“Just call me Miss Incentive,” Brigid muttered and snapped her fingers, immediately tossing the two glowing balls of red fire in her hands.
“Jesus, Connor, don’t scare the lads.” Tom chuckled as Jack inched away from her and Declan’s eyes darted away.
Oh yes, they were all scared of her now. Tom and Murphy not as much as the rest. Part of her reveled in it, loving the power. The other part missed the easy acceptance she’d become accustomed to in Scotland. Normal immortal society had a very different attitude toward fire vampires than the Mackenzie clan. She was feared. Always set just a bit apart. Even with Deirdre, she could see the hint of caution every time they spoke.
She missed Cathy. Missed Anne, who was back in Galway. Missed Max and his easy manner. She even missed Tavish’s gruff bossiness. He’d never feared her, even when she singed his eyebrows off for the fourth time.
And, oh, she missed Carwyn.
She ignored the ache in her chest as Murphy finished the meeting. She was tucking her notes into her messenger bag when she heard her boss’s voice.
“Brigid? A word before you leave?”
“Sure thing.”
Unlike Carwyn, Murphy had been making his interest in her more than clear. He sent her flowers when she’d moved into her new house in Ringsend. Had arranged movers for her things, which had laid untouched in her apartment in his building the entire year and a half she’d been away. He’d never let anyone into her space. He’d asked her for a drink. Then dinner. He’d asked her to concerts and clubs. He was polite, but friendly. He seemed to take nothing for granted.
So far, she’d been able to resist. But Patrick Murphy was like a modern day James Bond, with more class and a meaner right hook. If Brigid started to get hungry, he was there to escort her to the kitchen or the donor rooms where some humans in Murphy’s employ offered their blood in exchange for a bump in salary.
If she was looking for a file on Angie’s desk, he was there a moment before her, offering it with a smile.
Handkerchief? He had one tucked in his front pocket.
Cup of tea? He knew exactly how much milk she liked.
Brigid had the feeling if she asked for a breath mint, he’d have a tin of them in his perfectly pressed suit. She was glaring at his suit pocket in suspicion as he approached.
“Brigid?”
She blinked and looked up. Oh yes, he’d wanted a word. And probably not about breath mints.
“Yes?”
He hesitated, and it was such an unusual expression on him that Brigid stood up. “What’s up, Murphy?”
He grinned, disarming her with his smile and that damn dimple. “Will you ever call me Patrick?”
“Not at work.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “So, how about after work?” He stepped a bit closer. “I have theater tickets for tomorrow evening. I’d love to take you.”
She kept turning him down. Politely. He was more than attractive, but she’d considered herself… well, if not committed, then at least… unavailable? But Carwyn had been in Wicklow three months. Three months, and he hadn’t even called her.
Brigid stuttered. “I—I don’t know, Murphy.”
Sensing an opening, he stepped closer. “It’s a wonderful play, and I have the extra ticket. The seat would just be empty if you didn’t join me.”
She scoffed, thinking of the scores of willing women who made themselves available to the immortal ruler of Dublin at any time of his choosing. “I don’t think you’d have trouble finding someone to fill the seat.”
He stepped even closer, and she could feel the heat rise on her body. He smelled amazing. Cool and crisp like the ocean. “I don’t want just anyone to fill the seat, Brigid. I want you.” She forced herself to raise her eyes, despite the rush of blood that started in her veins and the instinct to escape. “I’ve been trying to make that clear.”
“I don’t think—”
“Surely you can see what a match we’d make, Brigid. With our power and connections combined, we’d be unstoppable. And I’ve always—always—found you very attractive.”
Her heart was pounding now. “Murphy—”
“Patrick.” He cut her off and leaned down slowly. Brigid gulped nervously. He was going to kiss her. She should stop it. It wasn’t right. She closed her eyes and Carwyn’s face floated in her mind. There had to be an explanation. He wouldn’t have just—
“Stop,” she whispered, putting a hand to Murphy’s chest. The suit was crisp under her fingers, and he halted immediately. His eyes ducked down to meet hers. “I can’t.”
“Why, Brigid? Is it the priest?” Murphy whispered. “Is there something between you? I thought when he came to see me last year, but… He’s been back in the country for months, and he hasn’t been to town. I’d know if he had. So what’s stopping you?”
“I—I don’t know. It’s not that I don’t find you attractive, Patrick. You know I do, but—”
“But what?”
“Carwyn—” She broke off when she heard the crack of Murphy’s office door as it slammed open. “Is here.” Brigid groaned. “Of all the moments to show up…”
Carwyn rushed into the room. In the blink of an eye, the enraged immortal had Murphy lifted in a chokehold and pushed against the far wall. Murphy was powerful, but nothing compared to Carwyn. At over a thousand years, the Welsh vampire had the strength of a mountain. A mountain that was currently furious. His amnis whipped over his body. She could feel it pulse in the air. Angie’s voice rose out in the hallway and she heard the rush of feet as Murphy’s men ran toward their leader. Her mind raced. This could end very badly.