sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to follow up on Cian’s dinner invitation tonight and see if there’s any way you could join us, Becca. Trevor isn’t the only one who’d love that. Arthur and I would like to get to know you better.” Hargreaves too, if he’d agreed to go, which he wouldn’t.

  The ever-present smile on Aileen’s face fell, and Clara became aware of a sudden tension in Becca’s body. In fact, the woman looked downright teary-eyed. Whatever was wrong?

  “Oh, Clara, you’re the kindest to ask our Becca here,” Aileen said, putting her arm around the younger woman, almost protectively. “But you see, we have a deal about that, and we simply can’t leave this beautiful place to just anyone. I hope you can understand. Clara, I need Becca’s help in the kitchen, if you’ll excuse my rudeness. Cian and I will see you later.”

  Clara noted that Becca hadn’t said a word, and her face, which had been so bright and cheery earlier, seemed wooden.

  She watched Aileen hustle Becca away, whispering almost secretively to her, and stayed there tapping her finger against her side. Something wasn’t right.

  She was going to find out what.

  Chapter 15

  Trevor glanced at his phone, grimacing when he saw Connor’s face on his screen. Even in casual clothes, his brother looked foreboding. Maybe it was time to stop ducking his calls.

  “Hey, man, do you ever sleep?” he asked, not surprised his brother was calling so early. It was close to five o’clock in the morning on his end. “How’s things there?”

  “Shit,” his brother said without any preamble. “Why have you been avoiding me? It’s not like you, Trev.”

  Damn, he should have known Connor would be direct. “I’m tired of the alpaca jokes. Flynn overnighted me a plastic wedding ring from some toy store. And you should see the memes Michaela has drummed up. I can’t wait until she leaves for the Amazon tomorrow. The one about me finding my softer side—”

  “You’re lollygagging, Trev, and I want results.”

  He thought of the decision he’d made after making love to Becca. It was the right one. He felt it down to his bones. But Connor wouldn’t see it that way. Still, he said, “She’s not going to sell, Con. I think we need to call this off and look for another way.”

  There was an ominous silence, and then Connor said, “Does this mean I need to send Quinn in?”

  Good God, no, he almost barked back. Quinn was as tough as Connor in some ways. Delaying was his only option. “Look, it won’t do us any good to bombard her, but I’m going to need more time. I’m telling you, Con, she’s g
ot a really great thing going here. Did you know she’d just bought a bunch of sheep, rabbits, and alpacas and started a new hand-crafted Irish yarn business?”

  There was a pause, and Trevor knew he had him there. “No, I didn’t, but our offer would offset any capital investment. She can find another piece of land and continue it there.”

  “What about the bed and breakfast?” Trev asked. “You do realize it’s named one of the top three in Ireland, right?” Trevor had hunkered down and done his research, ordering room service instead of joining his family in the dining room for breakfast. But he’d drawn the line at looking deeper into Becca’s background, wanting to hear personal details from her alone when she was ready.

  “She can move the house,” Connor barked. “You know there’s always a solution when you throw enough money at it. I need that land, Trevor. I won’t lose another cousin to the sea.”

  He cursed softly, hearing the quiver of repressed grief in his brother’s voice. He didn’t want to upset Connor, and he certainly wanted him to keep Patrick and other employees safe. No one should die like Corey and those men had.

  But Becca’s land wasn’t the answer.

  And so he had to find a new one. Still, he’d never gone behind his brother’s back before, not on something this big, and that didn’t sit well. But what choice did he have when his blockhead brother wouldn’t see reason?

  “I’m working hard on getting you what you need, Con,” Trevor said, using words that were true.

  “Fine,” his brother said after clearing the emotion from his voice. “I need to run. Tell Buttercup I’ve ordered monogrammed towels as your wedding present. Where are you registered, by the way?”

  Trev barked out a laugh, and brief relief swept through him. God, he loved his brother, even if he wanted to smack him sometimes. They all knew Connor carried the heaviest responsibility in the family business, and it weighed on him. “Up yours, Con.”

  “Back at you,” his brother said. “I’ve gotta run. Keep me posted.”

  “Only if I’m not out with my new girl,” he said, but his laughter cut short when Becca flashed into his mind. She was his girl. Had been since he’d seen her in the old kitchen talking about her dyes. They’d sealed that truth last night as he stared into her liquid blue eyes and made love to her ever so slowly, so slowly it was as if the entire world had stilled around them.

  “Later, bro,” Con said, clicking off.

  He stared at the phone. “Yeah, later.” Restless and ill at ease, he stalked over to the ever-present plate of scones in his suite. God bless Aileen. He munched on one and then another before deciding on his next move. Picking up his phone again, he eyed the time. It was close to six in Dare Valley, and while J.T. would bitch, he would pick up.

  “What am I, a baker?” his brother asked, his voice hoarse with sleep. “You okay?”

  He eyed another scone and shoved the plate away, his stomach suddenly a little queasy. “Would I be calling if I just wanted to chitchat?”

  “Give me a minute,” his brother said, muttering to Caroline, whom Trevor heard ask what was going on.

  Crossing to the window, Trevor opened it and sucked in some fresh air. He was the negotiator, wasn’t he? He’d figure out a way for everyone to have what they wanted, he told himself. He had to.

  “All right,” J.T. said, his focus evident now. “What’s wrong?”

  Trevor watched as the sea churned past the cliffs. He scanned the view, thinking about all the oil Becca was sitting on. He found he couldn’t tap into his inner businessman today. All he could see was beauty, and the way her eyes lit up when she talked about this place and her new enterprise.

  “What I’m about to ask your help with could really piss Connor off. Hell, it will piss off Quinn too, and maybe a few others.” Would it upset his mom? God, he’d rather cut his own arm off than that.

  And yet he’d do it for Becca.

  “It must be big for you to risk that kind of a row,” J.T. said. “You know I trust you. I’ll always have your back. You’ve had mine a hell of a lot lately, remember?”

  “Helping you with your ex wasn’t fun, but this is different. You can back out after you hear what I need help with.”

  “Like I would,” his brother said. “Give it to me straight.”

  Shit. Was he really going to say this? Yeah. “I need you to help me find another oil-rich property for Connor close to the one I’m supposed to buy. Somewhere he can still drill on land and keep Patrick and our employees safe.”

  The silence was deafening, and Trevor knew J.T. was putting things together. “She won’t sell? Why won’t Connor accept that?”

  “Have you heard him talk about how important this is? He won’t sanction any new offshore projects because of what happened to Corey. So, he’s intent on making Merriam Oil & Gas the first company to drill on Irish land. You know it’s never been done before.”

  “What am I missing here?” his brother asked.

  He’d known his brother would ask. “I’ve fallen in love with the owner, Becca O’Neill.”

  “Shit,” his brother said. “Seriously? You? I thought you weren’t interested in looking for something long-term yet.”

  He hadn’t been, but he wasn’t fool enough to deny what he wanted. Once he made up his mind, there was no going back.

  “Are you happy about it?” J.T. asked.

  Last night had been one of the best nights of his life. “Yes. She’s…smart and beautiful and funny, and I can see her fitting in with the family, laughing with Caitlyn and you and shit. God, I sound like an idiot.”

  “No,” J.T. said. “Man, I’m so freaking happy for you! I was afraid… Oh, shit, now I’m going to get emotional.”

  “We’re a fucking Hallmark card. Might as well tell me.”

  “I was afraid my divorce might have messed you up a little about marriage, and I hated that.”

  Trevor let out a deep sigh. “It did a little, I suppose, but I decided not to let your ex screw things up for any of us. Besides, Mom and Dad are so happy, and now you are with Caroline. And I want a family. Always have.” A house with a wife and kids running around had always been in the back of his mind. But he’d thought it was still a ways off, even though he was turning thirty-six this year.

  “I’m glad it’s not the alpaca,” his brother joked.

  The jest lightened the mood, just as J.T. had intended. His brother knew him well. “Its head was lying on my pillow this morning. You should have seen me. I huddled on the bed while Becca corralled the animal and led it out. Not my finest moment.”

  “I like a woman who can handle herself, including an alpaca,” J.T. said. “Uncle Arthur and Aunt Clara have been raving about their experience there. I assume Becca’s a big part of it.”

  “She’s a natural businesswoman, J.T., with tons of vision and heart.” He fingered the rich texture of the window valance. “You should see what she’s created here. It’s her own universe, and she’s expanding.” He told his brother about her new business plan, and it felt cathartic to share it. As his twin, J.T. knew he wasn’t a bullshitter.

  “I can’t wait to meet her,” J.T. said. “But back to your problem with Connor. It’s dicey, Trev.”

  “I know it,” he said, pulling a nearby chair closer to the window so he could feel the breeze and smell the sea. “I hate this, but I’ve tried to tell Connor it’s not going to happen. He won’t hear it. Today he asked if he needed to send Quinn.”

  “Shit, that’s…unusual.”

  Quinn was head of their European operations, stationed in London. “You know he doesn’t close deals. If he comes, he’ll pressure the hell out of her. I can’t let that happen.”

  “Part of Connor’s genius is that he doesn’t take no for an answer and always finds a way. Like you, usually. And Quinn. And me before I left. It’s a family trait from Dad.”

  It went back a couple generations to Grandpa Emmits, he knew, but right now, he wasn’t proud of it.

  “Yo
u’re worried Con and Quinn might play a little dirty?” J.T. asked.

  “We’ve done it before,” he said. “Always within the law, but we often employ a take-no-prisoners strategy.” All in the name of expanding the family’s business interests, of course. They tried to make everyone happy or at least give them their due, but business was business.

  “So you protect Becca and her land while we find a parcel equal to or better than what she’s sitting on. Can you send me the scouting report on our Irish offshore claim?”

  “I need to get it myself,” he said. “Connor and his team did the upfront work after Corey died.”

  “Also very unusual. This is personal for him.”

  No kidding. “Hell, I’m only here because Becca turned Connor down first.”

  “You’re always brought in for the tough deals. It’s what you excel at.” Right now, there was no tougher deal than the one he had to sell to his big brother. “I’m sorry to ask for your help, but I couldn’t trust anyone else. I know you wanted to put this behind you when you resigned from Merriam Oil & Gas.”

  “I had a new dream with the art museum,” his brother said. “But I’m happy to help.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  “It’s what brothers are for,” J.T. said. “All right, send me what you have, and we’ll buckle down and find an adjacent tract of land.”

  Trevor glanced out to sea. The view was beautiful and serene, and yet it was these very waters Connor now feared. Not the way to run a multi-billion-dollar business and take care of the thousands of employees who depended on Merriam Enterprises.

  “Corey wouldn’t want things to go down like this,” J.T. said, “so you need to remember that when you’re feeling guilty.”

  His twin knew him all too well. “You trying to win Best Brother of the Year or something?”

  “Already done,” J.T. said. “Talk to you later.”