The Engagement Arrangement

Chapter one

An Irishman never left a glass of whiskey unfinished, and Finn Nolan was as Irish as the green hills of his former homeland. He propped his booted feet up on the Bellinis' front porch railing to finish off the last of his whiskey before heading back to his own house for the night. He rolled the amber liquid around in his glass, then frowned as he saw headlights cutting into the darkness in front of him.

It was late. His boss, Johnny Bellini, had gone inside for the night. As far as he knew, everyone in the house had already gone to bed. Normally Finn would have headed to his place on the Bellini property, but Johnny had wanted to chat and Finn enjoyed his company, so he'd hung out long past dark.

The car pulled down the long gravel drive. He decided he'd wait and see if maybe someone had made a wrong turn. The lights were off on the front porch so they couldn't see him as they stopped in front of the house.

Recognition dawned as he saw Brenna Bellini open the passenger door of the Mercedes, followed by some tall, professionally dressed dude exiting the vehicle's driver's side.

The guy walked around the car and Brenna held up her hand.

"Don't," she said.

"At least let me walk you to the door."

"Don't bother. It's clear this date is over."

"Why? Because I asked you to come home with me?"

"No. Because you're a class A, narcissistic asshole whose primary interest is in yourself. Go get in your car and take yourself home, Jerry. I'm sure you and your hand will have a lovely finish to the night together."

Jerry looked offended. "Hey. I can get a lot of women."

"Then go get them. A whole harem of them." When he continued to stand there, she shooed him with both hands. "Go."

Jerry lifted his chin, muttered something Finn couldn't hear and got in his car. Brenna waited, arms crossed, while he drove away.

Finn smirked. The one thing he knew about Brenna Bellini was that she could take care of herself.

"What a dick," she muttered as she made her way up the stairs, stopping when she caught sight of him.

"Bad date, huh?" Finn asked.

"How long have you been out here?"

"The whole time." He pulled his feet from the porch railing and stood. "Why do you keep going out with such losers?"

She shot him a glare. "What do you know about my dating history?"

"I hear things."

"Where?"

"Here and there."

"From my sisters?"

He shrugged. "Here and there."

She rolled her eyes and started toward the front door.

"You deserve better, Brenna."

She looked over at him. "Damn right, I do."

He walked over, stopping in front of her. Damn, she smelled good, like a vanilla cookie. He wanted to taste her. And kiss her. Her gorgeous red hair streamed out behind her in the breeze, and he itched to run his fingers through it, to see if it felt as soft as it looked. But he'd never once touched Brenna Bellini.

Except in his fantasies.

"Then why don't you give a good guy a chance?"

She looked him up and down. "What? You think you're the right guy for me?"

"Why not? I'm a better guy than those jackasses you keep going out with. Stop playing with those boys you're not interested in and let a real man into your life."

She shook her head. "Not a chance in hell, Finn. First, you work for my family, and second . . ."

His lips curved as she trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

"Go on . . ."

"And second . . . you're like family."

"Nah. I'm not your family and you know it. I'm the man you've always wanted, always needed, but never knew it. Until just now."

He saw her breath catch, her eyes widen, her lips part. He knew if he pulled her into his arms and kissed her, she wouldn't object. But the one thing Brenna needed was a slow-burn romance, and he intended to give it to her. She deserved that.

He tipped his cowboy hat toward her. "Good night, Brenna."

He turned and walked down the steps and around the side of the house, enjoying the quiet of late night, the glow of fireflies dancing around him. He'd lived on the Bellini property since he was eighteen years old, after his ma died and, since he had no other living relatives, Ma's childhood best friend, Maureen Bellini, had flown him from Ireland to come live with them. After that, Johnny and Maureen Bellini had become family to him. Brenna's sisters Erin and Honor had become like sisters.

But Brenna? She'd never been family. She'd been something else entirely. The first time he'd laid eyes on Brenna, with her beautiful red hair and unusual hazel eyes and hellacious temper, she'd lit a fire in him that over a decade later had yet to be extinguished.

Not that she'd ever known that. He'd never wanted her to know. Until now.

At first, he'd been too young, too unsure of himself, too tongue-tied around the fierce beauty. And then they'd both grown up and he'd watched her fall in love with and marry that shithole Mitchell Walker. Mitch had never appreciated the fine woman he'd had. He'd taken her for granted, ignored her in favor of his business, and then he'd lost her.

She'd needed time to grieve the end of her marriage, to get back on her feet, to regain her confidence. She'd gotten back out there and started dating again, but she found fault with every one of the guys she dated.

As he turned the corner and headed down the path toward his place, he smiled. He knew why none of those guys had lit a spark under Brenna. Because none of those men knew her like he did, knew what she needed.

He was the flame to her tinder, and it was time he lit the match.

Brenna tossed her purse onto her bed and stared at the full-length mirror leaning against the wall. Her face was flushed with a pink glow, her pulse still racing after that comment from Finn.

What the hell had that been about? He was the one she always wanted but never realized, or some such nonsense? Where had that come from? After her useless date tonight, she'd felt empty and disappointed. But a few words from Finn on the front porch and she was lit up like a bonfire.

She was not interested in Finn Nolan. Like, not at all.

Liar, liar, because your panties are on fire.

"Shut up," she whispered to herself. She took off her dress and hung it up, went into the bathroom to wash off the remnants of her terrible date, then climbed into bed to read a book. But she couldn't concentrate, Finn's words still pinging around in her head.

Was he the guy she'd always wanted, always needed, but had never realized it?

Stop playing with those boys you're not interested in and let a real man into your life.

She pulled her legs in toward her chest and wrapped her arms around them, thinking about how he'd looked when she'd walked up the steps. His long, jean-clad legs stretched out, his cowboy hat tipped low across his brow, hiding his magnificent stormy gray eyes. And that Irish lilt to his voice—that alone could melt a woman's clothes right off her. He needed a haircut, all that rich, silky black hair spilling out from underneath his hat, making her itch to run her fingers through it while his mouth crashed down on hers and his tongue—

Whoa.

Okay, maybe she had an attraction. And maybe she always had. She still remembered when he'd first arrived on the ranch. He'd been eighteen then, and she'd been seventeen. He'd been lanky and shy and oh so heartbroken about his mother's death that her heart had just about broken with him. But he had a smile that lit up the entire state of Oklahoma.

Oh, she'd fought that attraction with everything in her. After all, Mom had trusted all of them to take care of Finn, to treat him like family. And when he'd loosened up and become part of the family, she'd held that attraction she'd felt to herself, while Finn had come out of his shell and laughed and made friends and had girlfriends and treated her just like he treated everyone else.

Then Mitchell had come along, distracting her with his sweet talking and empty promises of happily-ever-after.

What an eye opener that had been. Happily-ever-after was for fairy tales. That was why she worked the winery and left the wedding stuff to her sisters.

She rolled her eyes, realizing that thoughts of Mitchell were like buckets of cold water all over her libido, dousing her hot fantasies of Finn.

With a sigh of disgust, she turned out the light and climbed under the cool covers.

She and Finn weren't meant to be, anyway. He worked on the vineyard, they saw each other every day, and the two of them fooling around would be a recipe for disaster.

There. Fantasy effectively ended.

It was never going to happen.

Chapter two

Finn slung his hammer into his tool belt and stepped away from the building he was putting an addition on, removing his hat to wipe the sweat from his brow. He unscrewed the lid from his jug and swallowed several gulps of water.

August in Oklahoma sucked. It was hot as fuck this morning, the sun beat down on him and there wasn't a single cloud in the sky. And it wasn't even eight a.m. yet. He'd deliberately started early so he could beat the heat. Hell of a lot of good that had done him. Today was going to be brutal.

It was days like this that made him miss the small town in Ireland where he'd grown up. He missed the clouds and the chill and the salty air of the sea. At times it felt like it was only yesterday that he'd walked along the coast, looking out every day at the amazing power of all that water crashing against the shore or taking a boat out to do some fishing with his da.

Other times it felt like a lifetime ago.

Damnú aír. He raked his fingers through his hair. No point in thinking of what had been. He was damn lucky to be here, grateful to the Bellinis for a home of his own and a roof over his head. He'd had no one back then after Ma had died. Now he had a family.

He went to the barn to grab some supplies for his project. He had to pass the main house, and while walking by he heard singing. Following the sound, he saw Brenna on her hands and knees, working in the dirt at the side of the house.

He cocked his head to the side and smiled, admiring the view. She was dressed in shorts and a cropped top, her smooth skin glistening with sweat as she used a trowel to dig out vegetables from the garden she tended.

Damn but she was beautiful, even sweaty and slinging dirt. Her hair was swirled up in a bun on top of her head, small curling red tendrils escaping and teasing her neck. All he could think about was how much he wanted to press his mouth to her nape.

Among other parts of her.

She shook the dirt off the potatoes and tossed them into a bin, then inched over to pull some peppers.

"Garden looks good, eh?" he asked.

She jumped back and straightened, shooting a pissed-off look in his direction. "Jesus, Finn. You could have made some noise to let me know you were there."

"Just did." He moved in closer, then crouched down to her level. "What're you harvesting this mornin'?"

"Potatoes. Carrots. Peppers. Onions."

"Need some help?"

She frowned. "Don't you have a job to do?"

"Yeah. Don't you?"

She lifted her chin. "I'll get to it. You should go do your job."

"Was on my way to do that and I heard you singing. You have a beautiful voice, Brenna."

"Uh-huh."

She stared at him, giving him her classic Brenna glare as if that would somehow scare him off. He'd never once been scared of her, so that never worked. "Do you need some help or should I just watch you?"

"What are you? Some kind of stalker?"

He laughed and got down on his knees beside her, taking the trowel from her hands. "I can't rightly be a stalker since I live here, can I?"

"I . . ." She kept glowering at him while he harvested the vegetables. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" he asked as he plopped the vegetables in the bin. "Help you? Kneel this close to you? Exist?"

"All of those things."

He laughed. "Trying to be rid of me, álainn?"

"Don't do that, either."

"What? Talk to you?"

"No. Talk to me in Gaelic. It's . . . it's . . ."

He arched a brow, waiting for her answer.

"Just . . . stop it."

She had a smudge of dirt on her face. He wiped his hand on his jeans, then swept his thumb over her cheek. "You had some dirt there."

She didn't pull away, just kept staring at him with those amazing eyes and dark lashes that always made his pulse kick up.

"Thanks."

He got up and grabbed the bin, then held out his hand for her. She looked at his hand for a few seconds, then let him haul her to her feet.

He handed her the bin.

"Thank you for the help. Not that I needed it."

"No, you didn't. You don't need anyone, Brenna. But you might want someone. Sometime. Don't forget I'm here."

He turned and walked away, smiling as he did.

That had gone well.

Brenna tossed the bin of vegetables on the kitchen counter with a loud thud.

"What's that all about?" their cook, Louise, asked. "Did some of the veggies go bad?"

"No, they're all ripe and fabulous."

Louise gave her a curious look as Brenna left the kitchen.

She went upstairs and headed straight for the shower. She was covered in sweat, dirt and consternation, all of which needed washing away.

After showering, she put on panties and a sundress, which was just about all she could stand to wear in this unbearable heat. Kneeling shoulder to thigh with Finn hadn't helped her internal heat situation, either.

How dare he interrupt her self-isolation, the time of day when she got into her own head and enjoyed digging in her vegetable garden? Didn't he know that was one of her favorite things to do—alone?