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Something like alarm—no, outright panic—widened her eyes. She leaped away from him, hitting the wall behind her with a dull thud. “Ow.”

His hands shot out to steady her, but she batted them away. “Don’t touch me.”

What the hell happened?

He shoved his fingers through his long, matted hair. When was the last time he’d washed it? “Why are you here? Why’d you kiss me?”

The woman wiped the back of her hand across her lips, as though the very kiss she’d so actively engaged in just moments earlier now disgusted her. “The cab driver… he was intense.”

His eyes flicked to the empty driveway as irrational protectiveness surged through him. “What’d he do?”

“Nothing.”

Somehow, he didn’t believe that. “Try again.”

Called out, the pretty intruder sighed. “He kept hitting on me, insisting on a drink, refusing to take me anywhere unless I agreed. It was a long drive from the Dublin airport and he kept saying he wanted to show me a good time. I had to tell him I was married—and surprising you, my husband. Only then did he leave me alone. But he insisted on watching our reunion.”

The cab driver was lucky he drove off in time.

“Longest two hours of my life.” The woman still couldn’t catch her breath. Desire, or nerves? Finally, she straightened her spine and lifted her chin. “My name is Addison—”

“I know who you are.”

Three years ago, a drunk asshole had destroyed his life.

Now the bastard’s sister stood—alone—in Oliver’s house.

Chapter 2

Addison Yarrow was about to pass out. Or throw up. Not necessarily in that order.

But she’d made it this far and she wasn’t about to back down now.

Sure, the wall at her back disconcerted her. She was trapped between a hard place and—well, him.

Oliver towered over her and glared down with cold, belligerent eyes. The dark beard that had taken over his face emphasized the paleness of his features. Dark, tangled hair fell to his massive shoulders. His stained white shirt strained across his chest. Though she caught a distinctive whiff of stale sweat emanating from his hot frame, she didn’t find the odor repulsive. There was something primitive and alluring in that wild smell.

Crossing her arms, she made her demand. “Tell me where my brother is.”

She’d practiced her request the entire way here from Seattle—during the flight delays and the rushed layover—and the first thing she did was kiss him?

Talk about a bad first impression.

Sure, at the time she’d had no choice. All she wanted was for the perv cab driver to leave. But still. She’d kissed the man responsible for Kyle’s sudden disappearance. The man obsessed with retribution over nothing but a freak accident in Dublin. Not even the gardaí who’d arrived at the scene three years ago had blamed her stone-cold sober brother. And now Oliver had come back to Ireland to find Kyle.

And the most horrifying aspect of all? She’d lost herself in the kiss—in the possessive way his hands had swept over her body, the hot press of him against her.

Uh-oh. What if he noticed that her eyes had dilated with need?

No. Impossible. The accident had left him blind.

“Tell me where you suspect he might be. Or I’m calling the cops.”

“That’s a bold little demand from someone trespassing on my property.” He watched her with an intensity unusual for a blind man.

Addy stared into his ice-blue, focused eyes as realization—somewhat belatedly, but blame the long flight—dawned. “You can see.”

“No thanks to your brother.” Oliver crossed his arms and glowered.