Tempting Irish

  Tempting Irish

  C.M. Seabrook

  Copyright © 2017 by C.M. Seabrook

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

  Warning: This book is intended for readers 18 years and older due to bad language, violence, and explicit sex scenes.

  chantelseabrook@gmail.com

  What a miracle life is and how alike are all souls when they send their roots down deep and meet and are one!

  Nikos Kazantzakis

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by C.M. Seabrook

  Prologue

  Bree

  12 Years Old

  Bruised knees pulled to my chest, I sit high in the old oak tree and watch my cousins and their friends laugh and splash around in the shallow waters of the lough.

  “Hey, Baby Bee,” a deep voice says below me, making my belly twist the way it always does whenever Owen Gallagher talks to me. He looks up at me now, his intense, gray eyes filled with concern. “What’re ye doing up there?”

  “I hate when ye call me that. I’m not a baby,” I sulk, even though I know the six years that separate us makes me a child in his eyes. And I hate it.

  “Ye’re right,” he says, a smile tugging at his lips. “Why aren’t ye swimming, Beatrice?”

  He over-enunciates my name, which I hate almost as much as the childish nickname his brother, Cillian, tagged me with.

  I shrug, watching him as he pulls himself up onto one large branch, swinging a long leg over and straddling it, resting his back against the trunk. He runs a hand over the coarse stubble on his jaw, which is just as dark as the hair on his head.

  “I hate swimming,” I lie, not wanting to admit that his brother, Cillian, had teased me about wearing my t-shirt and shorts in the water, instead of a bathing suit, then telling everyone it’s because I was really a boy and didn’t want people to know.

  “Cillian, again?” Owen asks as if reading my thoughts.

  I shrug. “I hate boys.”

  “Hey.” His soft, full lips curve, humor shining in his gray eyes. “We’re not all bad.”

  “Yer not a boy,” I say before clamping my lips shut, fire burning up my neck to my cheeks.

  Owen chuckles. “Last I checked, I was.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” I mumble, picking a leaf and fidgeting with it. Owen’s different. He’s nice. And good. And he doesn’t tease me like the others. He’s not a boy. He’s a man. And one day, he’ll be mine.

  Owen’s smile doesn’t falter, not until I start to move down the branches towards him. “Careful, Bee.”

  I roll my eyes at him. He’s always so serious. So careful. And so concerned about everyone.

  “Ye don’t have to worry about me.” I balance myself on a large branch a few feet above his head, and say proudly, “I’m brave.”

  “I know ye are. That’s what worries me.”

  “Are ye going swimming?” I ask when he glances towards the lough, where my cousin, Emer, lets out a hoot of laughter as the boys swarm around her, vying for her attention.

  “No.” Owen’s gaze stays focused on the group of teenagers, dark brows drawn down over stormy eyes as he fidgets with a folded piece of paper in his hand.

  “What’s that?”

  “Just some song lyrics I’ve been working on.” The way he shoves it in his pocket, and looks away, cheeks filling with color, I think he’s lying.

  “Can I read them?”

  His smile returns. “Maybe one day ye’ll hear them playing over the radio.”

  Despite our age difference, music is one thing that connects me to Owen. Like him, I can pick up almost any instrument and play it. The piano is my favorite, though, mostly because I have to go to my Aunt Agnus’ house to play it. And since Owen is friends with my cousin, Shane, he’s often there. But recently, I’m starting to wonder if he isn’t going over there more to see Emer than Shane.

  A knot of jealousy forms in my stomach at the thought. Even though I know my cousin is secretly in love with Aiden Callahan, I don’t like the way Owen looks at her.

  I’d do anything to have him look at me the way he does her - just once.

  Owen pulls out a pen from his back pocket, then starts scribbling something on his arm, which is already marked with ink and patterns.

  “Why do ye do that?” I crawl down to his branch, trying to get a glimpse of what he’s writing.

  “What?”

  “Write on yer arm.”

  The corner of his lips pull up. “I had a thought and I didn’t want to forget it.”

  “Lyrics?”

  He nods, finishing his scrawling.

  “And that?” I point at a pattern of interconnected lines that he’s scribbled in black pen on his forearm.

  “It’s the Dara knot. Ye’ve never seen it before?”

  “Not like that.”

  He takes my arm and flips it so that my palm is facing up, then starts to draw on the inside of my wrist with the black ink. The pen digs into my skin, but all I can think about is the way his fingers touch me, and the jolt of heat that runs up my arm, straight to my belly.

  I swallow hard and try not to shake as he finishes the lines.

  “It represents the roots of the oak tree.” He gives me a lopsided grin.

  My skin still tingles from his touch, but I manage to ask without stuttering, “What’s so special about an oak tree?”

  He leans back and looks up. “When ye look at the tree, what do you see?”

  I shrug. “Branches. Leaves.”

  “It’s what ye don’t see, what’s under the ground, that keeps the tree alive.”

  “The roots.”

  He nods. “If the roots aren’t strong enough, then when the wind blows and the storms come, the tree will fall.”

  I run a finger along the lines, more an excuse to touch him, than interest in what it means.

  “The Dara knot reminds us that as long as ye have strong roots, ye can survive even the worst storms.”

  “People don’t have roots.”

  “We do.”

  I frown at him. “Ye mean family?”

  “And friends…” His gaze drifts down to the water where Cillian, Aiden, Shane, and Emer continue to horse around.

  His friends. His family. I’ve always been too young to be included in their group. Always left out, no matter how desperately I tried to join in. I kept h
oping it would change when I got older, that one day they’d accept me. But once my mom and I move to Michigan next week, I’ll probably never see them again.

  Tears burn my eyes and I quickly blink them away, because I won’t cry. Not in front of Owen.

  “What if ye don’t have either?”

  His gaze travels back to mine. “Ye’re Irish, Bee. Wherever ye go, ye’ll always have both. Our roots are all twisted and tangled together. We stand together. We fall together. But we’re never alone.”

  I lift my shoulders, then let them fall heavily.

  “I don’t want to move,” I grumble. “And I don’t want a new father.”

  “I’m sure he’s nice.”

  I shrug again, because I haven’t even met the man that we’re flying across the ocean for. My mom met him on one of those online dating sites. All I know is that he’s got a big house, and three cars, and my mom thinks he’s her soulmate.

  Whatever that means. She tends to think every guy she dates is the one who’ll finally make her happy. Maybe this guy finally will. I’ve heard her and my Aunt Agnus arguing about it. About him. And about me.

  I begged my mom to let me stay here. I know Agnus would let me live with her. But mom scolds me every time I mention it, then starts to cry, saying I love my aunt more than her. So, I stopped asking.

  “What if I never see ye again?” I say, a frown tugging at my lips as I straddle the large branch.

  “Ye’ll come back to visit.” He tugs gently on my braid. “And ye’ll have yer music. Every time ye play, just close yer eyes and ye’ll be home.”

  I close my eyes now, and let out a small sigh. “It’s not the same.”

  “I’ll make ye a promise.” He places a callused hand on my shoulder and squeezes gently. “I’ll write to ye. And ye can write back and tell me about all yer exciting adventures.”

  “Ye promise ye’ll write.”

  “Promise.” He holds out his pinky finger and I take it with my own, then shake.

  For the first time since my mother told me we were moving, hope and happiness warm my chest.

  “Would ye do something for me, Bee?” Owen asks as he helps me down from the tree, large hands circling my waist until my feet are planted on the ground.

  “Anything.” And I would.

  “Would ye give this to Emer for me.” He pulls out the folded paper he’d placed in his pocket, and fidgets with it for a few seconds before holding it out to me.

  I frown, but take it. “Sure.”

  “Thanks, Baby Bee.” He messes my hair, giving me another lopsided grin that stops me from correcting him again about the stupid nickname.

  I clutch the letter to my chest and watch him until he disappears over the hill, my heart going with him.

  One day, I’ll come back. And when I do, he’ll be mine.

  Chapter 1

  Owen

  You’d think, after all these years, I’d be used to it. The feeling of my heart being torn from my chest every time I see them together.

  But I’m not. Not sure I’ll ever get used to seeing my best friend and the only woman I’ve ever really cared about lip-locked like they’re the other’s only source of oxygen.

  Aiden lets out a deep, rumbling laugh as Emer whispers something into his ear. One tattooed arm reaches out to draw her closer to his side, protectively. She smiles up at him like he hung the fucking stars in the sky, a hand resting on her very pregnant belly.

  I grunt and take a deep swallow of beer, motioning for the pretty little waitress that’s been batting her long, fake eyelashes at me all night, to bring me another one, then lean back in my chair and try to ignore the pressure of the mounting migraine that pounds inside my head.

  Goddamn headaches have been getting worse lately. Especially after a show. And last night’s concert was epic. Who would have thought a few years ago that we’d be able to sell out the Aviva Stadium? And being our last concert for God knows how long, we gave our fans here in Dublin a show they’ll never forget.

  My gaze roams around the table and I hide the frown that tugs at my lips behind my beer bottle.

  We’re supposed to be celebrating. But no matter how many beers I toss back, that empty hole inside me just keeps cutting deeper and deeper.

  I knew things were going to change when Emer dropped the bomb that she was expecting. Because there was no way in hell Aiden was going to leave her alone with a baby. Not that I blame him. If I was in his shoes, I’d have made the same decision.

  There was talk among the men to replace him for a second tour, but after my brother Cillian’s announcement last week that he and his wife Delaney would be welcoming their own little Gallagher later this year, we made the decision to put all talk of touring on hold.

  Family came first. Always.

  But family, to me, had always been the other three men sitting around the table. Cillian. Aiden. Shane. With Cillian and Aiden starting their own families, I don’t really know what that means for me.

  Emer rests her head on Aiden’s shoulder, her fingers twining with his, a look of contentment softening her features. Aiden catches me watching them, and his grin stretches across his face like he knows he’s the luckiest bastard on the planet. There’s no arrogance in the look. No hint that he knows how fucking jealous I am of what he has. Just happiness.

  Asshole. Me. Not him.

  I force a smile, something I’ve become good at lately, and ignore the bitterness the burns up my throat, focusing instead on what a bastard I am for pining after my best friend’s girl.

  Emer yawns, her eyes growing heavy. It’s been a long week. And we’re all exhausted.

  “I think ye better take my sister to bed,” Shane says to Aiden, flipping his dark hair out of his eyes, then groaning. “Jeezus, did I really just say that?”

  Aiden grins at Shane and chuckles. “My pleasure.”

  “Asshole,” Shane mutters.

  Emer just shakes her head at them, then admits with a small yawn. “I am tired.”

  “And Ma hasn’t even arrived yet.” Shane says through a grunt. “Just wait.”

  With a groan, Emer stands. “Remind me to thank her for planning a wedding right after your tour.”

  “It’s your wedding,” my sister-in-law Delaney says, brushing her long hair off her shoulder. “You should be excited.”

  “I don’t need a big celebration to tell me what I already know.” Emer takes Aiden’s hand. “This man is mine.”

  “Always,” Aiden says, cupping the back of her head and kissing her hard, his palm resting on her stomach. “But ye know yer mother won’t believe we’re really married until ye’re standing in front of a priest. Doesn’t matter that we’ve got a certified Vegas wedding certificate to prove it.”

  “I still can’t believe ye tied the knot that way,” Shane says, shaking his head. “Ye nearly broke Mom’s heart. But ye made me the favorite child for a few days.”

  Emer just laughs. “Ye’ve always been the favorite. She never really forgave me for not being a musical prodigy like you all.”

  “I’m still convinced that Owen is her favorite,” Shane grins. “Ye never could do anything wrong in her eyes.”

  I grunt. “Maybe if the two of ye didn’t find ways to torment the poor woman-”

  “Ye’d still be her favorite,” Emer says.

  There’s a round of chuckles and concurring nods.

  Agnus loves us all, but she tends to treat Emer and Shane like they’re still in nappies, wanting to control every area of their lives. Mine as well, if I let her. And unlike Emer and Shane, I tend to cave more easily. Because when all is said and done, she’s the closest thing Cillian and I had to a mother.

  Emer snuggles into Aiden, looking so damn content, it makes my chest squeeze. I want to be happy for them. And I am. But it doesn’t mean the jealousy isn’t eating away at my already gnarled heart.

  I glance away, meeting my brother’s hard gaze. I know the look he gives me, and the question in his eyes, the one t
hat wants to know if I’m okay. The same damn question everyone asks me multiple times per day. And I’m getting pretty fucking sick of it.

  I rub my temple, placing the cold beer bottle the waitress hands to me against my forehead.

  “Ye okay?” Emer asks, her eyes filled with concern.

  “Fine,” I mutter, draining half the bottle in a single swallow.

  She shakes her head at me. “If ye’re having headaches again, ye should make an appointment-”

  “Said I’m fine,” I say a little too gruffly, which wins me a few scowls from the other men.

  Not to be deterred, Emer crosses her arms and narrows her gaze at me, giving me one of her mothering looks. “Instead of medicating yerself with booze, ye need to call Dr. Bishop. Maybe there’s another migraine medication ye can try.”

  That’s Emer. More stubborn than any woman I’ve ever met, and yet more compassionate than Mother Teresa and Gandhi combined.

  I shrug, and drain the rest of my beer. The last thing I want or deserve from any of them is sympathy.

  Emer mumbles something to Aiden, and he looks over at me, lips thin, brows drawn down, then gives a small nod, before helping her stand. “If I’m going to survive the next week of wedding preparations, I’m going to need all the sleep I can get.”

  “I’m going up, too,” my sister-in-law Delaney says, kissing Cillian’s cheek.

  My brother’s arms wrap around his wife’s waist and he pulls her back into his lap. “Now what kind of kiss was that?”

  She chuckles and places her hands on his face, then leans in and kisses him hard.