Irish Fury (Irish Wolves Legacy #3)
Prologue
NEW YEARS EVE
MARGARET COLLEEN MORROW
At seventeen, Mags felt like she was finally a woman. She and her best friends, Bébhinn O’Faolain, Gray MacGregor, and Blair Barr, who also happened to be her cousin, were attending their first “adult” New Year’s Eve party.
It would be even cooler if most of the boys present weren’t their childhood friends. On the bright side, the guy friends they hung out with were pretty hot.
The O’Faolains were an extremely wealthy family, but their wealth wasn’t what impressed Mags. It was how much they loved one another. They shared the same kind of love she had for her parents and older sister, Mirren.
Bébhinn’s dad, Hugh, Daniel’s dad, Bran, and Jonathan’s dad, Patrick, rented an exclusive club for the evening. Their children and friends had rooms to get ready in and sleep after the party, but seriously, no one planned on sleeping until they were hours into the new year.
She and her friends looked stunning—false modesty never did a woman any favors. The four girls decided to wear all black. They didn’t need to peacock to be noticed.
Bébhinn was drop-dead gorgeous, petite, fair, and with long, straight black hair, courtesy of her mother’s Native American heritage.
Gray was a stunning, leggy, bombshell with golden waves like her mother.
Blair was an identical replica of her mother, Mags’ aunt, Catriona.
Blair was tiny and ridiculously stunning with miles of heavenly, brilliant, tight red curls that God Himself couldn’t contain.
Mags was…well, she was kind of average, all things considered.
She was almost five feet four inches with an athletic frame, a small but round behind, and moderately sized breasts that were thankfully round and perky.
Her only two claims to fame were her father’s green eyes and her mother’s loopy brunette curls that fell in perfect waves down her back.
Her folks didn’t have nearly as much money as her friends did, but she had never once been made to feel less. Could she afford a designer dress for the party? No. Was she capable of making a killer dress herself? Yes.
Her mom helped her buy a secondhand gown and transform it into the jaw-dropping showstopper that was currently skimming her body.
The dress had started out as a boxy, black, floor-length number, high-necked, and stodgy.
Now it hit mid-thigh, the front was still high, but the silk hugged her bare breasts perfectly, even with the added lining.
The back was where the party started. After days of arguing, Mags had cut the back low enough to skim just above her behind.
It was simple and elegant and paired with her favorite pair of black high heels—yeah, she felt every inch a woman. Her mom cried when she’d modeled the final product, her dad gave her a stern warning about boys, but Mags could only fist pump while twirling in the mirror.
Bébhinn’s cousins—technically her nephews, but Mags was determined not to expend any brain energy on the O’Faolain’s family tree that evening—Daniel and Jonathan, and their best friend, Ciar Murphy, weren’t happy that Hugh said the girls could join the fun.
For those who weren’t in the know, Hugh O’Faolain’s word was law, and thank you, little, tiny, baby Jesus and all His Saints for that.
They walked into the fancy foyer, where, honest-to-God, attendants took their coats and purses. Blair, who was deaf, signed an “Oh my” on the downlow. Mags mouthed back. “I know, right?”
“Let’s go get a drink, and then it’s single ready to mingle time, bitches,” Bébhinn said with a straight face before laughing her ass off.
“Christ, there are more people here than I thought there would be,” Gray said while looking slowly around the room.
Gray was the most reserved of the four of them. Blair didn’t count. If she looked standoffish, it was because she was daydreaming about her plants.
“Better scout out Jonathan, so Mags can get her crush-filled creeping over with,” Blair signed.
“You bitch,” Mags whisper-screeched. “I do not have a crush on that douche.”
“Mags.” Gray tilted her head and widened her eyes in disbelief. “You had at least a semi-crush on him since he and Daniel beat up that piece of shit Geoff last year.”
Mags would never live down the shame. Her cheeks flamed red just thinking about the “incident.”
Geoff had been her boyfriend for six months before she’d relented and sent him a picture of her in her bra and panties.
He’d shown his friends, of course. Her mom and dad found out—the whole damn family and friend group had. Jonathan had commandeered his family’s private jet and flown to Scotland from Ireland to kick the ever-loving shit out of Geoff and the friends who had looked at the picture.
How did Jonathan know who’d seen the photo, one might wonder? Her best guess was that her Uncle Coll and Gray’s dad, Thomas, who were best friends and owned a security company, and who weren’t above using their tech skills to take down little, pedantic secondary school boys.
Mags admitted, only to herself, that she’d fallen a little in love with Jonathan O’Faolain that day, despite her mortification and all the adult speeches about online imprints lasting forever.
She’d never told her friends about her mini, very mini, crush on Jonathan, but they were too close to keep much of anything private.
They all kept a few secrets tucked away or tried to, but the reality was that they knew most of each other’s deepest thoughts.
They were true friends because they never blabbed outside the group.
It was her fault that they had any fodder to tease her over. According to them, she stared at Jonathan during every get-together and hated any girl he dated. She wasn’t good at subterfuge, clearly.
Gray took her hand to stop Mags from joining the party. “Seriously, you know he’ll have a girl on him or more than one,” she grimaced. “Don’t let it ruin the night for you.”
Mags deflated at the thought but knew Gray was right. “I won’t, I promise.”
Three and a half hours passed with gobs of laughter, dancing, and perhaps a smidge more champagne than they should have indulged.
She’d spotted Jonathan, Daniel, and Ciar holding court with their fan club here and there, boys and girls, but she did her best to enjoy the rare night and forget Jonathan’s existence because Mags knew she certainly wasn’t remotely on his radar.
As midnight approached, Bébhinn dragged Gray onto the dance floor, though Gray quickly threw her hands up in a “no way” gesture.
Bébhinn just laughed and danced in front of her.
Blair excused herself. She wanted a closer inspection of the club’s plants and flowers surrounding the grounds.
That left Mags to slip out on one of the ballroom’s balconies alone.
She could have gone with Blair, as she loved her cousin’s passionate descriptions of anything green. She also could have joined her friends on the dance floor. Neither held much appeal.
Truth be told, she’d tried to enjoy the evening, and she had, just not perhaps as much as she had portrayed.
Jonathan had different girls hanging off his arm all night, each prettier than the last. It was foolish and, at times, downright torture to watch.
Jonathan was only into girls who looked perfect on his arm.
She knew he’d never thought of her that way.
He treated her like a pest on a good day—Bébhinn’s little friend.
They weren’t so far apart in age, but in school years…it just wasn’t done. Mags settled her bare back against the cold stone of the balcony that overlooked the grounds and waited for midnight to come and go.
Thank God for the heated standing lamps, or she would have frozen to death. She heard the teenagers and young adults inside start counting down.
20. 19. 18. 17.
“Are you hiding, Mags?”
She almost swallowed her tongue in fright when Jonathan’s husky voice sounded so close to her ear. “Christ, Jon,” she panted, placing a ridiculously demure hand over her heaving breast.
14. 13. 12. 10.
“Have you ever kissed a boy?
“Yes.” Barely.
His jaw clenched, but he asked, “Do you want to kiss me?”
8. 7. 6. 5. 4.
This was her chance. She wasn’t about to play coy. “Yes.”
2.
She had cold stone at her back and Jonathan’s hot body pressed to her front. He dipped low and gently touched their lips together as firelights flashed in the sky.
For one heart-stopping minute, he deepened the kiss until she felt like her legs would give out, and even his hands at her waist wouldn’t stop her toppling over.
He moaned as their tongues dueled, and she knew she’d found heaven. His hands left her waist and began to creep up her naked back, but that’s where it ended.
Jonathan broke the kiss with a curse. “Christ, Mags. I—”
She had no idea what he’d been about to say because at that critical moment where euphoria met uncertainty, one of his drunk friends stuck his head out the door and yelled for him to get back inside.
Surely, he wouldn’t leave her out here. Surely, he wouldn’t leave her without a word.
He did.
When she’d pulled herself together enough to join the party, Jonathan was at the center of the dance floor completely sucking the face off a Barbie wannabe with his hands full of her ass.
While still deep in the kiss, he met her eyes over the girl’s shoulder.
He never broke the kiss.