Dylan Foxx.
Her gaze shifted away from the bartender.
“You don’t have to be alone,” the blond next to her said. Obviously, her earlier comment had gone right over his head.
She gave him a smile. Polite, but firm, Rachel said, “That’s the way I want to be tonight.”
Unfortunately, that was also the way she was every night.
Three years had passed, but Rachel still tensed at the thought of any man slipping past her defenses. Any man except—
“You heard the lady.” That low, growling voice came from behind her. And she knew only one man with a voice like that—Dylan. “Looks like you’re striking out here, buddy. So go try your luck someplace else.”
The blond glared at him. Rachel turned, shaking her head as she gazed up at Dylan. “What are you doing here?” Sure, Dylan wasn’t like her. He visited plenty of bars. But he lived across town.
And this bar was practically in her backyard.
“I came looking for you.”
His words had her tensing. “Has something happened? Has—”
She broke off, realizing that Dylan wasn’t actually looking at her. He was too busy glaring back at the blond. The guy was just sitting there, staring at them.
“Leave,” Dylan barked, using the voice that sent even seasoned EOD agents fleeing. “Now.”
The blond guy fled, but he muttered, “Should’ve said she had a boyfriend...” as he stormed away.
Dylan immediately took the guy’s seat. He exhaled as he got comfortable. “Better. Much better.”
The bartender appeared with her drink. He slid it across the table toward Rachel. “On the house,” he said with a wink.
Surprised, Rachel found herself smiling back at him. “Thank you.”
“It’s the least I can do for a neighbor.” Again, that Irish whispered in his voice. “You don’t know me, but I’ve heard plenty about you.”
His words surprised her.
“My grandfather, Patrick, told me to keep a look out for you, Rachel Mancini.”
She knew Patrick. When she’d first moved into the city, Patrick had been the first person she’d met.
But he’d passed away a few months ago. “I’m so sorry about your grandfather—”
The bartender held up his hand. “So am I, but he wouldn’t want us grieving. To him, life was for celebrating.”
Yes, that was the way Patrick had thought of life—just that way. She’d never seen him without a smile on his face.
“My name’s Aidan. Aidan O’Sullivan. And it’s good to finally meet you.” He offered his hand to her.
Rachel shook that hand, and quickly let him go. For some reason, she was far too conscious of Dylan’s stare on her.
Aidan glanced at Dylan. “What can I get for you?”
“Whiskey.”
Her gaze darted toward him. He’s still watching me.
“I have everything else that I need,” Dylan said.