DAGR
It had takenthirty minutes to get from his flat to the event. Thirty minutes in which Dagr tried his best not to stare at the woman sitting opposite him in the backseat.
When Bébhinn emerged from her room, his tumbler of Glenfiddich 21 came close to slipping from his grasp. Her dress flowed over her stunning body like silky ripples of water. He realized she must be wearing high heels once she was close enough. He was still much taller, but no longer loomed over her like a giant.
It made her mouth that much closer to his.
Her hair was in a smooth bun at the nape of her neck. It was a simple style that perfectly showed off the dress and the diamonds in her ears and at her neck. Her makeup, he noted, was also simply done. She was the first woman he’d taken to something like the charity event where they didn’t wear gobs of the shit and eyelash extensions.
He definitely preferred her natural beauty over the artificial kind. It was impossible to tear his eyes from her silk-coveredbreasts, his mouth watering to suck the slight outline of her nipples through the thin barrier of material.
Impossible—that is, until she turned around and he caught his first glance of Bébhinn’s bare back where the material was draped low enough to see the dimples on her strong, lower back.
When he’d told her he’d never seen anyone so lovely, he’d meant it. She blushed at the compliment and told him he looked elegant in his Armani tux. He blushed, too, unfortunately.
The driver was opening their door, and he was about to slip out when Bébhinn clasped his hand.
“There won’t be a more handsome man here tonight, Dagr.”
The look on her face made him want to climb back in and forget the charity. Instead, he said, “I doubt that very much, but I wouldn’t mind you thinking so.”
He drew her out of the car behind him, ensuring her matching silk cape was set correctly around her shoulders before offering his arm. Names were given, and pictures were taken before they were allowed through the open front doors of the opulent home of tonight’s host.
A smartly-dressed hostess led them to the ballroom, offering glasses of champagne and a brief property history. He listened to none of it, too focused on the woman at his side.
He was fighting to remove her hand from his arm and pull her close. He was fighting with himself over every desire he’d had for months. He didn’t want to take advantage of their friendship and, most importantly, her age by trying for more.
She made keeping things platonic difficult with her subtle touches and stolen glances. He’d caught her watching him with interest more than once. He’d only caught her because he was watching her as well.
Before he could ponder their relationship further, they were led into the great dining room where guests were already mingling and sipping cocktails.
He was stopped repeatedly by acquaintances, his and his father’s. Land preservation was definitely not the only thing being discussed that evening. Events like this charity were the perfect place to mix high-powered businessmen, politicians, and men like him, who closed whatever deals were made.
Bébhinn leaned into his side and whispered an hour later during dinner, “I wonder if this feels more like work than your normal work week.”
Without thinking, he squeezed her thigh with the hand that had been resting on his lap and raised his eyebrows, smiling. “You are very observant.” And because he was a masochist, he leaned over to whisper, “You’re the most beautiful woman here tonight.”
She laid her hand lightly over his, where it was still warming the top of her thigh. They looked at one another, both trying to read each other.
Bébhinn broke the silence. “Do you want to see what others see when we stand together?”
Dagr felt his brows raise in confusion. Was she referencing their age difference? His chest tightened with the beginnings of embarrassment. She picked her phone up with the hand that wasn’t still covering his and began to flick through apps. He felt his body grow more tense.
“Did you research my family much?” she asked without looking up from her phone.
“Only a brief history—businesses, holdings, that type of thing,” he answered, wondering again where this was going. And then she held up a picture that blew his mind.
“No wonder you thought I was your brother,” he laughed. He was looking at a tall, white-haired man with a woman so similar to Bébhinn, that he found himself taking her phone to get a closer look.
She chuckled. Pointing at the picture, she said, “That’s my oldest brother, Bran, and my Aunt Raven.” She swiped to the next photo. “And that is my brother Patrick and my Aunt River.” She swiped again. “My nephews, Daniel and Jonathan.” And the last swipe. “Mom and Dad.”
Hugh O’Faolain was younger than when he’d passed, with dark hair silvering at the edges. Dagr stared for several beats at Bébhinn’s mother.
Though Bébhinn looked extraordinarily similar to her aunts, she was the mirror of her mother. Looking at the photos, he realized her comment had nothing to do with their age and everything to do with their similarity to her family.
She with her mom and aunts, and him with her white-haired, identical brothers. They were also all tall like him, but where the brothers had high-cut cheekbones and a slightly golden tint to their skin, his jaw was squarer, and his skin was as pale as his father’s.
He blew the pictures up and saw that their eye colors ranged from dark brown to amber—a honey amber like Bébhinn’s and her father’s. He and his father were so pale blue that they tended to be sensitive to bright lights. The differences were many, but if you didn’t look too closely, their hair and height would throw any stranger into thinking they were related.
