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I only recognized one of the women: Emily, Kian’s girlfriend. I’d been hoping Gina would be there, too, but I couldn’t see her anywhere. There were five women I didn’t know and I had no idea who was connected to whom. Whose boyfriend did I stab?
Emily and another woman, with dark hair cut in a sleek bob, was pushed to the front by the others. “Hi,” she said energetically. “I’m Stacey, Bradan’s girlfriend.” She lifted her hand just as I went in for a hug. Then I tried to correct to an air-kiss just as she tried to correct to a cheek kiss and I wound up mushing my lips against hers.
“Is that how they do it, in Russia?” I heard one of the women at the back whisper.
I jumped back, red-faced, my hand to my mouth “Chyort! I’m so sorry!”
Stacey blinked for a moment, then shook her head: it’s fine and pulled me in for a quick, firm embrace. “Let me introduce everyone,” she said. “Emily you know. This is Lorna, who’s with JD. Bethany, who’s with Cal. Erin, who’s with Danny—oh, and she’s also JD’s little sister, that’s a whole story. And Olivia, Gabriel’s fiancée.”
She was down-to-earth and open and I liked her immediately. I turned to Bethany. “I’m sorry about Cal,” I said. “It wasn’t personal.” I winced. That’s terrible. “I was careful not to stab him too deep,” I tried. That’s even worse? What’s the matter with me? “I hope he’s okay,” I managed.
Bethany nodded, but she was pale and silent. Lorna was sipping on a cocktail, not making eye contact. Olivia was examining her toes and Erin was hiding behind her so she didn’t have to talk to me.
They hate me! My first attempt at making friends and it had all gone horribly wrong.
Stacey put her hand on my shoulder and sighed. “Don’t mind them,” she told me. “They’re just a little intimidated.”
What? “Why would they be intimidated?” I asked.
“Are you kidding?” asked Erin, peeking out from behind Olivia.
“We’re not really...” mumbled Olivia, and gestured at me.
“We’re a bunch of shy nerds,” blurted Lorna.
“And then they heard you were coming, this super-sexy femme fatale who can seduce any man,” said Stacey.
“All exotic and Russian and glamorous,” said Bethany. “And you’re like—” She indicated the va-va-voom dress.
“Believe me, I feel ridiculous,” I said, plucking at the fabric. “Like I should be draping myself on a piano.”
Lorna spluttered on her cocktail and turned scarlet. “That’s nothing to do with you,” Emily whispered conspiratorially. “Just something she and JD got up to in New York.”
I felt the tension ease. “You were really intimidated?” I asked, amazed.
“You can kill people,” said Erin, awed.
“Emily knows how to use a gun,” countered Stacey. “And Bethany can shoot a rifle. They can kill people.”
“Yeah, but not with their thighs,” said Erin. They all cracked up, and I did, too. Maybe this was going to be okay.
I heard the sound of a car behind me and turned to see an SUV with an airport rental sticker pulling into the parking lot. I hadn’t seen the woman behind the wheel or her husband before, at least not up close, but the man’s features were familiar enough that I figured it out before Kian ran over to them. “Everyone,” he announced, “this is Aedan. My brother.” I could hear the emotion in his voice, and the Northern Irish in his voice came out a little more than normal. Bradan raced over and all three of them hugged.
The woman, small and slender but with enviably toned arms, introduced herself as Sylvie, Aedan’s wife. There were two kids, too, who spilled out of the backseat and hurled themselves into the inflatable castle.
The low thump of a two-stroke echoed off the hills and a moment later a Harley pulled in beside the rental car. This dark-haired Irishman was in a biker kutte and his jeans were held up by a chain belt. A beautiful red-haired woman had her arms wrapped lovingly around him from behind. “I almost beat him here,” the man told Kian as he was pulled into the growing O’Harra hug. “But a cop pulled us over.”
“Carrick,” Kian told us. “And Annabelle.”
At that moment, the ground shook. My stomach lurched and I spun to look up at the mountain, thinking it was a landslide. But it was just the throaty roar of a V8. A beautiful vintage Ford Mustang was pulling into the parking lot. The driver wore a white tank top and I could see the dark ink of tattoos through the thin fabric. He joined the now five-strong hug and then introduced himself to us. “Sean. And my wife, Louise.” A curvy beauty with tumbling red locks climbed from the passenger seat and then helped a little girl out of her car seat. “Our daughter, Grace...” Grace, who had her mother’s red hair, sprinted off and hurled herself into the inflatable castle. Louise lifted out a boy of two or three. “...and our youngest, Martin,” Sean finished.
