Tender Temptation: Cillian & Ivy (Charming Irish #1)

Prologue

Cillian Present Day

Jesus. Will the rain ever fucking stop?

Hustling down Second Avenue, with little reprieve from the endless downpour, I try to pull my heavy canvas jacket closed, my flannel shirt and black jeans are practically plastered to my body. Water sloshes into my work boots as I try to navigate glistening puddles pooling on the sidewalk.

I’m soaked to the bone.

Like most native Seattleites, I don’t own a fucking umbrella.

Stubbornly stupid .

Ah, fuck it. I deserve to be wet and uncomfortable. After the day I’ve had, I might as well get the flu on top of it.

Finally, I spy the green awning up ahead despite the darkened skies. A few more steps and I push through door of the Metropolitan Grill, a Seattle steakhouse institution. Veering left to avoid the hostess, I take a seat at the bar in all my damp glory.

Settling onto my usual stool with embarrassingly practiced ease, I’m self-aware enough to realize it’s an act of defiance against my wicked cravings. My eyes, inadvertently—or advertently, who the fuck knows—drift to the rows of amber bottles gleaming against the under light of the glass shelving.

Particularly to the whiskey. Lord, what I’d give for a fucking taste. How I’d savor it. Vanilla and smoky oak. Sweet notes of caramel and honey. A hint of fruit, either orange zest or a slice of crisp apple. I shut my eyes and practically feel the warmth enveloping me in a comforting glow, radiating through every vein and easing the burdens of my mind. Soothing the aches of my soul. Wrapping around me like a soft, fluffy blanket on a shitty Seattle night.

It’s been over a year since I’ve had a sip. Even though every day is a battle, I haven’t been tempted in months. Today, though, the fight feels harder. The liquor more alluring.

Freddy, the bartender whom I’ve known for years, sets down a tonic water with lime in front of me. I grip the cool, clear glass tightly, hoping the lime’s sharp scent will override the memory of peat and warmth. The guy in a suit two seats down orders a Red Breast neat. My jaw clenches with envy. The liquid gold catches the light as Freddy pours it with an easy flick of the wrist.

Mesmerizing .

Tamping down the old, familiar ache, I turn away. Focus on the clink of glasses and the murmur of conversations around me—anything to drown out the noise in my head. It’s a silent struggle, unseen by the laughing customers in the busy restaurant.

I take a sip of my tonic, the fizz biting at my tongue. It’s a pale imitation of what I truly crave, but at least it’s safe. Necessary . I’m fully aware of the consequences if I were to give in to my demons. I’ve lived and breathed them and won’t live one more day with regret coiling in my gut. Still, I need something…more.

“Hey, man. Can I get a hot coffee?” I tap the polished wood with my finger to get Freddy’s attention. “I’m soaking wet and fucking freezing.”

“Sure.” Seconds later he hands me a steaming mug. “Cream or sugar?”

“Both.” I slide a twenty toward him. Coffee is no substitute for the nectar of the gods, but at least it will warm me up and keep me sober .

Hell, it’s no small feat considering what happened today. Suddenly, I’m on the brink of losing my shit and I have no one to blame but myself.

Well, maybe my stupid, inherited addiction genes. Memories of my da’s spiral into alcoholism invade my thoughts. Barely a teenager when he crashed and burned. I was instrumental in helping him rebuild the business he founded once he got sober. A decade ago, I took over as CEO and now McGloughlin Construction, is the biggest game in town. For what?

A terrible mistake I made three years ago coming back to haunt me and destroy all my hard work?

“Kill.” An undeniable presence, Brennan, my entrepreneurial younger brother uses the nickname my family calls me and takes the stool next to me.

Stocky with piercing brown eyes and a determined gait, he effortlessly commands respect in every situation. Today, his head is shaved close and he sports a meticulously groomed beard. Despite his imposing appearance, Brennan’s demeanor is easygoing. He’s perfected a balance of serious professionalism with well-timed jokes, which endear him to everyone he meets.

He and I are the closest of all my brothers. My Irish twin. Through it all, we’re always there for each other, no matter what .

I curve my lips into something resembling a smile. “’Bout time,”

“You look stressed, Kill. Everything okay?” Brennan is far too perceptive for his own good.

I hesitate then point to a secluded booth at the back of the bar we sometimes use for confidential conversations. We take our seats on opposite sides of the table and are promptly interrupted by a server. There’s no way I can eat right now, but Brennan’s always hungry.

He orders his usual Porterhouse while I dig my thumbs into my temples to try to quell the throbbing in my head. “I’m fucked.”

“Dramatic much?” Brennan drapes his arm along the back of the booth and purses his lips. “Who’d you piss off today?”

I shake my head. “My past has come back to bite me in the ass. I’m struggling, man.”

A familiar tug of anxiety and regret fills my chest cavity as I remember the best—and worst—summer of my life. “Do you remember the day I landed the first Vander contract, and we spent the entire spring celebrating? Partying every night. Fucking gorgeous women. Waking up and doing it all again? Never missing a beat.”

“Oh, I remember.” Brennan arches an eyebrow and takes a sip of his Diet Coke. “We were on quite the tear. I had a hard time keeping up with my fuck-boi older brother, pardon the pun.”

Wincing, I nod and look down at my clasped hands. I’m stalling. He doesn’t need a recap of our past debauchery. He was there. “Yeah, well I ignored the warning signs. Despite our family’s history of alcoholism, I thought I could control it.”

“You’re a year sober now. If you’re beating yourself up about the past…don’t.” He taps the back of my fist with his finger.

I stare him dead in the eye. “No. You don’t understand. I fucked up. Really fucked up.”

“How so?” Brennan’s eyes nearly pop out of their sockets.

I nod sadly. “She broke my fucking heart…”

“The girl you were seeing? Yeah, I remember the petite blonde, but I’m still not following you. You never told me it was serious.” He furrows his brow.

Ah, well, we were private. Too private. And it blew up in my face.

Still, the first time I saw her will forever be tattooed on my brain.

The second she stepped through the doorway of Kell’s Irish Pub, time slowed to a halt, like in the movies. The spotlight from the stage illuminated her from behind and cast a glowing halo around her delicately sweet face. Thick, golden hair cascaded down her back in soft waves. Her flawless, milky skin made her look ethereal. Angelic.

Her body was sculpted for temptation. Short, cut-off shorts showed off her long, muscled legs to perfection. The black bodysuit she wore clung to her curves, leaving nothing to my imagination. Her tits. God, her tits. Creamy mounds of deliciousness spilling out of her top. Her nipples practically poked through the fabric.

She was, without question, the most exquisite woman I’d ever laid eyes on. The ultimate paradox of innocence and allure. A saint cloaked in the clothes of a siren.

I couldn’t look away. Not for a second. I knew I had to have her.

The way she moved through the crowd—poised and self-assured with a hint of awkward—reminded me of a newborn fawn taking in the world for the first time.

I watched her, transfixed, like a schoolboy.

Then, as if compelled by a gravitational pull, she turned to me and her turquoise eyes caught mine.

And it was all over.

Brennan listens with rapt attention. He doesn’t interrupt or give any indication he’s judging me. I drop the bomb .

“I should have known better.” My voice is a whisper of shame. “I wasn’t thinking about the consequences. Hell, I didn’t even register there could be consequences until it was too late.”

“Shit, man. You never told me the whole story. Heavy .” He leans back in the booth and scrubs his stubble with his big paw. “Things make more sense now.”

I’m not a man who cries easily, but my eyes sting with unshed tears. I’m nauseous with desperation. “At the time, I thought I was justified. But, what I did…how it ended. I’m ashamed.” My admission is raw and frightening. Brennan well knows about my descent into hell after it all went down—he’s the one who helped pull me out.

My brother reaches across the table and grabs my wrist. “People make mistakes. It wasn’t your fault. Work your steps. Forgive yourself; it’s in the past.”

“Easier said than done.” I shake my head sadly.

He arches an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because she’s back.” I wince and recap what happened earlier today.

Brennan’s skin pales. “Oh, fuck …”

“Yeah.” I slump back into the booth, defeated.

The agony of seeing her has unleashed a storm of emotions whirling through me all at once—panic, despair, bitter anger, and heartache .

Bottomless, all-encompassing sorrow for what could have been.

I’m spiraling. Tormented. Caught in a vortex of longing and impossibility. My defenses are crumbling into oblivion.

My resolve to stay away forever is dissolving completely.

Because seeing her again confirms what I’ve always known.

There’s no moving on, not in this lifetime.