“Huh,” muttered her brother, and she heard it again—that “he’s one of us” thread in Rory’s voice that told her he was calming down a little.

  Except that Burr wasn’t “one of them” at all, Frankly, she still had no idea what he was, but he wasn’t clean-cut like Rory or big and good-natured like Ian. He was intense and secretive, with fiercely beautiful eyes.

  “Will that be all, Commandant?”

  He sighed. “I’m not trying to be an asshole.”

  “Really? Because, wow, Rory, you’re awfully good at it.”

  “Come on. You’re my only sister. I just…I want you to be safe.”

  “I am safe,” she said, “though I’m more annoyed by the second.”

  “What’s he doing there?” asked Rory.

  “Visiting,” said Tierney. “Like I said.”

  “Where does he live?”

  “Boston.”

  “What does he do?”

  She had no idea. And unfortunately, if she started weaving some story, she’d end up doing her weird, spazzy-lying routine, so it was better that she get off the phone entirely. “I have to go, Rory. You’ll meet him tomorrow at dinner, okay?”

  “How bloody long is he staying?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Fine. Ian and I will…I mean, we’ll look forward to meeting him.”

  Oh, Christ. “Grand. See you then.”

  Before Rory could utter another word, she clicked “End” and pocketed the phone. Then she took the boiling water off the burner and headed back upstairs.

  ***

  For the first few minutes they were alone, John had put on latex gloves, then peeled back the bandages on the front and back of Burr’s shoulder, rambling on about some horse he’d looked at this morning that had a disgusting-sounding intestinal blockage.

  Burr tried not to look utterly repulsed…not by the horse, but by the man.

  Who was this fucking jackass, forcing Tierney to go on a date with him? He boiled over the thought of her having to endure a night of this guy’s company. Burr paid his debts, and he would owe her big after that.

  “How do you know Tierney again?” asked the vet, swabbing at the bullet hole with something that stung like crazy.

  “Dartmouth,” growled Burr, suspecting that Dr. Weasel was having a bit of fun at his expense as he dug into the wound.

  “Right. That’s in…Dover, right?”

  “No,” said Burr, glad he’d played regional hockey and competed at Dartmouth a time or two. “Hanover.”

  “Of course. My bad,” said John. “Well, I guess she’ll be back in a second. I’ll give you a shot, then I’ll sew it up. I hope my technique works for you. I’ve only addressed bullet wounds on animals, not people.”

  “Pretend I’m a doberman,” growled Burr, sliding his icy eyes to John and letting his nostrils flare with distaste.

  “The doberman pinscher gets a bad rap.” John laughed nervously. “They’re actually very gentle animals.”

  Not the ones that Burr had seen. Sean and Declan had two that they’d trained to tear a man’s face off, and Burr had seen them in action more than once.

  “How do you—I mean, don’t get me wrong,” said John, dropping his eyes to Burr’s tattoo before taking off his rubber gloves with a loud snap. “You don’t seem like the sort of company that Tierney would keep.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Yes, Brian, that’s right. She’s quiet. Gentle. She takes care of the museum. She takes care of her family. She reads. She takes walks. You…you seem rather rough, frankly.”

  “Rough.”

  “No offense,” said John.

  “None taken,” said Burr.

  “So…you were hunting?”

  “Sure.”

  “Where?”

  Fucking weasel. Not man enough to just come right out and call him a liar. Weaseling around in his weaselly manner. Burr fucking hated guys like this one.

  “John, I get the feeling you don’t approve of me,” he said softly, the unmistakable flavor of “you’re really starting to piss me off” in the taste of his voice.

  John took a deep breath and sighed, finally gathering the courage to look Burr in the eyes. “I like her. I want what’s best for her, and you’re not it.”

  “Oh. And I suppose you are?”

  “I’m steady and serious. I have a thriving business. Her brothers like me.”

  “Then maybe you should extort a date from one of them,” suggested Burr.

  John blinked, his eyes furious, his jaw tight. And Burr had a feeling he might have even come up with a decent comeback if Tierney hadn’t walked back into the room at that moment.

  “Hot water,” she said, removing the glass of water from the bedside table and replacing it with a soup pot of steaming water. “I have clean washcloths in the bathroom. Will that do?”

  “Fine,” said John, his lips thin and angry.

  Burr grinned at Tierney. “Thanks, aisling.”

  Her eyes widened, and her lips parted, and Burr—who couldn’t look away from her if his life depended on it—had a sudden thought that she might look a little like that if he ever licked her cunt nice and slow.

  Fuuuuuck. Where did that fucking idea come from?

  Didn’t matter. It was already there, indelible in his mind, and his dick twitched under her covers, hardening at the idea of tasting her. He wondered if any other man had claimed that particular territory with his mouth before…and for some reason, he doubted it.

  “You’re…welcome,” she said, her voice just a little breathless, making more blood race south to jack up his cock.

  “Aisling?” muttered John, who was threading a needle. “What’s that?”

  Ah, but thank the good Lord for John. Here was an excellent use for him: killing a boner.

  “Do you speak Irish, John?”

  “Don’t you mean Gaelic?” asked Dr. Weasel.

  Flicking a glance at Tierney, Burr watched, rapt, as her lips tilted up—up, up, up—until her entire face was brightened from pretty to breathtaking, transformed with a smile so pure, so guileless, Burr forgot how to breathe. Hers was the face of an angel, of someone whose emotions hadn’t been sullied by a dark and terrible world, and all he wanted was to have the privilege of making and watching her smile for as long as she’d let him.

  After years of dirty smirks born of another’s suffering, he could have basked in her smile all day—bathed in it, fed on it, become drunk on it. And the best part of all was that she was smiling because they were sharing something—just the two of them. They knew something that John didn’t know—hell, that most of the world didn’t know. But they did. It was profoundly intimate to share an inside joke with her. He couldn’t remember the last time anything had felt so damned good.

  For all that they were born in America, Burr and Tierney shared a proud Irish American heritage. And they both knew that the only people who called it “Gaelic,” were people who didn’t know their masa from their uilinn.

  Shaking her head at Burr, the look on her face a warning to stop being naughty, she turned and left the room.

  “No,” said Burr. “I meant Irish. We call it ‘Irish,’ not ‘Gaelic.’”

  “We?”

  “Irish Americans. Like me. And Tierney.”

  “Huh.” John cleared his throat, clearly displeased that Burr and Tierney shared anything at all, and positioned a syringe near Burr’s shoulder. “I’m going to give you a shot of lidocaine around the area. Should numb it for the stitches.”

  Tierney returned with the cloths and placed them beside the pot of water.

  “Aisling means, um…means ‘friend,’” she said, answering John’s question and giving Burr a stern look. He raised his eyebrows at her, but she pursed her lips, telling him to hush up and go along with it.

  “Fine,” Burr said, acquiescing to her. “Aisling means ‘friend.’”

  Even though it didn’t. Not at all.

  Aisling meant “dream” or “vision,” and in Burr’s opinion, it was one of the sexiest endearments in the Irish language, especially when it was directed at Tierney Haven.

  Twenty minutes later, Burr had four stitches on the front side of his shoulder, twelve on the back, and clean dressings covering both.

  “I can’t give you an oral antibiotic. What I have with me isn’t intended for human use,” said John, removing his gloves and placing a small tube on the bedside table. “But I cleaned out the wounds, and I’ve covered them with a strong antibiotic ointment. I’ll leave some here with you.”

  “Thanks, John,” said Tierney. “You’re a lifesaver. Truly. Can I offer you a cup of tea before you go?”

  “That would be nice,” he said. “I’ll tidy up here and meet you in the kitchen.”

  Tierney looked at Burr for a moment before nodding at John and heading downstairs.

  “Thanks, Doc,” said Burr. “What do I owe you?”

  “Are you asking what I want in exchange for treatment?” John stood up from the chair next to the bed, narrowing his eyes at Burr. “That’s easy. Go back to wherever you came from.”

  Burr didn’t respond. He just stared at Dr. Weasel long and hard—a glare that generally scared the shit out of other men. To John’s credit, he straightened up to his full, measly height, standing his ground.

  “I don’t know you, Brian,” said John, staring back at Burr, his eyes concerned, “but you seem like trouble to me. Hunting accident? No. I highly doubt it. That injury was made with the bullet from a revolver, not a hunting rifle. Probably a nine-millimeter gun. Possibly a thirty-eight.” He waited a moment, then he lifted his chin. “You said I ‘extorted’ a date from her, which bothered me, but I’m man enough to admit you’re right. I’ve liked her for a while now, and she’s a catch no matter how you slice it. Did I press my advantage earlier to get her to say yes? I did. I don’t know if that’s playing dirty or not—they say all’s fair in love and war, right? All I really know is this: I would never hurt her, Brian. I wouldn’t put her in danger. Can you say the same?”

  There was nothing to say. John had called him out with honesty and—for a weasel—a surprising amount of man-to-man dignity, and while Burr still didn’t like him, he felt the first glimmer of respect for him.

  “Take care of yourself,” said John, picking up his medical bag and leaving the room.

  Burr grimaced as John’s footsteps faded.

  Worst of all, Dr. Weasel was right.

  Being here, staying here, was certainly putting Tierney in some danger. No, Sean and Declan didn’t know where he was right now…but it was only a matter of time, wasn’t it? Burr couldn’t stay hidden in this little cottage with Tierney Haven forever. And he’d sooner gut himself than see another innocent woman get caught up in his mess—or worse, hurt. Especially Tierney, who’d looked after him with little regard for her own safety. She deserved so much better than to be caught in the cross hairs of his fucked-up existence.

  Tomorrow he’d leave here and head over to Ray’s house on Lake Ossipee. On the way, he’d buy a burner phone, call Ray for an update, and then wait to find out what would happen next. And no one, least of all Sean Shanahan, would ever be any the wiser that an Irish angel named Tierney had shown him more kindness than he deserved, and—for a brief moment in time—been his safe haven.

  CHAPTER 5

  Wednesdays in August were always busy days at Moonstone Manor, but when it was cloudy out? Attendance doubled. No one wanted to be boating and swimming in Squam or Winnipesaukee when thunderclouds loomed.

  By eleven o’clock, Tierney had already led two tours, and her docent intern from Brown University, Anna, had led two more. When Shannon, another intern from UNH arrived, Tierney happily took her lunch break, driving back down the hill from the great house to her cottage.

  When she’d left that morning, Burr was still asleep, splayed out on her bed and snoring softly. It was the first deep sleep he’d had since arriving at her home, and when she’d gently touched his forehead, she was relieved to find it cool despite the rising summer heat outside. He’d shucked off most of the covers in his sleep until all that remained was a white sheet, draped carelessly over his hips and legs, which made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t wearing, well, anything.

  She’d stood over him, staring at his body, examining it as a scientist might investigate a specimen. His collarbone intrigued her first, the strong lines creating a triangle with his neck, which was thick and corded with muscle. Her eyes trailed up and down the column, resting on the pulse that beckoned her like a beacon. She had a sudden fantasy of leaning forward to press her lips to it and closing her eyes as she felt his heartbeat under the sensitive skin of her lips. Breathing sharply, she’d jerked her eyes away from his throat, landing them on his lips, which were open slightly, perfectly pink in repose. His top lip was thin, but the bottom was almost plump, as though making up for the top. She imagined capturing it between hers, sucking on it, feeling the texture of the tiny ridges with her tongue as she tasted his skin.

  Heat had pooled in her belly—like the sun, with rays fanning out to steal the breath from her lungs and make her heart skip beats—and lower, where she sometimes touched herself when she read a sex scene in one of her many books…she throbbed. Almost painfully.

  Turning on her heel, she’d raced from her room, down the stairs, and into the muggy August morning.

  This is madness. That man upstairs is not for you. Find someone your own speed.

  Though she had two brothers roughly the same age as Burr and was comfortable around men, she had precious little firsthand romantic experience with them. Shy and awkward during high school, she’d never been anyone’s idea of a dream date, and Rory had ended up escorting her to the high school prom.

  In college, she’d had several male friends, but it hadn’t taken much of her brain power to figure out that she wasn’t the girl they were interested in; she was the girl they befriended as a conduit to the girl they wanted.

  That said, she did have one college boyfriend, Malcolm McDonald, a brash Scottish exchange student whom she dated for a few weeks in the first semester of her senior year. She’d liked him very much—liked holding his hand and kissing him—but their relationship had run aground when Tierney shared that she wasn’t ready for a sleepover in his dorm room after three weeks of dating.

  Malcolm, who explained that men had “needs,” had asked if there was anything he could do to make her feel more comfortable with him. But there wasn’t. What Tierney had needed was time, and she desperately hoped he’d give it to her, as she’d give it to him, were their roles reversed. She told him that she liked him, but she wasn’t ready to have sex yet and didn’t know when that day would come. In turn, he told her it hurt him to let her go, but it hadn’t stopped him from moving on…right before her eyes, in fact, with one of her friends.

  Her experience with Malcolm, however, had taught Tierney something important about love. Someone who truly cared for her would have waited, and that knowledge had softened the blow of his rejection.

  When her mother got sick six months later, part of her was grateful not to have to worry about meeting or dating someone. She could find usefulness in being a dutiful daughter and helping her parents. And of course, by taking the job at Moonstone Manor, which was custom-made for a recluse half the year, she’d fashioned a life for herself wherein meeting someone was difficult.

  The fact of the matter was that Tierney was, like many Irish before her, a late-bloomer.

  Possibly because she was a little scared of the world—intimidated by the beautiful, rich girls of her Summerhaven childhood, with whom she felt she could never compete.

  Or possibly, it was because she didn’t brush elbows against the sort of men to whom she was attracted. Men like John Stuart, DVM? Solid, steady, gainfully employed citizens? Sure, she could attract them. But men like Burr? Beautiful, complicated and dangerous? They looked past Tierney, through her, over her and around her. They didn’t see her at all.

  Which sort of sucked, frankly, because lately, Tierney had started to feel like maybe—just maybe—she was actually, finally blooming. For the first time in her twenty-seven years, the idea of meeting someone and letting herself have feelings for him felt like a risk she might want to take. And Burr had swept into her life like a summer storm—growling and jagged, wild and dangerous, blinding in its intensity and darkly beautiful. He’d only been in her life for two days, but he was impossible to ignore.

  Besides, like every other human female, she sorted most men into buckets upon meeting them: John had been sorted into the “friend” bucket right away, while Burr, despite her attempts to see him primarily as Suzanne’s brother, had been sorted into the “temptation” bucket almost immediately. She couldn’t help it.

  Except she wasn’t an idiot, and someone like Burr surely had a girlfriend back in Boston—someone confident and sexy, fashionable and edgy; someone as experienced in the bedroom as Tierney was not. That was the person he’d be returning to. And Tierney? Well, she had her Friday date with John to look forward to.

  She forced herself not to roll her eyes as her car rumbled to a stop in front of her cottage.

  John was kind to drop everything and come over yesterday, and while she didn’t love the way he’d traded his services for a date with her, what harm had it done? Hell, she’d get a free dinner out of the deal, at worst. And at best? Well, maybe she could try to see something in John that she liked— that she would like in someone who was more than just a friend. She could give him one last chance, couldn’t she? He deserved that. And if he still resided in the “friend” bucket after their date? Well, she could gently turn down any further overtures.

  Resolved, she slipped from the driver’s seat, her wellies crunching on the pebbles of the driveway as she headed into the house. And she couldn’t deny it, though she would’ve liked to—her whole body practically quivered in anticipation as she inserted the key in the lock. She’d only been away from Burr for a few hours, but she couldn’t wait to see him again.