Page 55 of Irish Betrayal

Need.

Possession.

Passion.

“All right?” he asked roughly.

Blair nodded.

Then his gaze dropped lower where the blankets had pulled down, and the corner of his mouth lifted.

“Well,” he murmured, pulling her closer against him, “that’s a dangerous thing to wake up to.”

Blair laughed silently as he rolled over her, kissing her slow and deep while morning light crept across the room around them.

With her arms propped against his chest, she admitted, “I can’t believe you’re here. And I really can’t believe you had two boxes of condoms in your suitcase.”

“Can you blame me? I had PTSD from that broken condom,” he grinned as he massaged the length of her back, kneading sore muscles, making her arch her back like a cat begging for more.

“When I didn’t hear from you, I knew you weren’t pregnant because you would have told me. Can I admit something to you?”

“Of course.”

“There were days I wished you were, that we’d created a baby, accident or no. I know it was selfish, but I missed you so damn much.”

Blair felt her chest tighten, hating what she’d done to him, to both of them. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings any worse, but because of the reason she’d left and being heartbroken over leaving Daniel, she hadn’t given a thought that she might be pregnant.

“I don’t think it would have been the worst thing,” she signed, kissing his chest and pressing her cheek to his warm flesh, the thump of his heart making her feel extra close and nostalgic for all the years they’d been friends.

Blair was happy in this moment because soon she would have to tell him about Peter, and if it went poorly, she might not have another like it.

twenty-three

ULF GRIFFITHS

Ulf felt like shit because he slept like shit. He fretted like an old woman all night, worried that Rowan was having a tough time of it. He’d slept in the main house, which was kindly offered by William and Katy.

Rowan had opted to stay at one of the guest houses. Of course, she did. The main house used to belong to her and her late husband.

He sighed, wishing for the umpteenth time that he’d been able to meet the man. From the stories he’d been told, Hugh O’Faolain had been one hell of a guy.

Clearly, he’d loved his children and taught them to love. Often, when the head of the family passed away, the other members drifted apart. Not the O’Faolains. His brothers, Bran and Patrick—it still jolted him that he had two brothers—were downright ferocious about everyone staying close.

And they were. His brothers, Raven, River, Rowan, Bébhinn, his nephews, Daniel and Jonathan, spoke or saw one another daily.

Rowan had no reason to feel like the odd man out, but Ulf knew she did. He had behaved similarly after his wife passed, allowing himself to drift away from his and Claire’s married friends. Living in the present without remembering the past was jarring and nearly impossible.

Rowan thought she’d hidden her pain well the past few years, but her family saw, especially his nosy sisters-in-law, Rowan’s sisters, Raven and River.

After meeting his new family, Ulf had lived in fear that his brothers’ wives would try to set him up with Rowan, but much to his relief and maybe a little bit of chagrin, they never so much as hinted.

He was almost sixty to her forty-five. He knew that her husband had been much older than him, but still, for him, she was way too young. Not to mention they were related ten ways to Sunday.

Their best connection without exception was the upcoming birth of their first grandchild. Like the O’Faolains, Ulf believed family was the root of all happiness. So his worry over Rowan coming back to a place with so many bittersweet memories made him uneasy.

Though it seemed Rowan was finally finding her feet. He knew from experience that losing a spouse, especially when they were loved, wasn’t easy to recover from, and coming back to the property that her husband had built for the family had to have gutted her.

There were days when he would still hear Claire’s voice, but those were few now. Hell, she’d passed away twenty-eight years ago.