The Fire and the Earth: Glenncailty Castle, Book 2 Read Online Free Page B

floor of the castle. The large space was divided up by little half walls, and there was a bar toward the front, though he’d never heard of anyone popping in here for a pint, when the pub, with its relaxed atmosphere, was only a few steps away.
    The muted colors and sparkle of glass and silver made Séan nervous. He rarely went someplace as nice as this. The last time he’d put on a tie had been for a wedding, and the time before that to take his mother to dinner for her birthday because his sister, a successful therapist in Dublin, had been out of the country, leaving it to Séan to make their mother feel special. He could have brought her here, but he’d gone to Navan instead.
    As they entered the dining room, the muscles in Séan’s back and shoulders went tense. He could feel the darkness that clung to the walls, despite the impressive chandeliers overhead. It happened every time he entered the castle proper and was a constant reminder that under the polish and success of the hotel lay something unholy that no one would acknowledge.
    He’d tried to protect everyone by shutting the place down. He’d failed, and looked like a fool doing it. He’d even convinced himself that he hadn’t seen the ghost, but the impression of darkness lingered. The tragedy he’d been prepared for—sure that something bad would happen—still hadn’t come. In his optimistic moments, Séan imagined that meant that the castle wasn’t haunted, but then he’d step inside. As soon as he did, the feelings of dread crept over him, and he knew that someday this house of cards would fall.
    “Sit there,” Tristan ordered. “Give me only a moment and we will be ready.”
    Séan dropped into a seat, fidgeting a little as he looked at the elaborate spread of silverware in front of him. He went to rest his arms on the table, but then thought better of it. He’d gone right from the barn to James’s butcher shop in town and then out here. He’d washed his hands somewhere along the way, but that didn’t mean the rest of him was clean. He could only imagine what Tristan would say if he got blood or manure on the starched white tablecloth.
    “Hello, Séan.”
    Sorcha approached, stopping on the other side of the table, hands resting on the back of the chair. She wore a black blazer with a small gold nametag on one lapel. Under that she wore a trim dress of spring green with a black belt. The dress made her hair seem redder, her eyes bluer. Séan rose, nodding slightly, but didn’t offer his hand.
    His heart leapt at the sight of her. It always did, and he suspected always would.
     
    Sorcha smiled her greet-the-guests smile. It was easy to hide behind.
    Séan was standing awkwardly by the chair he’d risen from. He was rumpled, his shirt, pants and jumper showing signs of wear and even some old washed-in stains. There was a piece of grass stuck to the wool on his shoulder, his hair was a mess and his beard needed to be trimmed. He was out of place in the elegant and polished dining room, like he should be out in a field, green at his feet and blue sky above.
    He looked good enough to eat.
    Sorcha’s smile wavered, but she held it in place. She wanted those rough, work-worn hands on her skin. Wanted to rip the clothes from his body and feel the muscles beneath. With any other man, she’d take him home, get what she wanted and then walk away. But with Séan, she wouldn’t, couldn’t do that.
    Her gaze traveled up to his face. His hazel eyes were flecked with green and when his gaze met hers, Sorcha felt it all through her body, as if he’d touched her.
    “Good, good.” Tristan bustled back to the table, the maître d’ and a gaggle of servers following him. “We have new servers. Since you are here, they can train on you.”
    Sorcha turned to Tristan, paying more attention to what he was saying than was needed, using it as an excuse to stop staring at Séan as if she were going to take a bite out of him.
    “Sit, sit.” Tristan waved