That family had an unfair advantage in the genetics department. She had yet to meet a single member of the brood who didn’t look as though they’d been created from someone’s airbrushed wet dream. Lord save her from the blue-eyed Irish devils who seemed to have a natural immunity to body fat, mind-scrambling pheromones and extra helpings of stubborn pride.
They were all too damned irresistible.
“Tasha? Did you hang up?”
Oh hell. “No, of course not. You’re sweet to worry about me, Jeremy. That heart of yours is as sexy as the rest of your package. It almost hurts that you’re off the market. Especially now. We might have just missed our opportunity to have the perfect third.”
Jeremy snorted. “Fine, I get it, you don’t want to talk about your feelings. But calling me to tell me you’re taking a sex holiday with the city’s most eligible bachelor doesn’t scream deprivation to me. Don’t try to convince me you’re suffering.”
“Inside, honey. The pain is buried deep inside…where you’ll never find it again because you have a boyfriend and you’re in love.”
She hung up to his laughter and got out of the car, following Brady’s imposing figure into Stephen’s house. She’d turned down the invitation to his housewarming party, but she’d been here once before for… Well, there was no better way to say booty call, was there? She hadn’t had that much of a chance to look around then because she’d come and gone before daylight.
It was a nice place. Cleaner than her crowded one-bedroom apartment. Warm but unmistakably masculine and clearly professionally decorated. There was no clutter. No rings or scratches on the coffee table, no wear in the carpets that were tastefully thrown across the hardwood floors. The neutral pillows on the couch that could comfortably sleep three seemed brand new. If there weren’t pictures on the mantel—his twin Seamus surrounded by his laughing children, his parents’ anniversary party, Jeremy and Owen smiling as they held a squirming bundle of happy puppy—this place could be a furnished rental.
Did he actually live here? Did anyone?
She found Brady upstairs in the hallway, stalled indecisively with her bags.
“Just put them in one of the guest rooms,” she said helpfully. “My part in this act doesn’t require a drawer in his dresser.”
It would be too intimate.
He obediently headed to the left and brought her to the guest room closest to the master suite. Tasha studied the quaint wrought iron headboard and pale lavender bedspread with reluctant approval. This would do.
Brady set her bags down and rubbed the back of his neck uncertainly. “I should go check out the other rooms.”
“Stay and talk to me,” she insisted. “Just for a minute.”
Brady hesitated. “For a minute,” he agreed, looking around the bedroom with a frown. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a heads up on the way to the office,” he said, not for the first time since they’d left Stephen’s building. “It’s a hell of a request to spring on a family friend.”
“I told you it’s fine.” Tasha sat on the bed and bounced once, sending him a wicked grin. “Lucky for the senator, I’m that kind of friend.”
“So I’m gathering.” He watched her closely. “I always thought you and Jeremy were together.”
Tasha shrugged. “You weren’t entirely wrong. We got together now and then, but we’re just friends. I’m a strong believer in the buddy system.”
Brady’s eyes widened a bit at that. “And you and Stephen?”
“Also buddies. Now and then.” He stared at her until she rolled her eyes. “My sex life is complicated. Let’s just say I’m a progressive, liberated woman with some unresolved commitment issues and leave it at that.”
Brady chuckled and she leaned back on her elbows, enjoying the comfortable mattress and determined to change the course of the conversation. “So when did you start working for the man?”
“The military?”
“Not the man. This man—Senator Finn, defender of the innocent, savior of puppies and the guy angling to be the Irish James Bond.”
His breath came out in a short, sharp puff that sounded like laughter. “About a month.”
“Do you like it?”
“Yes.”
“Rave review. But you have to say that—you work for him. I hope he’s paying you what you’re worth. When I volunteered, all I got was a handful of paper cuts and a stale bagel.”
“Pay’s good.” A shadow of a smile still lingered on his lips as he studied the painting on the wall above her head. At least he looked more approachable now. When he’d come to pick her up he’d been stone-faced and stiff. And huge. He had to be six-foot-five, possibly the tallest Finn on record, and every inch of him was bulging with muscle. She’d felt like saluting and worried that she’d have to drop and give him twenty without the benefit of caffeine.
He’d changed a lot in the last few years.