“If it isn’t my favorite sister,” someone says in a deep husky voice from directly behind me, cutting across the conversation. “About time you showed up.”
All the tiny hairs on the back of my neck lift, and warmth races over my skin. Heat rolls off the newcomer in waves, and I feel it even through my heavy coat. My heart hammers against my rib cage, and all my senses are on high alert.
Ash spins around, thumping him in the upper arm while I stand rooted to the spot, watching their interaction out of the corner of my eye. “I’m your only sister, clown, and that joke’s getting real old.”
“Is this the Yank?” he asks, and Ash thumps him again.
“Be nice, Dillon,” she warns, as I slowly turn around.
Shock splays across his stunning face as our eyes meet for the first time. Panic slams into me, and I’m temporarily horrified at the thought he might have recognized me. Prickles of awareness dance over my skin as every cell in my body sizzles with an instant connection. I’m only a few inches short of six foot in these heels, but Dillon still towers over me. He must be six two or three, at least. Broad shoulders stretch across a tight black T-shirt that clings to his impressive chest and abs. Ink covers both arms, and he has an eyebrow and nose piercing. A silver chain circles his neck, and he’s wearing a cluster of leather bands on one wrist and a few silver rings on one hand.
But that’s not the most striking thing about him.
Bleach-blond messy hair tumbles in waves over his forehead, and the sides are shorn tight. With high cheekbones, a sharp jawline, and a stylish layer of stubble coating his chin and cheeks, he is fucking gorgeous. Piercing bright green eyes stare intensely at me from behind long thick black lashes. Electricity crackles in the small space between us, and I know I’m staring, but I can’t drag my eyes away. Heat blooms in my cheeks as I blush.
I have never had such a visceral reaction to a guy before, and it’s unnerving.
The initial shock I registered has faded from his face, replaced with a look that is borderline angry. A muscle pops in his jaw, and I instinctively step back, the backs of my thighs hitting the side of the table, rattling it. Glasses clink, and drinks slosh over the table.
“Watch it,” Jamie snaps, eyeballing me. “Or the next round’s on you.”
“Stop complaining,” Ash says to Jamie while tugging on Dillon’s arm. “A little drink got spilled. Big deal.”
Dillon is glaring at me, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, and I’m feeling hugely uncomfortable.
Ronan gets up, shoving Dillon aside. “You’re being rude.” He drills him a pointed look.
Ash snorts. “Are you even surprised?”
“I’m Ronan,” he says, smiling at me. “Ash and Dillon’s brother, but please don’t hold that against me.”
“Grace.” I smile back at him. “Nice to meet you.”
Dillon’s eyes narrow. “Why are you here, Grace?” he spits out, staring at me like my presence personally offends him in some way.
“Ash invited me,” I say, purposely projecting my voice and standing taller, even as I gulp over the anxiety traveling up my throat. Dillon’s single-minded focus, dark stare, and strange intensity intimidate me. I’m pretty tall for a girl, so it’s rare I feel small or an urge to cower, but I’m feeling both things now. He has this larger-than-life presence that is scary as much as it’s intriguing. Ash told me there is only a year separating her and Dillon, but somehow, he seems older.
His lips curl into a sneer. “In Ireland,” he clips out.
I frown. “What does it matter why I’m here?”
“Just answer the question,” he barks, his eyes darting all around for a few seconds before he refocuses that all-consuming lens on me again.
“I don’t owe you any explanation, and is this how you always treat new people you meet?”
“I’m suspicious of anyone who comes into my sister’s life,” he says, leaning his face in closer to mine. “Especially nosy Americans.”
“Wow. Generalize much?” Crossing my arms over my chest, I glare at him. What the hell is his problem?
“You’re pissing me off now, Dil.” Ash grabs his arm, yanking him back.
“Fact.” Ronan agrees.
“What’s going on?” a familiar blonde says, coming up behind Dillon. It’s the same girl who was with Jamie in Trinity on Monday—Aoife.
“Nothing,” Dillon grits out, his jaw clenching. Slinging his arm around Aoife’s shoulders, he sinks onto a chair beside Jamie, pulling her down on his lap. She paws at him, whispering something in his ear.