“You first, then, since you seem to think I’ll be talking for the rest of the night.”
“Okay. My parents died when I was in high school. They were great. My dad could be tough, but my mother was just as strong. Irish. Dad’s family went way back. He was a cop. He and Sean had been friends for years. We all spent time together when we were growing up. Aidan’s the oldest. He joined the military, and they paid for him to go to school so he could keep the three of us together until we were all legal. We all love music, and we all went into law enforcement. A little over a year ago, we inherited a plantation down in New Orleans. Aidan, his wife and their baby live in it now. And you’ll meet Jeremy soon, I imagine. He’s down in Salem, Massachusetts—he just married a woman who lives there. Let’s see, I own some small music studios. I saved up and invested in the first one, and that one made enough for the second one, and so on, and I used some of the money I made to start a music label. I love stuff that’s new and exciting—or old but done in a new and exciting way. A few of the artists I’ve picked up—like Kat—have been bought out by major labels, so it’s been a very nice sideline. That’s it. I was in forensics when I was a cop, but I think you know that. And now I work with Aidan and Jeremy. It’s a great gig. Now you,” he said pointedly.
“Aidan is the oldest?” she asked.
“Yes, I told you that. Your turn.”
She looked ahead. “Isn’t that the restaurant?”
“Yes, but you’re not getting out of this.”
He drove into the valet lane. A few moments later they were walking into what appeared to be an original colonial building. It was whitewashed, boasted grand pillars and was decorated with American flags.
The staff members were all dressed in colonial garb, right down to the Martha Washington caps the women wore.
They were ushered to an elegantly set table in an alcove and presented with a wine list.
“Wine?” he asked her.
“Whatever you’d like.”
“I’m fond of a good beer on tap, actually, but you’re welcome to whatever you’d like.”
“A good beer on tap will be lovely,” she assured him.
As they waited for their drinks to come, Caer studied the menu intently.
He leaned closer to her and said, “You’re not getting out of it, you know.”
“Out of what?”
“Telling me your life story.” He took the menu from her. “Will you let me order for you? I’m not trying to be chauvinistic, I’m just trying to make sure you get a great American meal.”
“Please. By all means.”
Their waitress returned with their drinks. They’d both ordered a dark seasonal beer from a local brewer. She sipped, loving the flavor, as he ordered.
He chose turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes and green bean casserole for both of them, with mini hot dogs and mustard for an appetizer.
“As American as apple pie—which we’ll have for dessert,” he told her. “Now. Go on.”
She took another sip of her beer, grinning. “You are persistent.”
“Have to be. It’s the only way to solve a mystery. And the Irish can make any story dramatic, I’ve learned.”
She laughed. “Really? All right, then. My father was one of the faerie folk, and my mom was…a banshee. They lived around the Giant Stones near Tara. I have one sister who disgraced the family by running off to live with the leprechauns.”
“How about the truth?”
She looked at him, noting the tone of his voice, and set her glass down. “My father was killed fighting when I was fifteen. My mum died soon after. She was very sick. My siblings wound up spread out around Ireland. My baby brother was adopted and taken to Australia. And I’ve been lucky enough to acquire a good education and a job that gives me a great deal of satisfaction.”
“Sounds like you had a tough time of it, growing up,” he said, but he didn’t apologize for making her bring up what must have been sad memories. They were just part of life.
“But you do have good friends,” he said.
“Pardon?”
“Mary and her family. They were lovely people. I really enjoyed that pub—Irish Eyes. And they think the world of you there.”
“Oh. Aye, well, thank you.”
He was staring at her again. She met his eyes and found herself wondering about his thoughts.
She almost started when his hand touched hers across the table, his fingers moving gently. It wasn’t a sexual gesture, but it seemed to be the most erotic thing she had ever experienced.
“What is it about you?” he asked, and his voice was husky.
“I…don’t know?”
He laughed, and the sound was deep and rich, as sensual as the brush of his fingers.
“I can’t figure out what you’re really up to, but the more time that goes by, the less I care. I look at you, and I trust you, even though it’s against everything I’ve ever done, been or known. You speak, and I’m nearly hypnotized by the sound of your voice.”