Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Instead, his expression turned serious. “Blow off your date tonight and go out with me.”
“What?” I gasped, the notion absolutely ridiculous. “I hardly know ye.”
“Which is why you should go out with me so you can get to know me better,” he replied with a face-splitting grin. “We can go to a pub—Rory said his girlfriend Kathleen owns one. We’ll go drink a few pints and you’ll find out I’m even more charming than you had originally suspected.”
At that moment, I would have given anything to be someone else. Not Fiona Conlan, subject to the commands of the patriarch of my family, but just a girl who could follow her own heart.
“I can’t,” I said, lifting my chin and making sure my tone was light and breezy. “I can’t date the hired hands.”
It was meant to be a rebuff. Something to put him in his place, even if it wasn’t true. I had to discourage him from this silliness because my fate had already been decided by my father.
He stared at me for a long, thoughtful moment, as if trying to unravel all the complexities standing between us.
Instead, he inclined his head. “Enjoy your date,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement. He moved past me, our shoulders nearly brushing, and I shivered once again at his next words. “But not too much.”
I didn’t know what he had meant by that, and the thought followed me the rest of the day. I’d known the man for a day and yet it almost seemed… proprietary.
Siobhan’s giggle pulled me back to the present.
“Yer smilin’,” she said, sliding to the edge of my bed. “Thinkin’ about him, are ye?”
I scowled, grabbing my purse. “I don’t know what yer talkin’ about.”
Siobhan only laughed harder, but before she could tease me further, my mother appeared in the doorway, a warm but firm expression on her face.
“Brian’s downstairs, love.”
The dread in my stomach coiled tighter.
Siobhan smirked, hopping off the bed and flouncing past me. “Have fun now.”
I barely held back an eye roll.
Downstairs, Brian Kavanagh stood in the entryway, looking every bit the part of a polished young gentleman. His suit was well-tailored, his dark hair combed neatly into place, his shoes gleaming.
Objectively, he was very handsome.
But compared to Tommy Blackburn with his dark hair, intense denim-colored eyes and a clear penchant for causing trouble?
Not even close.
I forced a polite smile as he reached for my hand, bringing it briefly to his lips before dropping it. “Ye look beautiful, Fiona.”
“Thank ye,” I murmured, casting a glance at my father, who stood watching with sharp approval.
“Make the most of the night,” Da said, his words a quiet warning, and I’m not sure exactly what he meant by that. Does he just want me to do my best or does he want me to seduce the man?
I bit back the urge to snap something rude and instead let Brian guide me out the door and toward his car—a sleek black Porsche, its polished chrome gleaming under the fading evening light.
Of course, he’d have the flashiest car in the county.
As we pulled onto the road, Brian launched straight into conversation—except it wasn’t a conversation at all.
It was a monologue.
I listened as he waxed poetic about his latest business ventures, his travels to England last month, the three racehorses his father had just acquired. He spoke of things with such certainty, with such an air of entitlement, as if he expected the world to bend at his feet simply because he willed it so.
I nodded where appropriate, gave the occasional murmur of acknowledgment and let my mind drift to a cocky American who yelled with excitement as I cleared the last jump on the course today.
We arrived at a fine restaurant in town—one of those dimly lit, upscale places where the waiters wore waistcoats and the cutlery was polished to a blinding shine.
Brian ordered a whiskey before I even had a chance to glance at the menu. He didn’t ask if I wanted a drink, and I was thinking tonight might be the best time to get drunk. Even though the drinking age was eighteen and I wasn’t quite there yet, those laws were pretty lax.
Instead, I sipped at my water and Brian continued talking. And talking. And talking.
He ordered my meal for me and kept talking.
Finally, he must have noticed my silence, because he tilted his head and asked, “So, what did ye do today?”
His attention had me straightening in my chair and I knew the best course—the one my father expected—was to say something that would make me more appealing. Instead, I hesitated only a second before answering. “Ran steeplechase on my horse Brannagh.”
Brian blinked in shock. He blinked again, letting it sink in. It was such a risk to tell him what I did because if word ever got back to my father, I’d be in big trouble and so would Rory.