“In my experience, that’s true.”
I whirled around so fast that a gust of wind moved between me and the man suddenly standing close to me. Something that sounded like“shit-a-motha-fooker-wooooo!”left my mouth in a garbled rush. My heart felt like it was in my throat, and my hand shot up, covering the area so it wouldn’t jump clear out of my mouth. “You—” I was about to lay into the stranger, curse him even in a cemetery, but the words died in my throat.
My eyes flew up—yeah, up—and crashed into the eyes of a green-eyed man who no doubt had trouble running through his veins. It was at odds with how well he was dressed, like a businessman. He wore a custom-made suit and a hat that looked like it came straight from another time. Even through the thick mist of a dreary day, his green eyes seemed to sparkle with mischief and something else, something predatory and dangerous.
“I should punch you in the face for scaring me like that!” I whisper-hissed. Yeah, I might not be as big as this guy, but being a tall girl with curves gave me the courage to not back down. And being raised with four brothers didn’t make me timid, either. I was rough, and if I had my bow and arrow, I could take down any predator that was after me.
Unfortunately, my bow and arrow were stowed in my junky-ass car parked across the cemetery. And this predator could take me down, even if he had to fight a little to put me out for the count.
His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything for a minute or two. Somewhere between then, I realized a bottle of whiskey dangled from his fingers, along with two shot glasses. “Roisin Ryan was your sister.”
That mouth of his was a mixture of Irish and New Yorker. He had a soft lilt, and when he said “Roisin,” it came out as “Ro-Sheen.” Which was the correct way to pronounce her name. Being in an Irish cemetery, I wasn’t surprised at his accent. Still, I wasn’t expecting him. At all.
“Why are you ignoring what I said?” I wasn’t ready to answer his question, so I deflected.
“About punching me in the face?”
“What else?”
He sighed. “Are you going to do it, darlin’?”
After a shiver tore over me at the way he said,darlin’, I looked around. “No, only because this is not the time nor the place. I would, if we were anywhere else—”
“But we’re not,” he said.
I studied him for a minute; he seemed to be studying me, too. I wondered what his smile was going to be like. I just knew,knew, that his grin, or his smile, was going to be charming, at odds with those dangerous eyes. Men like him never made sense.
“It’s just rude to scare someone like that,” I said after another minute had passed. “This is a place where people come to find peace. And it’s hard-earned. You should announce yourself, or at the very least, make noise. Clear your throat. Something.”
He cleared his throat.
Smart ass.“But no. You asked me if Roisin Ryanwasmy sister. Sheismy sister.”
“She was little,” he said.
At least he had a brain and could keep up with the conversation. I was trying to think nice thoughts, I really was, because I could be too hard on people. Especially men. My Mam always told me I was too hard on them. She said that I had probably told my soul mate to go to hell at some point in my life. Seeing as he was too scared to disobey me, he probably did.
I nodded. “She was five. Car accident.”
“Your twin.”
This time I narrowed my eyes against his.
Droplets of water collected on his long black lashes, making his eyes seem fiercer. In the smoky cold, they seemed emerald, but when the sun hit them, I was willing to bet they’d be closer to chartreuse. The oddest color I’d ever seen, but honestly, the most beautiful. And even though he’d only spoken a few words, something about him oozed charm. The same charm I was willing to bet matched his grin.
It was hard to tell if he was trying to charm me or not, and what was even harder, was trying to explain the way he looked at me. He was studying me, but in a way that only seemed to bring up more questions. It was the oddest fucking thing I’d ever experienced. It took every ounce of my self-restraint not to pinch him, to make sure that one of the old ghosts around the cemetery hadn’t decided to talk to me.
Or maybe one of the statues. He carried the strength of one—a perfect, carved stone in a graveyard.
I would’ve called him a martyr, but he was far from it. He didn’t seem like the type of man to sacrifice himself for anything, even something he wanted.Because he probably always got what he wanted.
“I had a twin, too,” he said.
That brought me back to the present. To him. “Is he or she here?” I looked around, feeling foolish after I did, because it wasn’t like he was going to introduce me.
“He,” he said. “But nah. My old man is. He’s buried—” He turned a little, pointing in another direction. “Kelly’s the last name.”
“Ah,” I said, motioning to the bottle of whiskey and the glasses in his hand. “Come to have a drink?”
