Wild Irish Rose

by Ava Miles

  She cleared her throat. “I thought I’d take the night off to spend time with you and your family. If that’s okay.”

  His hand covered hers and then slowly raised it to his lips for a sweet kiss. “You made my day.” And she could tell he meant it. Whatever had been bothering him seemed to lose its hold, temporarily at least. He pulled her into the chair next to him, shifting until their thighs touched. He leaned close to her ear and whispered, “Thank you, babe.”

  Her heart blew open in her chest. Yes, this was the right decision.

  “Becca? How are you in the drinking department?” Flynn gestured to the whiskey he was pouring for the table.

  “Somewhere between a heavyweight and a lightweight, I suppose,” she said. “Where is Hargreaves?” She’d hoped to see him tonight.

  Clara made a rude sound. “He doesn’t like to intrude on family occasions like this. He’s so rigid about the butler rules sometimes.”

  “Would it be all right if I asked him to join us?” she asked.

  Trevor snuck his hand around her waist. “I love the guy. Go ahead.”

  “It won’t work,” Arthur said, sniffing the whiskey Flynn had pushed across the table to him. “He doesn’t break butler protocol. He only eats with us here in the mornings because Clara threatened to follow him to his separate table.”

  Flynn laughed. “I love that you have a butler, Aunt. It’s so old-school.”

  She lifted her whiskey. “I’ll show you old-school, sonny. Like they say here in Ireland, slainte.” Downing the entire contents of her glass, she smacked her lips.

  “We’re not doing shots, Clara,” Arthur said, sipping his whiskey. “For heaven’s sake. Have some decorum.”

  Flynn raised his glass and downed it. Trevor followed suit, giving Becca a wink.

  Caitlyn lifted her glass, studying the liquid. “I can’t do it.”

  Arthur patted her hand. “Good decision.”

  She loved how they were with one another, but it didn’t feel right that Hargreaves was alone in his room.

  “I’ll be right back,” Becca said, rising. “Aileen will bring in the first course shortly.”

  She rushed out of the Cellar and climbed the stairs to the main floor. She took the next steps two at a time and arrived breathless at Hargreaves’ suite. Without stopping to think about how she should persuade him, only that she felt she must, she knocked on the door. When he opened it, his smile was warm and welcoming but still reserved.

  He bowed. “Ms. O’Neill. What can I do for you?”

  “Well, I hoped you might join us for dinner. I mean, I’m used to serving guests, but I’m sitting down with everyone for once, breaking a cardinal rule for me. But I knew it would mean a lot to Trevor and—”

  “It’s only natural you should join Trevor and his family given your relationship,” Hargreaves said. “I still serve my mistress.”

  “But you’re part of the family, Hargreaves,” she said, wanting to put her hand on his arm in an entreaty but feeling it would be unwelcome.

  “No, I’m not,” he said, “and I know my place. But your place is by Trevor’s side. I’m glad you’ve realized that.”

  Her throat grew thick. “I want to respect your feelings here, Hargreaves, but I know…well, what it feels like to be isolated, and I don’t want that for you.”

  His smile cracked a fraction. “I don’t feel isolated, Becca. But I thank you for asking me to join you. Goodnight.”

  He was waiting for her to walk away so he could close the door. It would be rude to do it in her face, and he was never rude. “I made the appointment, Hargreaves.”

  “I’m glad, miss.”

  That was all she could hope for from him, she realized. He wouldn’t bend. “We’ll miss you. Have a pleasant night.”

  He nodded, and she walked off. The door closed quietly, shutting the older man up inside, and her heart clutched. Did he really want to be alone? All she’d wanted to do was wrap him up in a blanket she’d knitted and toast him.

  Didn’t he know his kindness had motivated her to change her life?

  When she arrived back at the Cellar, she had to gather herself. The laughter emanating from the room boosted her mood, however, and she was finally able to walk in with a smile on her face. The first course lay untouched on the table.

  “No luck?” Arthur asked. “I told you.”

  “Oh, don’t be that way, Arthur,” Clara said, tossing back another whiskey. “Hargreaves is Hargreaves, and I love him as he is.”

  “He completes her,” Arthur joked.

  Caitlyn laughed. “I want someone to say that to me someday.”

  Flynn groaned as Becca took her seat again. “Heaven help that guy.”

  “Hey! Don’t be a jerk.”

  “You okay?” Trevor asked, his voice low by her ear. His warm fingers caressed her leg—a welcome reassurance.

  “Yes,” she said, scanning the table. “Oh, you shouldn’t have waited for me. Please, everyone. Eat.”

  “What are we eating, Becca?” Caitlyn asked. She had a glass of champagne in front of her now, Becca was glad to see, beside the still-unfinished glass of whiskey.

  She gestured to her plate. “This is our take on a crab cocktail with fresh tarragon, served with parsnip chips. I hope you enjoy it. If anyone doesn’t like it, I can send for something else.”

  Trevor squeezed her leg. “It’s wonderful, Becca.”

  Caitlyn scooped up the cocktail with her typical gusto, groaning as she chewed.

  Flynn elbowed her. “Get a room, brat.”

  “Oh, stuff it. I intend to enjoy every bite of this.” She scooped up another chip.

  “It’s delicious, Becca,” Clara said. “Please tell Chef Padraig he’s outdone himself.”

  She beamed, taking a chip in her hand. It was a little weird to eat like this, she realized—like it was an event in itself. Normally, she grabbed a bite in the kitchen or ate while going over business items in the office.

  “Are you going to relax?” Trevor asked, still leaning toward her.

  “Trying,” she said between her teeth.

  “Have some whiskey.” He handed her his glass with a grin.

  It felt more intimate that way, and she gave him a slow smile over the rim of the glass as she drank.

  Flynn groaned then, and Caitlyn smacked him. “See, I told you this food was groan-worthy.”

  He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, chewing softly. “I’m going to need a moment here.”

  “Oh, pull it together,” Arthur said. “I’m too old for food porn.”

  “Food porn,” Clara said, barking out a laugh. “Where do you come up with these things?”

  “I watched The Food Network the other night when I was jet-lagged.” He waggled his eyebrows. “This is good, though. What did you call it, Caitlyn? Groan-worthy?”

  “Oh, I just love you, Uncle Arthur,” Caitlyn said, lifting her glass. “To family.”

  “My favorite toast,” Arthur said, and Becca felt a surge of powerful warmth steal through her as everyone clicked their glasses.

  She felt the power of the toast, like she was being enfolded into this big, beautiful family. Trevor took the opportunity to pull her even closer, and she didn’t care that she was sitting partway off her chair.

  The rest of the meal went off like clockwork, punctuated by laughter and stories, some outrageous, some dear. Flynn continued to tease Caitlyn about moaning over the food, only to turn around and do the same thing. Becca had never heard a family call one another so many names, brat and moron and silly head, so sweetly.

  By the time the tray of desserts was served, Trevor and Clara were the only ones still drinking whiskey. Flynn had bowed out when he’d said he could feel the room wanting to spin. She hadn’t known if he was serious. Caitlyn continued to sip champagne, and Arthur had long since asked for a black coffee.

  She learned more about the rest of the Merriams from the questions Clara asked. Where was Michaela these day
s? The woman was on a superfood-seeking jungle trek through the Amazon, something Becca could scarcely imagine. Quinn sounded like a tougher version of Trevor, according to Caitlyn’s assessment. He could be charming—he’d even been invited to Buckingham Palace once—but he could also stare you down like nobody’s business. No one talked about Connor, and Becca wondered if it was a purposeful avoidance. Trevor had tensed up at his siblings’ talk of Quinn, so they’d likely taken the hint not to continue.

  Clara spoke about her grandfather, Emmits Merriam, who’d been Arthur’s mentor back in the day, and she loved hearing both of them talk about this larger-than-life man who’d struck oil in Oklahoma and built an empire.

  “Becca,” Flynn said, running his spoon slowly through the sticky toffee pudding. “Tell us more about your new enterprise. Trev says you’re raising animals for wool and then hand-dyeing it here.”

  “Her dyes are beautiful, Flynn,” Caitlyn said. “Aileen took us on a tour.”

  Her sprits lifted like sails catching wind. “The Irish hand-dyed yarn market has been booming the past couple of years, and it struck me how our bed and breakfast might be a strong player. We have a solid online presence from former and repeat guests. Plus, our guest volume continues to increase, and many of our visitors are interested in Irish handcrafts or locally made yarn. You’d be amazed how many women knit or crochet. It’s making a comeback as an art form, what with all the new yarn.”

  The whole table was staring at her, and she looked down in her lap, suddenly self-conscious.

  “I’m sorry to have gone on like that,” she said.

  “Are you kidding?” Caitlyn said, standing up and leaning across the table to gently sock her shoulder. “That’s how we talk at home. The more passion, the better. Right, Trev?”

  She looked over to see him grinning at her, all admiration. “You can see why I’m totally in love with her.”

  “I thought you were in it for the alpaca,” Arthur said, chuckling.

  “Buttercup and I have come to an understanding,” Trevor said, making her smile. “She knows there can be no one for me but this woman here.”

  “Oh, I love hearing you talk like that,” Caitlyn said. “Mom is going to be so happy when you tell her.”

  Becca had to take a breath at that. The weight of what she still hadn’t told Trevor bore down on her. He was talking about forever, and his sister was talking about their mother, and he still didn’t know…

  “Tell me more about raising the animals,” Flynn said. “What does it entail and what are your profit projections?”

  This was such an easy question, and she was eager to answer it and move the conversation along.

  Flynn peppered her with more business questions as she picked at her dessert of buttery brioche. On some level, Becca knew it was both a test of her acumen and a vetting process.

  “So you’re a woman of means,” Caitlyn said, toasting her. “Way to go, Becca. It’s like our mom always tells us. You have to stand on your own. That’s why we all have our own niche in the company. Except J.T. now. He’s establishing a world-class art museum at the university Grandpa Emmits founded in Dare Valley.”

  “And he and my great-niece are doing a damn fine job of it, aren’t they, Clara?” Arthur asked proudly.

  “Yes,” she said, laying her head against Arthur’s shoulder.

  “Are you falling asleep?” her husband asked her in disbelief. “Has the whiskey finally gotten to you?”

  “No, only happily content,” Clara said. “It’s been a wonderful night. Trevor, my boy, I believe you and I are a draw in the drinking department.”

  “Seems so, Aunt,” Trevor said, lifting his whiskey in a toast. “To being superhuman.”

  “Oh, to live forever,” Clara said, her smile radiant. “So much family to enjoy now.”

  “We should leave these young people, my dear, before you fall asleep on my shoulder.” Arthur kissed her forehead. “Becca, it was a beautiful meal.”

  The older generation stood to leave, and everyone hugged and kissed them. After they left, Flynn pushed back and kicked his legs out.

  “You and J.T. weren’t fooling,” he said, looking at Trevor. “Aunt Clara’s terrific. I can’t believe she and Dad had a rift.”

  “Her first husband came between them. He was apparently a total jerk, and Dad didn’t like him one bit.” Caitlyn scrunched up her face. “Imagine being married to a prick like that.”

  “Now she’s with Uncle Arthur,” Trevor said. “Good hands.”

  “The best,” Caitlyn said, finishing off her champagne. “I’m off to bed too. Becca, can you show me your knitwear tomorrow? I want to be properly enthusiastic, and right now all I want to do is snuggle in my bed and go to sleep.”

  “Come on, brat,” Flynn said. “I’ll make sure you reach your room.”

  She swatted at him as he lifted her out of her chair. “I’m sleepy, not drunk.”

  “I know.” He turned and smiled at Becca with new warmth in his eyes. “Becca, thank you for a wonderful evening. The food was excellent and the company mostly top-notch.”

  “You’re such a jerk,” Caitlyn said, punching him. “Thank you, Becca. Everything was so wonderful. Night, Trev.”

  She kissed her brother on the cheek. Flynn lifted his hand in a wave that was at once lazy and jaunty, and Trev lifted his chin in acknowledgment. They both departed, leaving Trevor and Becca alone at the long, empty table.

  “Do you have any idea how much I love you, Ms. O’Neill?” he finally asked, pulling her chair around until it faced him.

  Then he leaned in and kissed her until she was breathless. “Goodness.”

  He cupped her cheek. “I’m glad you like them. It’s…important to me. Family means everything.”

  “I want them to like me.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” he said, running his finger along her collarbone in the most enticing way. “That’s a slam dunk.”

  What did that mean? But her curiosity gave way to thoughts of Connor and the tougher-than-Trevor brother, Quinn. She doubted they would be a slam dunk.

  “You’re thinking about Connor, and I’m starting to do the same,” Trevor said, opening her legs and letting his hand trail up her thigh. “We need to stop that right now.”

  She lurched forward when his hand cupped her core. “We should go upstairs.”

  “Is someone coming down to clean up?” he asked, rubbing against her, lighting all sorts of fires.

  Aileen would surely be off to bed, wouldn’t she? It was nearly midnight. On occasions such as these, someone normally came down to clean up first thing in the morning. “I don’t think so.”

  “Does the door have a lock?” he asked, pressing against her in a way that made her hips move in response.

  Oh my, but he knew where to touch her. Their first time together had been sublime, and each time was better than the last. “Yes.”

  He swung out of his chair and hit the lock. When he returned, he pulled her onto his lap. “I’ve been thinking about taking you in here all night.”

  Is that what he’d been thinking when he’d looked at her like she was dessert? “You have?”

  Pushing the dishes and flatware out of the way, he settled her onto the table. “I’m about to expand your horizons, Ms. O’Neill,” he said, unzipping his pants and pulling at her clothes.

  If only he knew how true that was…

  Chapter 29

  Trevor slipped out of Becca’s closet, where Caitlyn was on a fashion tear, oohing and aahing over Becca’s knitwear. They’d been acting like total girls for about an hour, something that made him happy even if their chatter was like a foreign language. Becca was making time for his family, and he’d shown her in every way he knew how, until the sun was rising, how much that meant to him.

  He slipped into the living room so he couldn’t be overheard and dialed J.T. back in response to his text. God, he hoped his brother had found something he could use. “You’re up early.”

>   “I’ve been working all night after you texted me about your last call with Connor,” J.T. said. “How do you feel about Croatia?”

  “Fine beaches and nice people,” Trevor said cautiously, wondering if Becca would be up for quick beach weekend sometime. “Why?”

  “I talked to one of my most trusted sources about our problem, and he said he’s been hearing about something potentially big in the Dinarides. It’s been kept quiet by the locals because they’re afraid of the Russians moving in on it and pulling their usual crap.”

  The Russians were both respected and feared in the oil and gas world. Lots of companies paid to grease the wheels, but many Russians also employed violence as part of their ongoing business strategy. “How big?”

  “Not as big as the Irish projections, but close,” J.T. said. “The high-risk nature of working in the Dinaric Alps will eat into some of our profit margin, but the government is behind the project, and it’s on land. It’s the best option I’ve come across. I know we can’t guarantee Connor that we’ll be awarded the land, but—”

  “We’re running out of time,” he said.

  “And Quinn will be on your doorstep in two days, God help you.”

  His heart was like a stone in his chest, the laughter coming from the closet in the other room adding to the weight. He had to handle this fast, and in a way that protected Becca and her interests.

  “I was up early and have a few ideas about how to protect her land,” Trevor said. “I haven’t run it by Becca yet. I’m trying to rebuild some more trust here.” Besides, he didn’t want to mess up the fun she was having with his family. Flynn had managed to talk her into joining them for breakfast in the Cellar after running it past Aileen.

  She’d surprised everyone, including herself, by calling Flynn a moron in response to his jokey request that she knit him some boxer shorts because he was packing some fine merchandise.

  “All right,” Trevor said. “Send me your numbers, and I’ll write up the report. This will have to be the best pitch of my life.” He hoped to Christ Connor would listen to him.