Every head in the pub swiveled in our direction.
From the back, a man detached himself from a clump of Guinness guzzlers. He was about my height and age, but he had thick black hair and dark eyes. Black Irish, they called it, Iberian blood. He shoved his hands in his pockets and sauntered over.
“Well.” Paul Connelly had a low, lilting voice, and I immediately thought of Cam’s Operation: Irish Boyfriend. “That didn’t take very long.”
Beside me, Mike relaxed very slowly. The great control that went into his apparent laziness was more alarming than if he’d tensed up all over. “’Scuse me?”
Paul propped his elbow on the bar and shrugged. “Seems to me you swooped right in as soon as you inherited some land.”
Mike curved his lips up. “Actually, my uncle just died. I’m here for his month’s mind.”
“After twenty-six years of never even talking to the man?”
Mike relaxed his body even more, like he was lounging in midair. “You’re pretty well-informed for a guy I never even knew existed.”
Paul scoffed and shook his head. “Just like a Yank.”
Mike didn’t even twitch. Like a snake before the death-strike. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Great. Could no one in this family communicate without weird accusations? If Paul Connelly’s body language was any indication, Mike was about to get punched in the face.
I squeezed between the two guys and stuck my hand out. “I’m Natalie Sullivan. Sorry for your loss. I never met your uncle, but we spoke several times. I’m an archaeologist from Columbia University.”
Paul waited a moment, his square jaw working, before he transferred his attention to me. When he did, surprise crossed his face. “You’re a lot prettier than I expected.”
“Hey,” Mike said sharply. He moved up beside me.
I stepped on Mike’s foot and kept my gaze trained on Paul. “Your aunt said you might be able to take us by Kilkarten today.”
Paul looked back and forth between Mike and me. “You two a thing?”
I refused to look at Mike. “No.”
Mike spoke at the same time. “What’s it to you?”
Paul smiled slowly and Mike scowled. Then, focusing all his attention on me, Paul said, “Right this way.”
Mike caught my arm as we headed out the door, leaning close enough that his breath brushed my neck. “Watch that guy.”
I shivered, focus stolen by the thrills of attraction running down my arms. “Why?”
“Because I have two younger sisters, and can spot an asshole a mile away.”
I shook my head at him and followed Paul out onto the street. We piled into Paul’s truck, and Mike and I had a brief, silent struggle for the front seat while Paul headed toward the driver’s side. Mike won.
Paul had to start and stop several times as oblivious pedestrians wandered into the streets before us. He didn’t speak. Mike didn’t speak.
So of course I did. “So your aunt says you live in Paris?”
“That’s right.” He looked at me in the rearview mirror. “You been?”
“No, but it’s on my list. Do you travel a lot, out of Paris?”
He slowly grinned at me in the mirror. For a moment, he looked shockingly like his cousin, despite the lack of blood between them, and the darkness of Paul’s looks compared to Mike’s brightness. He nodded. “A bit.”
I kept babbling. “I’ve never been to Paris but I did a whole circuit of Eastern Europe—Prague and Istanbul and Croatia...”
A spark of genuine interest lit, and some of the tension drained from the car. “You ever get to Dubrovnik?”