The Irish Rogue (The Billionaire's Club

Book 3) Elizabeth Lennox

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 The Irish Rogue
By Elizabeth Lennox

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Copyright 2024
All rights reserved

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s
imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely
coincidental. Any duplication of this material, either electronic or any other format, either currently in use or a future
invention, is strictly prohibited, unless you have the direct consent of the author.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
Excerpt from “Unspoken Passions”
Chapter 1

Amidst the rough-hewn ambiance, the beautiful woman with the dark, brown hair and long, dark lashes sparkled like a star!
Sean Byrne watched as the enticing woman stepped out from the back room and smiled to the bartender. A low,
menacing growl was heard, startling Sean since he belatedly realized he was the one emitting the sound.
Thankfully, no other patrons were close enough to hear as he continued to watch the startlingly beautiful woman.
Sean observed the bartender's gaze trailing the enchanting woman, yet her body language communicated a clear lack of
interest. With a deliberate effort, Sean calmed himself, relaxing back into his chair. The bartender might harbor expectations,
but it was clear that the woman had no interest whatsoever. A satisfying realization settled in: good, he thought.
Startled by the last part of his thought, Sean sipped his beer, absent mindedly tasting the nuanced flavors in the beer.
There was a fruity first taste followed by a smooth, almost chocolate essence and then a…coffee after taste? Good brew
master, he thought, his gaze following the trim backside of the woman as she stepped out from behind the bar. She wore the
black tee-shirt with “The Old Goat” brewery label over her left breast and his body tightened again. For a different reason this
time.
She laughed at something one of the customers called out to her, but she didn’t slow down. Her sneakered feet carried
her through the large, barn-like room and then she disappeared again, through a different door.
Sean tensed, hoping the woman would reappear quickly. At the same moment, Tom Hutton, the owner, stepped through
that same door, lifting his hand in greeting towards Sean.
Sean stood up, reining in his unexpected lust over the now-absent woman.
Time to outmaneuver “dear, old dad”. It was his favorite hobby. Sean’s father was the Earl of something or other back
in Ireland. For years, the old man had been trying to expand his operation by buying up breweries in the United States.
Sean wasn’t going to allow that to happen. Sean’s father needed to stay the hell away from his adopted country. The
man was truly evil, right down to his funky toenails.
Tom Hutton’s smile was eager and open as he approached the table. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Byrne,”
Tom said in greeting, shaking Sean’s hand firmly. “I can’t tell you what a thrill it is to meet you face to face!” he continued,
gesturing to the chair. “When my assistant told me that you wanted to speak with me, I couldn’t fathom why. Your business
acumen is legendary, but I had no idea you were interested in breweries. I thought that your vast business interests lay in a
different arena.”
They both sat down and Sean forced himself to push the lovely mystery woman from his mind. He needed to focus on
the matter at hand. “My businesses are quite varied,” he explained. Which wasn’t a complete lie. “But my interest in your
brewery is sort of a personal hobby.” That was the absolute truth, although probably not in the way Tom assumed. The truth
was significantly more complicated.
Unfortunately, the beautiful woman reappeared, distracting him again. Sean tried to focus on the meeting, but it was a
struggle. Leaning forward, he looked across the table at Tom. “I would think the reason for my request for a meeting would be
obvious,” he continued, mentally cursing when his Irish accent thickened. A sure sign of his interest in the woman, he thought
and firmly pushed the thought away.
Tom shook his head. “Nope. Your interest isn’t obvious at all. You’re the Sean Byrne,” he emphasized, chuckling and
shaking his head as if awed. “Your business prowess is in massive, struggling companies that you fix and make profitable
again. There hasn’t been any news articles about someone like you dabbling in small town breweries.”
Sean shrugged one shoulder as if dismissing his corporate success. “Actually, I own several small breweries in
various parts of the United States.” Another truth, but only a partial explanation. “You have an excellent product, Tom. And
you’ve expanded your distribution to several new states recently.” He looked around at the “industrial barn” décor. “You’ve
even developed a great food service, which brings in the locals, increasing your brand. Your success here in Georgia is very
impressive.”
Tom grinned proudly as he folded his hands on the wood table. “I have, and business is good. But you…” He
chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re Sean Byrne. You buy and sell billion dollar businesses. Why in the world would you be
interested in my little bitty brewery?”
Sean shrugged and told another half-truth. “My hobby is beer,” he replied, laying on the charm. “I have a total of ten
breweries that produce interesting and unique blends.”
“I thought,” Tom started off, then paused, looking confused. “Sorry, but from everything I’ve read about your business
process, you buy up failing businesses, fix them, and then sell them off to the highest bidder.” He opened his hands, palms up.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Byrne, but this is a small town. And while there are other struggling businesses in the area, none of them
operate within the revenue range you typically deal with. More importantly, my brewery is currently operating efficiently and
at a decent profit margin. I won't consider selling it to you if it means you'll downsize the staff and drastically alter the
business.”
Sean understood the man’s concern. “First, please call me Sean.” He looked up at the rough-hewn wood rafters and
black supports, then back at the older man with a self-deprecating smile. “Formality feels odd here.”
Tom laughed but nodded. “Fair enough. Tell me why you’re interested in a small town brew pub.”
Sean lifted his glass of beer, nodding towards the brew. “Because you have an excellent brew master. The levels of
flavors in your beer is excellent.”
Tom flushed with appreciation. “Thank you, Sean. That particular beer, the ‘Pumpkin Maestro’ is one of my personal
favorites.”
“And as I mentioned, breweries are a sort of hobby for me,” he continued. “I got word that someone might be
interested in this place and I wanted to be the first to give you an offer. I have ten breweries, so far, but I’m always open to
other breweries with a great label. However, I don’t buy them only to sell them off later. I buy them for my deep, personal
appreciation for the art.” Another partial truth, but this man didn’t need to know that Sean’s purchases of the breweries were
intended to be a perverse middle finger to his father.
Tom flushed and lowered his head. The man was in his mid-sixties, but still handsome and his eyes were sharp with
intelligence. His well weathered face and hands were a testament to a life well lived. And the calluses on his hands told Sean
that Tom was more hands-on than most business owners. That was a sure sign of a man who knew his business inside and out.
An excellent recommendation.
Unfortunately, Sean’s attention splintered when the woman reappeared. He tried to keep his eyes away from her, but
like a magnet, she drew his focus anyway.
As if on cue, she headed for their table, two “paddles” of small beer flights in her hands. In that brief moment, her
wide, blue eyes revealed a subtle hesitation, an awareness that zinged between them. As she adjusted her posture, a renewed,
brighter smile emerged, but Sean discerned an underlying wariness in her expression. The encounter left an indelible
impression, with both of them acutely aware of the mutual recognition.
Good! He watched silently as she approached, noticed the pink color creep into her cheeks and was charmed.
The mysterious woman continued towards him with an unconscious grace, then bent down to place the flights of beers
on the table. Her movements were measured, almost as if she was keenly aware of the atmosphere surrounding them. As she
straightened up, there was a subtle tension in the air, a quiet acknowledgment of the unspoken connection between them.
Taking a step back, she maintained a cautious distance, as if navigating the delicate balance of proximity and restraint.
She glanced at her boss, but her eyes shifted almost immediately back to Sean. Nervously, the woman rubbed her hands on her
denim-clad thighs as she stepped back again.
"Hi Tom. As requested, here you go!" Her words carried a professional tone, but a discernible undercurrent hinted at a
shared understanding beyond mere formalities.
Without uttering another word, she turned on her heel and retraced her steps toward the bar. The rhythmic sound of her
feet against the wood floors echoed the unspoken tension lingering in the air—an unconscious thud betraying a mix of nerves
and heightened awareness. The unspoken language between them spoke volumes, leaving a trail of curiosity and intrigue in the
wake of her departure.
“Who is that?” Sean asked, forcing himself to look away.
 In response to Sean's question, Tom's protective instincts seemed to kick in. His posture subtly shifted, adopting a
defensive stance as if guarding some closely held secret. The tightening of Tom's jaw and the narrowing of his eyes conveyed a
sense of vigilance, as though he was shielding the woman from prying eyes or potential scrutiny.
“That’s none of your business, lad,” Tom replied firmly, nodding towards the beers. “I asked one of my staff members
to bring out samples of our top sellers.” He pushed back from the table and nodded once more. “Enjoy your evening. The
brewery isn’t for sale.”
Before Sean could reply, Tom huffed a moment, pausing a foot away from the table while staring down at the floor.
“I’m sorry, son,” he said to Sean, “but the people who work here are like family to me.” He looked out the window, then sank
back down into the chair. “My wife and I…” he paused, swallowed hard, then folded his arms in front of him. “My wife and
I, we couldn’t have children.” He sighed heavily. “We wanted children so badly, you see. But we…” he stopped again,
lowering his head. When he looked up this time, Tom’s hazel eyes stared deeply into Sean’s blue ones. “You seem like a good
man, Mr. Byrne.” Sean didn’t miss the return to formality. “But the people who work here, they get jobs with ‘The Old Goat’,
and I treat them as if they were my own children. We have a college fund for anyone who wants to keep going to school. We
used to have a daycare facility on the premises, but that was when the employees had younger children. Those babies have all
grown up and the daycare is no longer needed, but we’re constantly evolving new ways to help the people who have made this
business the success it is.”
Sean instantly understood. The man refused to sell simply because he’d shown interest in one of his employees. What
an eejit, he thought, reverting back to his ancestral insults.
“It is never wise to let personal issues dictate one’s business decisions, Tom,” he replied, a bitterness tingeing his tone
that he didn’t fully understand.
Tom chuckled flatly, not taking offense. “You don’t get it, lad.” He waved his arm, encompassing the whole
establishment in the gesture. “All this was built with that loyalty. I’m not the only one who considers these employees to be
my family. The staff created this place, built it up, invested their time and energy, their ideas and creativity, because they feel
this place is their home away from home. The profit sharing part of this business and the way we treat each other, as well as
our customers, is the reason why it is such a success.” He stood up and sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “That’s
why I can’t sell my business to you.” He smiled again and extended his hand. “However, I will treat you to the best damn
barbeque in the south.”
Sean thought for a long moment, and then nodded. “Fair enough,” he replied. As long as Tom wasn’t selling, Sean
didn’t really care. His main goal was to stop his “father” from gaining access to any brewery in the United States.
Tom walked away, but Sean remained in his seat. For a long moment, he just sat there, watching the rest of the pub.
There were several customers at the bar already, even though it was only about five o’clock in the afternoon.
Absently, he lifted one of the small glasses of beer, tasting it and…it really was absolutely delicious! A hint of
citrus…maybe grapefruit? And then with a zing of something spicy as an aftertaste. He finished that one, then started on the
next. This one had a touch of chocolate to it, but nothing overpowering. There were ten small glasses in all and Sean tasted
each one carefully. When he finished the first “flight”, a staff member came out of the kitchens carrying an enormous platter of
food, setting it down in front of him with a flourish.
“Compliments of Tom,” she said.
Sean nodded, but since it wasn’t the woman he was interested in, he didn’t start a conversation. Hell, he barely even
glanced at the food. He took another sip of the beer, wondering where the lovely brunette had disappeared to.

Kennedi leaned her head back against the wall, closing her eyes and willing her heart to stop fluttering. Who was that
man? And why was he still sitting alone at the table? Why wouldn’t he leave already?
“You okay?”
Kennedi’s eyes popped open and she smiled into the kind eyes of her boss. “I’m fine, Tom. Just…a crazy day, right?”
Her boss looked at her as if she’d lost her mind, but slowly nodded. “A little slow, actually.”
She pushed away from the wall and forced a laugh as she grabbed a clipboard off of the wall. “I guess I’m just…
trying to catch up.”
Catch up from what? Kennedi knew she wasn’t making any sense.
“Catch up?” Tom asked, flipping the clipboard around and glancing at it. “Are we behind on something? You’re one
of the best supply managers I’ve ever had. You’ve never let anything fall behind. So what’s getting off schedule?”
Kennedi silently groaned. “Nothing.” She shoved her hands into her hair. “I’m sorry, Tom. I’m not making any
sense.” She shook herself, both mentally and physically. “I have a few more things to finish up at my desk, then I’ll help out
Bobby at the bar, okay?”
Tom’s mouth compressed slightly. “You don’t have to help Bobby. We have enough people coming in tonight.”
She laughed and shook her head. “Actually, Amy called and said her son is throwing up, so she can’t make it in
tonight. She promised to pull a double to make up for it, though.”
“That’s not good,” he grumbled. Then sighed and looked over his shoulder. When he turned back to Kennedi, he had
an odd look in his hazel eyes. “Don’t worry about working the bar tonight. I’ll cover for Amy. You don’t need to help out.”
Kennedi made a face. “Tom, when was the last time you worked behind the bar?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s been a while, but I still remember how.”
She chuckled and patted his arm. “I’ve got it. Besides, you know that you’re always pulled in a thousand different
directions on a Friday night. Don’t worry about the bar. I’ve got it covered.”
Kennedi walked away before he could argue. Tom had promoted her to supply manager two years ago, after she’d
graduated from university with her business degree, but she’d worked all over the brewery ever since high school. She’d
pulled enough shifts at the bar to know how to handle things. She still prided herself on being the best bartender around. Plus,
she could use the extra tips. Her best friend was getting married in a few months. A bridesmaid dress, shoes, and makeup
would be required. Not to mention a wedding gift and…and whatever other expenses might occur. Weddings were
unpredictable events.
Kennedi leaned around the door, peering out into the restaurant. Sure enough, the guy…no, the MAN…was still there,
looking around with those unsettling eyes. His eyes weren’t a strange color, just a normal blue. Since she had blue eyes
herself, she didn’t think there was anything special about his eyes. No, it wasn’t the color. It was the intensity! The man’s
eyes were like laser beams!
Or maybe she was just fantasizing about a handsome man! It would be a first, she thought as she headed to her office.
She had a few more things to check before she could head to the bar to help out. And hopefully, the guy would be gone by then
and have headed out.
What had the man and Tom been talking about earlier? Tom hadn’t seemed too happy about the stranger’s presence.
She could ask Tom, but for some reason, Kennedi got the sense that Tom wouldn’t want to discuss the formidable stranger.
So, why was he here? The man definitely wasn’t a local. Nor was he from one of the neighboring towns. She knew
the locals and he wasn’t one of them!
As one of the best breweries in five counties, “The Old Goat” would be packed tonight. Friday and Saturday nights
were always busy. Local bands came in to play cover songs, the beer flowed freely, and the barbeque here was second to
none! Before she’d started working here, Kennedi hadn’t been a fan of barbeque. Five years ago, Tom had expanded the menu,
hired a new chef, and as a result of the food, plus the constantly rotating craft beer options, pulled in crowds every night of the
week. Summers were especially wild since they could expand to the outside picnic tables and open up the five outdoor bars.
Those had been her idea, she thought with pride as she pressed enter on her computer to submit the newest supply orders.
With a sigh, she glanced at the time. It was six o’clock. Plenty of time for Mr. Stranger to have finished his meal,
tasted all of the flights of beer samples, and left.
In other words, the coast would be clear!
She locked down her computer and hurried out of her office. When she reached the kitchen, she grabbed an apron,
smiled at the kitchen staff and called out greetings as she headed to the bar area.
 “Thank goodness!” Bobby exclaimed as soon as she stepped out, tying the apron around her waist.
“Already crazy?” Kennedi asked, surveying the bar. It was only six o’clock and already the bar was packed.
Excellent! It was going to be a busy night!
For the next four hours, she poured beers and put in food orders. The tips were great that night and she was relieved
that the stranger was long gone.
When it finally started to slow down, she, Bobby, and the two other bartenders breathed a sigh of relief. The outdoor
bars were shut down, but the two inside bars would stay open until midnight.
Unfortunately, the thinner crowds meant that she could see out to the tables that were still filled with patrons. Every
chair in the place was filled and many people were standing along the wall, listening to the band.
And HE was still there. He’d moved to a corner area, giving up the table. But the beer by his elbow was full and the
man was watching her.
“Hey, Kennedi!” a male voice called out.
Kennedi dragged her eyes away from Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dangerous, glancing over at Brody Benson. With a not-so-
silent groan, she turned away. “Not tonight, Brody!” she called back, releasing the knot on her apron. She tossed it into the
laundry bin as she moved down to the end of the bar.
“Hey, why you doing me like that?” Brody called back, picking up his beer and following her. It was easier to do that
now that the crowd had thinned out. “Why don’t you give me another chance? I could take you to that seafood place over in
Canyon Run.”
Kennedi shuddered. “You mean the place that was shut down last month because a dozen people were rushed to the
hospital with food poisoning?”
Brody stopped, stunned by that news. “Seriously?”
“Yep,” she confirmed, as she kept walking. “Not interested,” she told him. She’d gotten into work early to check over
the deliveries, ensuring that everything she’d ordered had arrived in time for the weekend rush. It was now after ten o’clock
and all she wanted to do was head back to her tiny apartment and sleep for the next twelve hours.
She’d reached the end of the bar, then remembered that her purse, with her car keys, was still in her office.
Turning, she…ran right into Brody.
“See? You love me!” the obnoxious jerk crowed with a laugh, playfully wrapping his arms around her.
Kennedi froze momentarily, then pulled back, wanting to smack the man. “Brody, let me go!”
He tightened his grip around her and added a chuckle as she tried to push away from him. “Ah, darling, you know you
love me. Why are you playing hard to get?”
Kennedi glared up at him, gritting her teeth. “Brody, I have told you no at least four times. Now you are touching me
without permission and I am explicitly telling you to get your hands off me,” she said loudly. “If you don’t let go of me right
now, I will report you for assault!”
Brody, the annoying gnat, merely snickered. “Your words tell me no, but your body is telling me yes.”
“Oh really?” she whispered, tilting her head slightly. She shifted her weight, preparing to ram her knee into his groin.
But before she could, the man’s arms were ripped away from her. Suddenly, she was free and a tall, dark shadow loomed over
them both.
“The lady said no,” the tall stranger growled, then lightly shoved Brody out of the way.
Brody’s eyes darted from Kennedi to the stranger, then back again. “Is this the man you’ve been screwing behind my
back?”
Kennedi’s mouth fell open. “Brody, what in the world are you talking about? We never dated, so there’s no way that I
could be cheating on you!”
 Brody The Weasel scowled at her. “We both know you’ve only been playing hard to get!”
She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You are seriously delusional.”
Tom appeared in that moment, frowning at each of them in turn. “What’s going on here?” he demanded.
“Everything is under control,” Kennedi replied, putting a soothing hand on Tom’s forearm. “Brody was just leaving.”
Tom sighed in disgust and glared at Brody. “Are you harassing Kennedi again, Brody?”
Brody’s jaw dropped at the accusation. “What the hell do you mean, old man? I’m not harassing her! We were just…
negotiating.”
Tom sighed. “Brody, Kennedi has told you she’s not interested several times. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ban you.
If you leave now, I won’t call Mick.”
Brody fisted his hands on his hips, glaring at Tom, then at the stranger. “There’s no need to get the sheriff involved.
This is just a misunderstanding between me and Kennedi.” He turned to glare at the stranger. “And if anyone’s going to be
arrested, it’s him for putting his hands on me.”
Kennedi gasped. “Don’t you dare!” she hissed right back at Brody. “You wouldn’t let me go, Brody, and there are
about twelve witnesses standing behind you that will testify to what happened. So do not threaten that man! This has nothing to
do with him and everything to do with you not accepting no as my answer.”
Brody ran a hand through his hair, frustration making him tense. Frustration and alcohol, she corrected. The guy wasn’t
drunk, probably not even over the legal limit to drive. But alcohol tended to loosen one’s moral compass. A lot of people did
things after drinking that weren’t necessarily something they’d do if they’d been stone cold sober.
“Brody, get out,” Tom ordered. “Don’t come back.”
Startled, Brody’s mouth fell open for a long moment. “You can’t do that!” he whined.
Kennedi looked over at the stranger. He was leaning against the wall and looked like a relaxed observer of the
confrontation.
But there was something about the man, a latent strength that whispered that he wasn’t relaxed. He was tense, and
ready to step in and forcibly remove Brody from the premises if the need arose.
However, Tom had a direct line to the sheriff, and most likely, there were several deputies stationed close by, ready to
stop anyone who might try to drive after having too many beers. Tom worked hard to ensure that no one left drunk. But he
couldn’t be everywhere. Every bartender and wait staff member was told to stop serving alcohol to anyone who appeared
close to the legal limit, but they weren’t psychic.
“As the owner, I absolutely can do that. And I’m sure that Mick will help me enforce my decision if you decide to test
me.”
Again, Brody looked around and suddenly realized that he’d made a spectacle of himself. Pulling himself together, he
jerked the collar of his shirt back in place, then shrugged dismissively. “Fine,” he snapped. “This place is a dump anyway.”
And then he pushed through the doors, stalking out into the humid night air.
As soon as he left, everyone seemed to relax. No one had noticed at the time, but even the band had stopped playing.
That fact was only noticed when they suddenly struck up a new song and everyone turned, whispering about the scene that had
just transpired.
Kennedi turned, clasping her hands together as she walked over to the stranger. “Thank you,” she murmured. “I could
have handled it, but Brody would be limping now.”

Sean watched the woman’s face, but the dim light made it harder to see her expression clearly. “You’re welcome. I’m
sorry that it came to a confrontation.”
“Yeah, well, that’s Brody. He’s harmless.”
 “He is not,” Sean countered. “And you shouldn’t have to put up with assault, from him or anybody else. Do you want
to call the sheriff? I’ll sign an affidavit saying that he wouldn’t let go.”
She flushed and he thought that the pretty pink was the most attractive color he’d ever seen. She lowered her long dark
lashes and he only saw the pink stain on her cheeks for a moment. Then she looked up at him, shaking her head. Those soft,
wispy strands that had escaped from her ponytail danced around her face.
“Thanks, but I’ll be okay. Mick knows all about Brody. He’ll watch out for me.”
Sean didn’t like the sound of that. “Are you leaving?”
“Yes.” She placed her hands on her hips, unaware of how the movement pulled the black tee-shirt tighter across her
lush breasts. But he noticed! And his body reacted to the sight. Of course, Sean tried not to notice. The woman had just been
assaulted by an ass. She didn’t need to be hit on by anyone else just now.
“Thank you again for helping. Most men wouldn’t even notice.”
“Most men are eejits,” he replied, forgetting to smother his accent.
“Irish?” she asked, tilting her head quizzically.
“Aye,” he replied, his lips quirking at her smile. “Southern?”
She laughed, nodding her head. “Fair enough. We both have accents. But yours is nicer.”
He rolled his eyes, amusement lurking on his firm mouth. “Go get yer purse, lass. “I’ll walk ye out to yer car.”
That must have startled her because her smile disappeared and she looked around. “Oh, you don’t need to do that.
You’re not even finished with your beer.”
“The beer is warm. I’ve been working on it for a while now.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “So you’ve just been hanging around here all evening for…what?”
“Just observing,” Sean replied. “Get yer purse.”
She turned, obviously responding to the authority in his voice. But the adorable woman stopped herself and turned,
scowling up at him.
“Do people always obey your orders?”
He chuckled. “Aye. They do.”
The lass obviously wasn’t sure if she should laugh or roll her eyes. Instead, she turned and disappeared through a pair
of swinging doors that obviously led to the kitchen.
Sean suspected that the lass was annoyed with him, and would go out through the employee doors on the other side of
the building. That was fine with him, he thought. It was time for him to head back to his rental house and consider everything
he’d learned tonight.
Stepping outside, he looked around at the parking lot. Sure enough, there was a dark shadow skulking along the row of
cars on the other end of the parking lot. Sean turned with an irritated growl, heading in that direction.
At the same time, the woman in question came out through a pair of glass doors, then turned and locked them behind
her. There was a security light directly over the doors, but the shadow that was hiding near the cars kept still and went
unnoticed. Sean could still see the outline of the man crouched down by the cars, but the woman had no idea that he was there.
“Oi!” he called out, startling her.
Sean noticed the terrified look in her eyes but he kept on walking, breezing right past her. “Brody, come on out and get
away from her car!” His accent was in full force now, his anger pulsating.
There was a small gasp behind him when Brody pushed up to his full height. The man was still a half a head shorter
than the woman, but he was pissed off now.
“What the hell are you doing out here, Brody?” the woman demanded.
 Brody stepped fully out of the shadows now. He held his hands out to her placatingly, trying to appear less menacing.
It wasn’t working.
“Now, see, Kennedi, I just wanted to talk to you,” the idiot explained, stepping out into the light.
“Lass, why don’t you get in your car and head on home. I’ll make sure this ass doesn’t come after ye.”
The woman, Kennedi, he realized, huffed a bit. “Were you planning to jump me in this empty parking lot, Brody?” she
insisted. “Were you?’
“No!” he lied. “Like I said, I just want to talk to you!”
“We have nothing to discuss. And if you come near me again, I’m going straight to Mick. You seriously do not want
Mick to dig into your life, Brody.”
Brody huffed a bit, but backed away. “Fine! I’m leaving!”
Sean didn’t believe him for a moment. “Why don’t ye just stay here for a bit. Let the lass get a head start on her drive
home.” He stepped closer. “I’m sure that Kennedi,” damn, he liked that name, “would feel more comfortable if she was sure
ye aren’t gonna follow her back to her place.”
“I’m going home!” Brody snarled. “Get out of my way, you prick!”
“Here now,” Sean replied, moving so that Brody would follow him. That would allow Kennedi to get into her car and
drive away. “Let’s discuss yer anger issues over here, ta?”
“I’m not discussing anything with you! Why don’t you head on back to Scotland or wherever? We don’t need ya’ll
coming over here and stealing our jobs!”
Sean sighed with irritation. The man really needed to get a new line. “That’s an excellent idea. Have ye ever thought
of visiting Europe?” He didn’t bother to correct the man about his country. Scottish! As if any intelligent person would
mistake an Irish accent for a Scottish one! Ridiculous!
“Nah. Why would I? Everything I need is right here!”
Sean noticed that the man’s gaze flitted over to where Kennedi was now pulling out of the parking lot.
“Well, that’s a good thing, I suppose,” he lied. “No need to expand one’s perspective in any way, aye?” He added the
Scottish word for “yes”, simply to reinforce that the man was truly an eejit.
Brody huffed a bit, shuffling his feet against the gravel parking lot. “Okay, she’s gone now. Why don’t you just let me
get the hell out of here? Otherwise, I’ll call the police and tell them that you’ve kidnapped me.”
“I think that would be an excellent idea, Brody. I think that ye should definitely call the police or, even better, the
sheriff. Why don’t ye do that right now? Let’s explain what almost happened here tonight.” His accent was completely gone
now that Kennedi was out of danger. He didn’t give a damn about his personal safety, and perhaps some smart psychologist
would have a field day about that. But for the moment, Sean wasn’t concerned about his lack of life-longevity.
“Go to hell, you arrogant bastard!” Brody snapped.
Out of the corner of his eye, Sean saw the woman’s tail lights fade turn a corner and vanish. “Just a few more minutes
and then you can be on your way.”
Brody’s fury broke loose as he realized that he had no way of catching up with Kennedi. So he took a furious swing.
Fortunately, Sean had grown up as the bastard son of the wealthiest man in the village. Too many kids had tried to pick a fight
with him, so he knew how to fight, mean and dirty. Brody’s fist was easily caught in Sean’s left hand.
“There now,” Sean murmured, trying to soothe the man’s temper. “No need to go on with all that.”
“Brody Daniels!” a new voice rang out, this one filled with authority.
Brody turned and Sean relaxed his hold on the man’s fist, sensing that the man’s anger had suddenly dissipated.
Flashing blue lights suddenly lit up the night sky.
“What the hell are you doing?” A tall, dark haired man demanded as he emerged from the sheriff’s cruiser. “How
many times do I have to arrest you for being an idiot before you learn your lesson?”
“I didn’t do nothing, Mick!” Brody whined, backing up. “This prick wouldn’t let me get to my car. That’s kidnapping,
right?”
The sheriff was already pulling out his handcuffs. For a moment, Sean wondered if he’d end up in cuffs, but it was
Brody that the sheriff cuffed.
“Damn it, now I have to add ‘making a false statement to law enforcement’, Brody! Why don’t you just shut up!” And
then the sheriff read him his Miranda rights.
“Do you want to file a formal complaint, sir?” the sheriff asked, holding Brody with one hand while he turned to Sean.
“I saw Brody take a swing at you. It’s all caught on my dashcam. So it’s pretty much an open and shut case.”
Sean considered that for a long moment, more to piss off Brody than because he had any intention of pressing charges.
“Not necessary,” he finally replied. “However, I think you should have a long chat with him. He has a thing for the pretty
brown-haired waitress that works here. The man was about to follow her home.”
“Kennedi?” the sheriff asked, then sighed when Sean nodded. “She’s not a waitress. She’s the supply manager, but
she helps out whenever someone calls out sick. Tom called me a couple minutes ago, letting me know that Brody was harassing
Kennedi.” He turned to face Brody. “We’ve already discussed you stalking the ladies, Brody. Why do you keep deciding a
woman wants you to the point you just won’t believe her when she says no?”
“Hell, Mick! You know that some of the ladies want a man to convince her. No is–”
“No means no!” the sheriff and Sean snapped at the same time.
The flashing blue lights from the sheriff’s cruiser revealed the flush staining Brody’s cheeks at the dual admonishment.
“Come on, you jackass!” the sheriff said, jerking Brody’s arm to get him to start walking towards his cruiser.
“What the hell, Mick? You’re going to take the word of a stranger?”
The sheriff rolled his eyes. “All on video. Plus, I don’t know the other guy, but I do know you. And whenever there’s
trouble, you most likely started it.” He pushed Brody into the back of the cruiser, protecting the man’s head as he ducked into
the back.
Once Brody was confined to the back of the cruiser, the sheriff turned to Sean. “Thanks for stepping in. Tom
mentioned that you rescued Kennedi earlier tonight too.”
“Not a problem.”
The sheriff shook his head, pressing his thumb to the brim of his hat to push it back slightly. “Brody’s a bully and
intimidates people. He gets off on it. So stepping in to help Kennedi was dangerous. Brody tends to lash out first and ask
questions later.”
“Bullies usually back down when they are confronted.”
The sheriff sighed, nodding his head. “Yeah, but Brody isn’t smart enough to back down. Especially when he’s been
drinking.” He stuck out his hand. “Thanks for watching out for Kennedi. She’s a good woman.”
Sean shook the officer’s hand, nodding. “My pleasure.”
The sheriff chuckled. “I just bet it is.” He glanced over his shoulder to ensure that his prisoner was still safe, then
turned back to Sean. “Name’s Mick. Call me if you have any more problems while you’re in town.”
Sean nodded and accepted the card the officer offered. “Thank ye,” he replied, his Irish accent coming out because he
was so surprised by the kindness of the offer.
The sheriff nodded, then got into his cruiser and drove away, the blue lights turned off as soon as he pulled out of the
parking lot.
Sean stuffed the card into his pocket, then went to his rental car, fishing his key’s out of his pocket as he went.
Interesting night, he thought as he drove away. Tom, the owner of “The Old Goat”, had turned him down flat. He’d scheduled
several days to work out details here in Newnan, Georgia. Tom had said no, but maybe it was a good time for a mini vacation.
The weather here was hot, but the house he’d rented was lakefront. Maybe he could just relax for a couple of days. Perhaps he
could have another conversation with Tom about his business processes. Sean didn’t know of any other business owner with
that same level of loyalty to his employees. Perhaps there was a way to implement some of Tom’s ideas into his own business
interests.
Chapter 2

Kennedi stared at the man sitting casually by the window. He was in her coffee shop! How dare he invade her personal…!
Okay, the coffee shop wasn’t her personal space, but it was her favorite place!
Yes, she could just grab a cup of coffee somewhere else. But Ella made the best coffee in town. Kennedi had no idea
what Ella’s secret was, but there was something magical about the coffee Ella served.
But now HE was there, casually sipping a cup of coffee, acting as if he hadn’t just ruined her entire Saturday! How
was she supposed to relax and enjoy her weekend when she couldn’t even get a cup of Ella’s coffee?
She’d been standing by her car, mentally debating the issue, when the man in question suddenly looked up. Right at
her! Those blue eyes penetrated through the heat and humidity with ease. Other pedestrians walked along the sidewalk, briefly
blocking their view of each other, but it didn’t matter. The intensity of his gaze didn’t waver.
His look dared her to come inside, she suddenly realized. He was baiting her!
For a moment, she considered just getting in her car and leaving. She could go back to her apartment and make herself
a cup of coffee. But that plan had two problems. The first was that she would feel like a coward. And secondly, her own
coffee wasn’t nearly as good as Ella’s. It was Saturday and Kennedi wanted…no…she needed a dose of Ella’s magical
coffee!
Even from across the street, she saw, and felt, the man’s dark eyebrow lift in question. No, not in question. In
challenge.
Darn it, she never allowed a challenge to go unaccepted! She’d never been able to back down like that. She’d grown
up with three older brothers and never let them get away with taunting her. It was a matter of principle.
And survival!
With a slight lift of her chin, she walked into the coffee shop, and stood in line. Since it was Saturday, the line was
long, nearly out the door. Sometimes, it felt as if everyone in town came in for a cup of Ella’s coffee. From Thursday through
Sunday, there was always a long line.
Kennedi waited impatiently, her arms crossed over her chest. She refused to allow herself to look at the man. She
wasn’t going to look!
Not.
Gonna.
Look!
She looked. Sure enough, he was still watching her.
With a huff of impatience, she turned away, staring at the back of the person in front of her. She didn’t know the
person, which meant they were tourists, most likely here to browse through some of the antique shops. Newnan had great
history, and as that reputation grew, several antique shops had opened on Market Street, the main road through their small
town.
Kennedi didn’t mind the tourists. They brought in money and kept the town on the map. They didn’t just buy the
antiques. They ate at the local restaurants, and…stood in front of her at her favorite coffee shop.
Still, Kennedi fought not to look at the man again. She could feel his gaze on her, but refused to turn.
Thankfully, Ella’s efficiency helped keep the line moving forward.
“I gotcha!” Ella called out to Kennedi, already knowing her order. “Extra-large coffee with a shot of chocolate.” Ella
slid the enormous cup of coffee across the counter and Kennedi sighed happily.
“Have I told you lately how much I love you?” she whispered in a conspiratorial tone. The words caused the couple
in front of her to glance back, but they only chuckled and kept moving towards the cash register.
 “Yes!” Ella whispered back with a wink. “Are you coming to Bunco tonight?” she asked, her hands already reaching
for another cup to start preparing the next customer’s order.
Kennedi was always amazed at how well Ella could multi-task. The blond haired, brown-eyed beauty could do about
fifty tasks at the same time. That’s one of the reasons she was so successful, Kennedi thought.
“Yep. It’s at Mandy’s house this time, right?”
Ella finished with one order and moved on to the next, grabbing the milk container to steam more milk. “Yep. I found
the recipe for a great cocktail. You guys will be my guinea pigs.”
Kennedi cringed. “Nope! There’s no way you can convince me to try anything you concoct again.”
Ella laughed and filled a cup half full with steamed milk. “You know you love my experiments. And this one will be
extra good.”
“Remember the last time you experimented on us? We ended up sleeping on Mandy’s floor because we were too drunk
to drive home.”
Ella sighed, her hands pausing for a millisecond as she smiled dreamily. “Ah, good times!” Then she dropped the
dreamy expression and ordered, “Be there!”
Kennedi rolled her eyes, then offered her credit card to the person running the register. Turning, her eyes landed on the
man again. The moments with Ella had been merely a reprieve. Who was that guy, anyway? And why in the world did he
have this strange effect on her? Kennedi didn’t like the flutters in her belly or the trembling of her knees. It was annoying!
Kennedi knew that she didn’t “do” annoying very well.
Then again, who did?
Probably him, she thought, then stepped to the side as someone bumped her. Kennedi suddenly realized that she was in
the way of the other customers who were trying to exit the coffee shop.
She scooted to the right, giving other customers room to go around her. But she couldn’t force her feet to move her
past the man. Sure, she could just walk out the doorway without stopping. However, the man had helped her last night. She
hadn’t wanted to admit it, even to herself, but last night had been scary. Kennedi knew the only reason Brody hadn’t followed
her home was because of this tall, scary, incredibly handsome man. She had no idea how he’d done that, but she appreciated
his assistance.
So at a minimum, she owed him a thank you.
Taking a deep, slow breath, she cradled her magic brew, and walked up to his table.
“I owe you a debt of gratitude.”
The man blinked at her. “Ye do?” he asked, then leaned forward, pushing the chair on the other side of the table out
with his foot. “Why?”
“You…uh…kept Brody from harassing me last night. More than once.” She twirled her coffee cup on the table
thoughtfully, choosing her words with care. “He’s normally a jerk, but when he’s been drinking, he becomes more obnoxious
than usual.”
“He’s in custody today,” the man offered.
That was surprising. “He is?”
“Aye, lass. He won’t be bothering you fer a while.”
Her head tilted slightly. “Your accent comes and goes. Why is that?”
He shrugged with a non-answer. “I guess it’s just a fickle thing.” His eyes twinkled as he leaned in. “Perhaps it’s a
fake accent. Maybe I’m not Irish.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “I believe you.”
“Why’s that?” he demanded. “I’m a stranger to ye.”
 Her smile widened. “After serving drinks for the past several years, I have a pretty well-honed liar-radar. You’re the
real deal.”
A half-smile danced across his handsome features. “What else do ye know about me?”
Against her best judgment, she sat down in the empty chair.
She narrowed her eyes and twisted the top off her coffee. After absorbing the delicious jolt of caffeine, she answered
his question. “I suspect that you have a dark past. You’re running from something.”
His eyes hardened, but the smile remained. “I never run, lass.”
She shifted on the chair, getting more comfortable. “My name is Kennedi.”
“I know.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “And your name is…?”
“Sean,” he replied, bowing his head slightly. “At your service, my lady.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “No aristocracy here, Sean,” she replied with emphasis. “Americans disdain titles,”
she added in a stage whisper.
“Eh, Americans are as much of a plutocracy as the rest of the world. In fact, I don’t think that the wealthy are nearly as
subtle about the plutocratic control of a person’s life as they used to be. Lately, they’ve become rather brazen about their
manipulations.”
“Really?” Kennedi leaned in, fascinated. “I’d love an example.”
He shrugged, but his eyes were sharp. “At the beginning of the pandemic, everyone was quarantined in their homes.”
Kennedi grimaced. “I remember,” she replied, shuddering slightly. “It was horrible.”
He laughed. “Ye’re an extrovert then?”
She shrugged. “I enjoy being around people. I gain energy from being around people. So yes, I’m an extrovert.
However, I can be by myself when there aren’t any better options.”
He smiled, nodding. “Aye, well, the price of certain products skyrocketed. Such as lumber. There were still plenty of
supplies, but the various industries claimed that the price increase was merely because of the pandemic and low supplies or
labor shortages. That was partially true, but many companies used the crisis to boost prices and, in turn, created record
breaking profits for that period.” He sipped his coffee. “And since ye’re Supreme Court rejected limits on political donations,
all of your elections, all of the decisions made by the politicians, are decided by whomever provides the largest donations to
ye’re politicians.” He set the half-empty coffee cup down. “It’s all about the math.”
She cringed. “I had suspicions, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard it explained so succinctly.”
He shrugged negligently. “Business will find a way.”
She grinned. “I thought the phrase was ‘nature will find a way.’”
He grinned, a full smile this time. “Aren’t those two basically the same?”
She laughed. “I suppose that they are.” She looked at him carefully. “What do you do, Sean?” she asked. “Besides
save damsels in distress?”
“I do a lot of things,” he replied. “I have an office outside of Philadelphia.”
“What’s Pennsylvania like?” she asked, thinking about traveling. “I’ve always wanted to see other states.”
“Pennsylvania is beautiful. Cold in the winter months, hot and humid during the summer.” He took another sip of his
coffee. “Why don’t ye go find out fer yerself?”
Kennedi sighed and shrugged. “Oh, I promised myself that I would travel and see the world. But I haven’t gotten there
yet.”
 “Ye went to college, yes?”
“Oh yeah, college was great. But I’d been working for Tom since high school. He always had more work for me and
the money was too good to pass up. I saved all of my pay for college tuition. I attended the University of Georgia and got my
business degree. Plus, Tom’s scholarship money helped a lot.”
He leaned forward slightly, his long, lean fingers toying with the coffee cup. “Ye didn’t take a senior trip somewhere?
Or an internship?”
She shook her head again, her dark ponytail flipping against her neck. “No. I was too grateful to Tom for the job and
the benefits. So, when he asked me to cover a shift at the brewery, I jumped on it.”
“What about now? Why don’t ye take some vacation time and just get in yer car and go somewhere?”
She shuddered. “No, I couldn’t do that. I’m a planner. I need to know where I’m going and what I’ll be doing, where
I’m staying. I even plan out the restaurants that I want to visit. I need organization.” She laughed softly. “It’s one of the
reasons I’m so good at my job. I’m very good at planning things.”
He nodded, a slow, unexpectedly sexy smile making her skin sizzle with awareness. “Sounds like a highly organized
life.”
She tilted her head. “Now, why did that sound like an insult?”
He chuckled. “No insult intended, lass. It’s just that ye’re young. Now’s the time to head out and do something wild.
Even if ye need to plan it out.”
She bit her lip thoughtfully, her lashes dropping as she considered his advice. “I’ll think about it.” She realized that
she’d finished her coffee. When had that happened?
She sighed and took the plastic lid, pressing it back on to her cup. “Well, thank you again for last night. I truly owe
you one.”
“Ye can pay me back by telling me what there is to do in town. I’m looking for something interesting.”
She paused, feeling an unanticipated rush of elation that their interlude wasn’t over. “How long are you in town?”
“A few days. Longer if I find something worth sticking around for. Shorter if there’s nothing to do.”
She tapped her chin with her finger, then her eyes lit up. “There are several ante-bellum homes that you could tour on
Englewood Street. They are absolutely beautiful! I visit the houses at least once a year, drooling over the stained glass
windows and the glorious details that were built into them. There’s a library in one of the homes that has floor to ceiling
shelves that are absolutely filled with books! And the gardens in the old Foster home?” She sighed as if she’d gone to heaven.
“The herb garden alone is awe inspiring! I like touching the herbs, smelling the scents as they drift up on the air and stick to my
hands.”
“That sounds great. Are ye ready?”
He stood up and took her empty coffee cup, tossing it into the trash along with his own.
Kennedi blinked, startled by his question. “Ready? For what?”
“To tour the old homes. Ye’re coming wi’ me, right?”
Go with him? Spend several hours in this man’s company? “No! I couldn’t! I was just suggesting that you tour the
homes.”
“But you’ve seen the homes before. Several times. If ye don’t take me on a tour, then I’ll miss somethin’ important.”
She stepped back, startled by his assertion. “Yes, the homes are lovely and–”
“Ye don’t want to see them again?”
She blinked, staring up at him with confusion. “Of course I do. But…I can’t go with you!”
His eyebrows went up in surprise. “Why not?”
 “Because…well, because you’re…you!”
He glanced down at his clothes and Kennedi almost laughed at his confusion. “Is my outfit wrong? I’m not familiar
with ye’re southern ways. Is there a certain kind of clothing one wears when touring old homes?”
She laughed, surprisingly delighted with him. His confusion made him seem a little more…approachable. “It isn’t
that. It’s just that…well, don’t you want to experience the tours with a professional? There’s a docent who can guide you
through the rooms and explain everything to you.”
“If ye have something more important to do, then I’ll get someone else to take me on the tour. But if ye are interested in
taking me, I’d be delighted with a little more of your company.”
Put that way, and with that irresistible accent that he kept trying to hide, Kennedi couldn’t resist. “You’re too charming
for my peace of mind,” she muttered under her breath, but Sean heard her and chuckled softly, a rumbling sound coming from
deep in his chest.
He considered that for a moment. “I think I like being called ‘too charming’,” he replied with a teasing glint.

Sean watched as Kennedi smiled slowly, then turned on her heel and walked out of the coffee shop. At the last minute,
he turned, glancing toward the coffee shop’s counter. The line of customers had diminished while they’d been talking. Now,
there were only a few people left in the café. Still, it was a shock to discover that all four café employees were watching.
“I think we might have started a bit of gossip,” he warned her, putting a hand to the small of her back as he guided her
down the sidewalk.
“Why’s that?” she asked, slipping her sunglasses on.
“The coffee shop will be abuzz with the fact that ye came out wi’ me.”
She twisted around, staring back at the coffee shop. She stopped for a moment, her mouth hanging open. Quickly, she
closed it, then shrugged dismissively and turned back. “It will be fine,” she assured him. “Ella will tamp down on any
gossip. She’s a good friend. I’m meeting her and some others later for a ladies night.”
“I’d be fascinated to learn what actually happens during such evenings,” he replied, looking both ways before leading
her across the street.
For the next few hours, they toured three of the five houses, then stopped for lunch. Sean appreciated Kennedi’s
knowledge, not only of the houses, but also of the town’s history. The past wasn’t always pleasant, but Newnan wasn’t just a
fly-by-night town either. Every town had a past that might be considered less than savory. But Kennedi was a perfect tour
guide. She explained not only the interesting facts about the houses and the town, but also the history that most places didn’t
like to advertise.
When they stopped for lunch, he listened with fascination as she told him about growing up in a small town where the
most interesting thing to do was the Friday night high school football game. When teens grew bored, they got into trouble. The
high school students of Newnan were no different than so many other small town teens and he laughed heartily at her amusing
stories of bonfires gone awry, night-time raids on friends’ houses, and fleeing from the principal when a group were caught
under the bleachers playing poker.
“I have to go,” she finally sighed, and Sean was comforted by the disappointment in her tone and the reluctance in her
pretty, blue eyes.
“Ladies night?”
“Exactly,” she replied. “Will you…?”
“Absolutely. I’ll be here tomorrow. Will ye meet me for breakfast?”
Immediately, Kennedi brightened at the thought of seeing him again. “Of course!” she gasped.
He smiled, then leaned forward and lightly brushed his lips against hers. “Until tomorrow. Be careful tonight, lass.”
Then he turned, heading for his car parked two streets over. He whistled a bit, thinking that Kennedi was different, in
a very good way, from the women he’d been with in the past. His previous mistress had been a bit of a…well, she’d been too
demanding. He normally didn’t take much time off between business transactions. Once he found a company that he wanted to
acquire, he released his lawyers and negotiators on that business. The due diligence process, not to mention, the intricacies of
working out a deal, always caused him to shift into overdrive. Sean greatly enjoyed the challenge of buying up a business,
finding out what needed to be fixed, then selling it off for a profit.
He didn’t analyze the reasons why he never kept any of the businesses he purchased, other than the breweries and one
third ownership in TBC, The Bastards Club that he owned jointly with his two best friends, Levi Harris and Matteo del
Campo. Both men were also bastards, rejected by their wealthy fathers. Just like him.
And the breweries? One didn’t need to have a degree in psychology to understand that little hobby of his. He wanted
to “stick it” to his father. Every time the Earl of Winton hinted at any interest in a US company, Sean bought it up at once,
stopping the old man from purchasing the business.
In Sean’s mind, it was his way of protecting the businesses. Martin O’Clary, Earl of Winton, was a bastard of the
worst sort. He’d sexually assaulted Sean’s mother, then left her pregnant and penniless. And it had all started in the little pub
in the tiny town near his “father’s” home. Sean’s mother had been a waitress there. She’d been young and beautiful, but
vulnerable to a powerful man.
Pushing those thoughts aside, he drove through the streets of the city, then decided to go further out into the country, just
to pass the time. At one point, he glanced across a field of soybean and thought he saw something. Narrowing his eyes, he
caught a brief flash of…red? What would that color be doing out here in the middle of a field.
Sean pulled over, carefully watching the place where he’d seen the flash. But nothing moved. The stillness of the late
afternoon heat shimmered in the air, but there was no hint of red.
Thinking that he’d just imagined it, he pulled back onto the street and kept driving, thinking about Kennedi and her
sweet, sexy smile.
Chapter 3

“Kennedi, you need a refill!” Clara called out.

Kennedi smiled, but put a hand over her glass. “I’m good,” she replied. “Still working on this one.”
Then she glanced through the window. Again!
It was him, she thought, worrying her lower lip. Sean was at the house next door. It was a big, beautiful home and the
man in question was sitting outside by the fire pit. She could see his face, lit by the flames, and her heart pounded against her
ribs.
Was he watching her? Did he know she was here? Clara’s parents were out of town for the weekend, so their “Bunco
night” had migrated from Clara’s tiny apartment to her parents’ luxurious, lakeside residence. There were enormous windows
that looked out at the lake. But at night, their antics were lit from the inside and she prayed that Sean hadn’t seen them dancing
wildly earlier.
“It’s your roll, Kennedi,” someone called out.
Sighing, she turned and sat down at the table. Bunco nights were fun because the game required zero skill. One simply
rolled the dice and wrote down the numbers that came up. There were winning numbers and losing numbers. Basically, Bunco
was a great way for a group of people to get together to play a game while also chatting and enjoying each other’s company.
Kennedi sipped her cocktail, then glanced out the window again.
Another jolting pulse of electricity sizzled up her spine.
Surely he couldn’t see her, she thought. Okay, the windows in Clara’s house were huge and the lights were bright.
Could Sean see into the house? Surely he couldn’t see her, specifically.
Right?
She wanted to believe that, but the sensation of Sean’s eyes on her was…thrilling. It excited her in an odd way.
Wasn’t she supposed to dislike men watching her? And wasn’t it a little invasive that he was watching their party from
next door?
Okay, “next door” wasn’t exactly next door. There were plenty of trees in between the houses. During the day, the
trees gave one a sense of privacy. But at night, the light traveled through the darkness and the feeling of isolation abated.
However, the electrifying sensation of his gaze didn’t ease! He was too tall and too powerfully built to ignore.
And he must be relatively wealthy if he could afford to rent the house next door. It was big and luxurious. Kennedi
had no idea how much the owners charged their tenants, but it had to be a significant amount.
“It’s your roll, Kennedi,” someone called out again.
She blinked and pulled her attention back to the game.
“What has you so distracted tonight?” Clara asked, taking a big sip of her cocktail.
Everyone turned, looking out the window. “Who is that?” someone asked. “I can only make out that it’s a man.”
Ellen leaned forward, squinting into the night. “Is that the guy you were talking to at the coffee shop this morning?”
“Ooh! I heard about the good looking stranger that came into town this weekend!” Everyone was now peering towards
the fire but…he was gone!
Even the fire had gone out. Must be a gas fire pit, Kennedi decided, cringing at the way the other women were staring
avidly.
Everyone shrugged, unable to see anything now that the fire had gone out.
“He probably cheats on his wife and has ten kids,” Clara groaned. “Good looking men always end up being cheaters
or losers.”
Ellen patted Clara’s shoulder comfortingly. “Matthew was a jerk, but not all men are bad,” she assured her. “It was
an awful breakup, and he ended things badly, but you’ll meet someone new.”
Kennedi listened with only half an ear as the rest of the group started developing a plan to torture Matthew, Clara’s ex-
boyfriend of four years. No one was paying attention to the man next door now that the fire was out. But Kennedi knew that he
was still there, still watching her, and it thrilled her!
Was the alcohol in the cocktail giving her false courage? Because right now, she wanted more than anything to walk
through the dark woods and find the man. This morning in the coffee shop and then showing him around the old homes had
proven that he was an intelligent, interesting person.
With a huff, she took another sip of her cocktail, but she was only on her first of the night. Everyone else was on their
third drink, if not their fourth. Which was pretty normal for this group, she thought, setting her drink onto the countertop.
A half hour later, the game had been completely abandoned and her friends were dancing wildly, laughing and having a
wonderful time. But Kennedi wasn’t feeling it.
She was feeling him! His gaze! She could literally feel his eyes on her and it thrilled her to distraction.
Stepping out onto the porch, she looked over at the next house. There was a light on in one of the upstairs bedrooms
and a light shining out through the kitchen windows. But somehow, Kennedi knew that the man wasn’t in either the bedroom or
the kitchen. The night air was still thrumming with expectation and she felt her muscles tense.
Should she go over there? There was more than enough moonlight to guide her through the trees. Glancing over her
shoulder, she was pretty sure that none of her friends would even notice if she left.
Then her eyes returned to the house next door. Was he still sitting on the deck? Or had he gone inside? She knew that
the mosquitoes and other no-see-ums were out in full force. She was one of those lucky souls that wasn’t allergic to mosquito
saliva, so being outside during the summer months was relaxing.
She could feel the intensity of his personality even from this distance. She could feel it and reacted to it.
And she wanted him!
Again, she glanced over her shoulder to check on her friends. Two were already dozing on the sectional sofa while the
rest were still dancing in the kitchen.
Turning away from the inebriated scene, she gazed out through the darkness. He was there. She could feel him.
With a small sigh, Kennedi gave up debating and carefully made her way through the trees towards him.

As soon as she started down the stairs, Sean stood up and moved towards her. He hadn’t meant to be stalkerish by
watching the ladies while they had a good time, but he couldn’t seem to stop. And she kept looking his way, causing his body
to tighten with unexpected awareness.
This went deeper than simple desire, he realized, setting his beer down on the banister. This was a bone deep
awareness, a lust for one particular woman. It was different and more intense than anything he’d ever experienced.
When he reached her, he took her hand, helping her step over a fallen log.
“It is you!” she whispered.
Sean’s desire snapped, shifting into sudden horror. “Are you telling me that you walked through the woods, at night,
going to someone that you weren’t even sure you knew?!”
Kennedi smiled up at him and his stomach muscles tightened. Other muscles tightened as well!
“I knew it was you,” she assured him, her voice still low, as if the night somehow made the moment more intimate.
Sean didn’t know what to say. So instead, he lowered his head and kissed her. This wasn’t a simple peck. He’d done
that this afternoon and his body had been berating him for not taking full advantage of the opportunity.
 He planned to this time. Standing here in the woods wasn’t ideal, but Sean couldn’t stop kissing her in order to move
into the house. When she moaned softly, he nearly lost his control.
“Come inside,” he whispered. As he pulled away, he smelled the alcohol on her breath and groaned. “You’ve been
drinking, haven’t you?”
She sighed as well. “Yes. So this probably isn’t the best idea.”
He gazed down at her, keeping her within the circle of his arms. “My body thinks it’s a damn good idea.”
“I haven’t had that much to drink,” she offered, those eyes hidden by the darkness. But he could feel her trembling with
hope and desire.
For a long moment, he considered ignoring his conscience and making love to her anyway. But he’d regret it in the
morning. He suspected she would too.
“We’ll go inside, but we’re not having sex,” he warned her, stepping back and taking her hand. “Do you need to tell
your friends where you are?”
They both turned to look back at the other house. Everyone was settling down, falling asleep or watching a movie.
“No, they won’t even notice I’m gone,” she assured him.
“Good. Come with me.”
He led her into his house and then pulled her to the sofa. He didn’t dare take her upstairs to his bedroom. He only had
a morsel of control left.
Pulling her down onto the sofa, he wrapped his arms around her, feeling a sense of rightness when she snuggled up
against him. Her cheek rested against his chest and he could feel every movement of her body.
“Goodness, it’s been a long day.” She smothered another yawn. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how much the alcohol and
the sugar in the cocktail was affecting me.”
Gritting his teeth while she settled down, he combed his fingers through her hair, reveling in the soft strands. “What
game were you ladies playing over there?”
“Bunco,” she admitted with a heavy yawn. He felt her melt into his side, her cheek nuzzling his chest like a kitten.
He felt her relax even further and wasn’t sure if he was insulted that she could so easily fall asleep in his presence, or
wanting to roar with triumph that she felt secure enough to fall asleep on him.
He liked both options, actually.
His body disagreed. His body was seriously pissed off the woman he’d been lusting after for…had it really only been
twenty four hours? He glanced at his watch. Just over twenty-four hours. The woman was seriously twisting his entire pattern
of “dating”. He never snuggled. And he never, ever, just slept with a woman. Once the sex was over, he vacated the area as
soon as possible, not wanting to give the woman false hope that something more than a casual sexual relationship was
possible.
Yes, Sean knew that his desire to avoid any sort of commitment stemmed from his father’s rejection. Unconsciously,
Sean had avoided any kind of situation where he might be rejected.
He thought about his father. Staring up at the ceiling, he thought back to all of those nights he’d lain in bed, wondering
what it would be like to be acknowledged by his father. Even after all these years, he still couldn’t push aside the desire to be
acknowledged. With a grunt, he tried to banish the thoughts, to force them away, but they kept returning, fantasies of playing
ball with his dad, understanding the responsibilities of being the Earl of Winton, of knowing that he would eventually take over
where his father left off.
But none of that was possible. His father had an heir. The Earl of Winton was hale and hearty, if one ignored the
whispers of financial problems that sporadically bubbled up in the business world.
Maybe Sean should look into the old man’s financial issues. Liam, his half-brother, had scorned him repeatedly during
their years at boarding school. Yes, the earl had demanded that Sean attend the same boarding school, threatening Sean’s
mother with dire consequences if she didn’t enroll Sean at the school. She never knew how the heir to the earldom had laughed
at Sean’s obviously used uniform, scorned the lack of money that kept Sean from joining the sports teams. The earl had only
paid Sean’s tuition and boarding. He’d forced Sean’s mother to pay for everything else.
Those days were over, he reminded himself. Sean’s personal net worth was ten times what his father had been at the
best of times. There was no more shaming him for his poor clothes or his worn out shoes.
His arms tightened around Kennedi. He wondered what his mother would think of Kennedi. Would his mother
approve of the woman in his arms? His mother always approved of everything Sean did. Hell, Sean could have been in prison
and his mother would have patted him on the back and told him that she was proud of him for not getting a longer prison
sentence. She supported him in every damn thing he tried.
Whereas his father and half-brother had scorned him at every turn. They wrote opinion pieces for the news outlets,
criticizing his business practices. They used the gossip columns to suggest that he did one thing or another, sometimes illegal
or unethical activities. None were true. Sean’s father and half-brother never bothered to be honest. Thankfully, the press had
stopped printing their lies since there was never any evidence to support the stupid stories.
Oh, they didn’t come right out and use his name, which was how the press protected themselves from libel lawsuits.
The nobility never were that blatant with their criticism. No, his father merely discussed Sean’s business efforts in only the
vaguest of terms. But anyone who knew anything about the Earl of Winton knew that Sean was his bastard.
And they knew that Sean had now accumulated wealth that completely overshadowed their family’s financial
endeavors.
Kennedi sighed in her sleep, her hand unconsciously smoothing over his chest. For some reason, that sleepy gesture
pushed all thoughts of his father and half-brother out of his head, bringing him back to the present. Back to Kennedi and her
soft curves that were pressing against his side, her thigh lifting to drape over his leg.
He wanted to roll her over and make love to her, but she was fast asleep, her sweet, soft breath tickling his neck. No,
he wouldn’t want to disturb her rest. He remembered that yesterday, she’d worked until late in the evening. Apparently, she’d
gotten in early that morning and had stayed late to help out. He didn’t know anyone with that kind of loyalty.
Okay, that wasn’t true. Matteo and Levi, his best friends and business partners were loyal. Sean was confident that
both would drop everything if he needed help.
And Emily, the club’s business manager. She was amazingly loyal. Correction, she was loyal to him, Matteo and
Levi. And to the other staff members. But he doubted that she had any loyalty to the club members. In fact, she probably
disdained most of the club members.
He really needed to give her a raise. And with that, he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Chapter 4

Kennedi snuggled closer to the warmth, knowing that she needed to wake up, but she hadn’t felt this good in a long time. And
what was that smell? Coffee? Had someone brewed coffee?
The thought of Ella’s magical coffee was worth opening her eyes for. Sitting up, she looked around, blinking at the
bright, early morning sunshine streaming in through the large windows. It took her several moments to remember where she
was. And what she’d done last night!
Okay, she hadn’t had sex with the man. But good grief! She’d slept on his couch! How in the world had she fallen
asleep on him? She remembered the thrumming awareness as they’d stared at each other through the trees. She remembered
walking over to him and how perfect it had felt when he’d kissed her last night. And then she’d…fallen asleep in his arms?!
“Coffee is ready!” a deep, male voice called out.
Just the sound of his voice sent her senses spinning dizzily. Goodness, that man had one hell of an effect on her!
Except, she’d fallen asleep on him last night. Good grief, so much for his potency!
Sean poked his head around the corner, his blue eyes sparkling with quiet amusement. “You look beautiful when you
first wake up.”
Kennedi’s hand flew up, self-consciously trying to tame her rampant locks. “Did we…?” she started to ask, then
glanced down at herself. All of her clothes were still in place.
He stared at her for a long moment, then threw back his head, laughing at her unasked question. Strolling over to her,
he reached down, still chuckling, and pulled her up and into his arms.
“Kennedi, I guarantee that when we have sex, you will remember every detail.”
“Oh,” she whispered, leaning lightly against his hard chest. He’d already showered and looked fresh and very male.
Meanwhile, her teeth felt fuzzy and her breath was probably rancid. She lifted her hand to her face, trying to keep her breath
from his nose.
“The bathroom is upstairs to the right. Use my toothbrush and whatever else you need.” Then he grabbed her wrist and
kissed her pulse, ignoring her gasp of surprise.
A moment later, he released her and patted her bottom. “Hurry up. I’m making breakfast and I get grumpy if I don’t get
fed on time.”
Kennedi relaxed, then laughed as she hurried up the wood stairs. At the top, she turned and glanced back down. He
was watching her and she blushed, turning away as she rushed to find the bathroom.
The only room “to the right” of the staircase was the primary suite. It was enormous and had a stunning view of the
lake. For a moment, she paused to admire the shimmering, early morning view. She’d always wanted a house on the lake, but
these babies started in a price range that she would never be able to afford.
Turning, she found the bathroom and self-consciously picked up his toothbrush. Should she use his brush? Was that
gross? For some reason, it felt deeply intimate.
After cleaning her teeth and finger combing her hair, Kennedi pinched her cheeks, trying to add a touch of color. She
wished she had her purse so that she could apply some lipstick, but that was still at Clara’s place. And everyone there was
probably still asleep and would be for hours.
Tugging her shirt into place, she stepped back and looked at herself.
“You look beautiful,” a husky male voice announced.
“I feel…off, somehow.”
He stepped forward, placing his big, strong hands on her waist. “You look perfectly on,” he replied with a smile.
“Are you hungry?”
 For him? That was the first thing that popped into her mind and she blushed at her immediate “Starving!” response.
But he wasn’t talking about sex. He meant food. The guy was asking if she was hungry for…!
He kissed her! Kennedi froze for a moment, but then she felt her arms lift, wrapping around his neck. And then she
leaned into his embrace, ignoring the whispered warning in the back of her mind that told her she shouldn’t do this.
It didn’t matter. She wanted him. He was heat and life and teasing laughter. He was danger and she could use a bit of
danger in her life. She’d been so sedate, her whole life revolving around work and school and just getting by, week after
week.
Sean was an exotic adventure that she was determined to enjoy.
“Ye’re so lovely!” he groaned, then deepened the kiss. His Irish accent told her that he wasn’t just pretending. She’d
noticed that his accent became thicker whenever he felt something intensely. Hearing it now was more of a turn-on than it
should be, but it showed her that he was just as lost in desire as she was.
And then he touched her. His hands had been resting on her waist, but something spurred him to lift one, cupping her
breast.
Kennedi gasped, surprised by the heat that washed over her. He pulled back, staring into her eyes. Slowly, Kennedi
pressed his hand back against her breast, needing that contact. For a long moment, they remained frozen in that position, staring
into each other’s eyes.
Then there was no more hesitation. With a growl, he pulled her closer, ravaging her mouth with his while he massaged
her breast. When his thumb brushed over her nipple, she cried out, gasping for breath. They were both ravenous as they tore at
each other’s clothes until they were naked and she was pinned against the wall.
Kennedi wanted to climb him! She was so desperate to feel every inch of him against her that she whimpered when he
pulled back.
Thankfully, he pulled back only far enough to lift her up, pressing her back against the wall. And then he was inside
her and…!
“Yes!” she cried out, arching into him, feeling her body stretch to take all of him into her depths. “Yes, don’t stop!”
Kennedi heard a growl, but couldn’t focus enough to tell where the sound came from. All she knew was that he was
thrusting into her and sex had never felt like this! Every thrust was like a lightning bolt to her system. Every press of his
erection into her brought her closer and closer to that miraculous climax. She was frantic with need, clawing at his back,
tugging at his hair in her desperation to get even closer to him.
And then a stunning climax hit her and Kennedi cried out, her back arching, writhing against him. She didn’t know
how he continued to stand with her in his arms, nor did she care. Her world narrowed until only pleasure remained.

Sean felt the rush of his climax hit him before he could control it. He was barely hanging onto her legs as he thrust into
her harder and faster, the scent of her arousal urging him onward. Every inch of her felt as if she’d been made specifically for
him, created to fit against him so perfectly that every part of their bodies were in tune.
And when his climax came, he felt as if his entire self was draining into her. Closing his eyes, he pounded harder and
harder until…there was nothing left.
With the last ounce of his strength, he carried her over to the bed, her body draped across his. They collapsed onto the
bed, laughing, their limbs still tangled.
Sean lifted up, looking down into her eyes. Her hair was a wild mess, her lips red and swollen from his kisses and
she’d never looked more stunning.
Staring at her like this, his body hardened all over again. He couldn’t focus enough to control himself because every
shift of her silky soft skin against his aroused him further until he was right back to his previously frantic state. He lowered his
head, kissing her deeply while they were still intimately connected. And then he started thrusting again. It was slower this
time. But still just as demanding. As he moved inside of her, he locked eyes with her, watching her expressions, needing to
know exactly what turned her on, which angle of thrust brought her closer to that ultimate goal. The whimpers coming from the
back of her throat were hot! And the way she pulled at his hair? Yeah, that was driving him wild! He wanted to tell her to
pull harder, but he couldn’t manage words. Not like this. Maybe later, he could tell her how much he liked it when she pulled
his hair, or when she dragged those sharp nails over his shoulders…but at the moment, he was too…yes!
“Sean!” she screamed, arching her back as he started to move faster. She gripped his shoulders and he wanted to tell
her to dig those nails into his skin, but before he could, her body began convulsing with her newest climax and her nails dug in.
That shoved him over the edge as well. He lowered his head, growling and nipping at her neck as his orgasm washed over
him. He thought that maybe she came again when he bit on her neck, but he wasn’t sure.

Kennedi couldn’t move. She didn’t dare! Movement meant that the whole storm would start again and her body was
too limp, too sated for another round.
“You okay?” he asked, pulling reluctantly out of her heat.
She hissed as he gazed down at her and she closed her legs, shocked at what they’d just done together. “I’m fine,” she
whispered. But she wasn’t. Not fine. She wasn’t even close to being fine! She was…happy. And crazy. And not fine!
“You don’t look fine,” he commented, then lowered his head, pressing his lips to her bare shoulder.
The light touch of his lips tickled and she tried to stifle her reaction, not sure if he would appreciate laughter so soon
after sex. But she couldn’t help it. When his teeth nipped at her earlobe, she gasped, then giggled again, trying to move out of
reach.
“Not yet,” he snarled, pulling her in closer, pulling her back against his chest.
Kennedi felt his legs slide between hers and she pressed herself backwards, staring at him over her shoulder. Her hair
tumbled around them, a complete mess.
“You’re absolutely beautiful,” he whispered to her.
Kennedi’s heart melted. She wasn’t in love with the man. That was impossible. They’d known each other for a day.
But the man knew exactly what to say!
“You’re pretty nice yourself,” she replied, shifting so that she was facing him, running her fingers through her hair and
wondering if it was as disheveled as it felt.
She felt his erection poking at her stomach, then looked up at him with amazement. “Again?” she asked, her voice
barely above a whisper.
“What can I say?” he asked as his hands moved higher, cupping her breasts. He rolled her over and took a nipple into
his mouth, nipping at it, then sucking at the tender tip. “You do it for me.”
She couldn’t deny that he did it for her as well. She’d never been particularly into sex. It had been fine in the past, but
she’d never felt any driving need. Not like this.
“You’re intoxicating,” she murmured, purring as his thumb and forefinger pinched her nipple. She slapped a hand over
his hand and he stopped, but she was unconsciously shifting her hips against his hard stomach, needing relief. Again!
When his fingers didn’t move, she opened her eyes and looked up at him. Then, with nervous fingers, she urged his
thumb and forefinger to pinch her again. And gasped when she felt that jolt of lust right down to her core.
His fingers then found that bundle of nerves and started stroking her, lightly at first, but with his fingers pinching her
nipple, she was nearly mindless for yet another release. Then he did something absolutely outrageous. He pinched her nipple
and her nub at the same time. She instantly shattered, her body arching as she braced her hands against his shoulders for
balance as her body convulsed with another mind-blowing climax.
She opened her eyes, trying to remember how to breathe, only to find herself flat on her back. He was looming over
her and she felt him slide into her heat. There was no resistance. Not after two rounds…and three climaxes. Her body knew
his now, embracing him as if they’d been doing this for years. Still, she convulsed, thrashing against him as he pounded into
her over and over again.
When it was all over this time, his face buried against her neck, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and
beamed, wondering if she’d ever be able to walk again.
Sean’s hand moved lower and she yelped, grabbing his wrist as she pulled his hand away. “No!” she laughed. “I can’t
go again.”
Sean lifted his head up, then braced himself on his elbow. “You think you can’t do that all over again?”
She shivered and shook her head. “Nope. Not gonna happen.”
He sighed and looked down at her. They were completely naked and she didn’t have the energy to even be
embarrassed by it. “You’re seriously a beautiful, incredibly sexy woman, Kennedi,” he muttered. Then stood up and, without
any warning, scooped her up and carried her in his arms to the bathroom. “But you also look like you could use a hot shower.”
He set her down, then turned on the water, keeping his arm around her waist as he held her close.
Without her shoes on, Kennedi felt even shorter compared to his height. “Just how tall are you?”
“Six feet, four inches,” he replied, looking down at her. “Is that a problem?”
She grinned up at him. “Nope. Just another piece of information.”
He lowered his head, kissing her forehead. “And how tall are you?”
“Almost five feet, five inches.”
He chuckled, lifting one of those dark eyebrows in an expression that she was starting to think of as sexy. “Almost?
You’re a munchkin.”
She pulled back, feigning offense. “I don’t remember you complaining about my height a few minutes ago. But if I’m
too short for you, then I can just…” she pretended to pull away, but he growled, pulling her back into the circle of his arms.
“You’re the perfect height,” he assured her, then kissed her again.
The water streamed over their heated bodies and Kennedi gasped when she felt that desire surge through her again.
“Impossible!” she muttered, then closed her eyes as his hands moved over her body. The urgency, the frantic need, was too
much for them and he took her there in the shower, then again on the bathroom floor. Then again in the bedroom.
The sun was just starting to dip below the horizon when she lifted her head from his chest and gasped, looking around.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, smoothing a hand over her naked bottom.
“What time is it?” she asked, wiggling around as she searched for his cell phone.
“It’s about six o’clock,” he replied, turning his phone around so that she could see it.
“No!” she hissed, looking around as if expecting something to jump out and bite her. She jumped out of the bed,
looking around for her clothes.
“Why is that bad?” he asked, walking over to slide his hand over her back. “Are you hungry? I can order something to
be delivered.”
Her blue eyes lifted to his, her hair flipping around as she processed his question. “Delivery?” she repeated, then
looked around again, as if she could see something strange outside of the windows. “No! No delivery!”
That’s when she realized where she’d left her car. “Oh no!”
“What is it?” he asked, watching as she hurriedly pulled her clothes on.
“My car!” she groaned, pulling her tee shirt on over her naked breasts, then grumbling something before pulling her
tee-shirt off and putting her bra on. She contorted her arms until the bra was latched, then tugged her tee shirt back down.
“Kennedi, what’s going on?” he asked, standing naked in front of her.
She lifted her eyes and…paused, licking her lips when she stared at his erection. Okay, it was only at half-mast at the
moment, but after the past…however long she’d been with him, she knew the pleasure that appendage could give her.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she focused on trying to get dressed.
 “My car!”
“What about it?” he demanded.
She leaned back, tugging her jeans up over her hips. “I drove to Clara’s parents place last night. My car is still
parked in her driveway!”
“And?”
She huffed a bit, then pulled her boots on. “And…” she started off sarcastically, unable to hide her panic, “everyone at
the party last night will have left by now.”
“And this is a problem because?”
“Because,” she stood up and flipped her still-wet hair out of her eyes, “everyone will know that I spent the night over
here!”
He shrugged, but walked over to an open suitcase, pulling out a pair of jeans. He didn’t bother with boxers and, for
some reason, the man going commando made her mouth water with that seemingly ever-present desire.
He spun around, his midnight blue eyes hard and angry now. “Are you ashamed of what we did last night?”
She bit her lip, not sure how to answer him. “Well…yes,” she replied honestly.
He jerked backwards as if she’d slapped him and Kennedi immediately wanted to take back her answer. “But Sean,
it’s not what you think.”
His lips tightened and he pulled on a shirt. “I’m sure that you have a valid reason for being ashamed of our night
together,” he snapped. “Unfortunately, I don’t have time to hear it.” He nodded to her, a jerky movement that warned her that
he was livid. “Drive safely, Kennedi.”
Then he stomped out of the room.
Kennedi watched his stiff-backed departure and wanted to call out to him, to explain. But the need to get home, to
quell the gossips’ tongues that were sure to be wagging by now, was higher on her list of priorities.
“I have to go,” she muttered, more to herself than Sean since he wasn’t even in the room anymore. She grabbed her
phone, which had somehow ended up under the bed, stuffed it into her back pocket, then rushed through the house.
She barely paused when she spotted Sean standing by one of the windows. “I’m sorry!” she whispered, not sure if he
heard her. But then she pulled open the door and rushed outside.
It took her only a few minutes to pick her way over the fallen logs, bushes, and stray leaves that littered the area
between Sean’s house and Clara’s parents’ place. Thankfully, Clara was still there, so Kennedi wasn’t locked outside with her
purse, and her car keys, inside.
“Well, well, well!” Clara teased as soon as Kennedi burst through the door. “We were all wondering where you’d
disappeared to last night.” Her hazel eyes flitted to the house next door. “I suppose you had a better night than we did.”
“Please, Clara, don’t tell anyone that I was–”
She stopped when Clara lifted her hand in the air. “Too late, my friend. Everyone noticed this morning, and
commented, on the fact that your car was still in the driveway, your purse on the countertop, and you were nowhere to be
found.” She grinned, toasting her friend with the half-filled bottle of beer. “We all cheered you on, but I don’t suppose that you
heard us.”
Kennedi groaned, tucking her hair behind her ears, then grabbed her purse, digging for her car keys. “Any hope that
they won’t spread the news around town?”
Clara stood up and walked over to Kennedi. “I don’t think so, but just because you have a sex life, doesn’t mean that
everyone will assume that you’re just like your mother.”
“Doesn’t mean they won’t,” she sighed, pushing her palm against her forehead. “This is awful!”
“Not so awful, my friend. Did you have fun?”
 Kennedi thought about last night. No, he hadn’t touched her last night. It had been earlier this morning that they’d…
over and over again!
“He’s a very nice man,” she told her friend.
“Nice?” Clara snorted. “That’s all? He’s just…nice?” She glanced over her shoulder and laughed. “I would have
pegged him as being more than just nice.”
“Stop!” Kennedi grumbled. “I have to go.”
“Fine, but I want details when we meet for dinner next time.”
Kennedi didn’t respond as she rushed out the door. With one hand on the handle of her sensible hatchback, she glanced
over at Sean’s house. She should go next door and explain. She’d rushed out of the house without any sort of explanation, and
she knew Sean was upset.
But just as she walked by, two guys in a pickup truck drove past. As soon as they saw her, one of them pulled himself
out of the window, leering at her. “Can I be next?”
Shame washed over her and she dove into her car, not bothering to respond.

Sean watched as Kennedi sped away, gravel spitting up behind her car in her effort to get away from him.
Cursing, he turned his back to her. Why the hell had he fallen for a woman who treated him like a leper? It was his
father and half-brother all over again. Throughout his life, he’d vowed never to let anyone treat him like dirt, and yet, a pair of
pretty blue eyes and a great body had reduced that vow to shreds with just a smile and a flick of her lovely hair.
Turning away from the window, he walked up the stairs while dialing his pilot. “I’m ready to leave,” he announced.
“I’ll be at the airport in twenty minutes.”
His pilot acknowledged the order and assured him that the jet was fueled up and ready to fly as soon as he arrived.
Sean stuffed his clothes into the leather bag, unconcerned that he still had a few more days left on the house lease. He
tossed the house key onto the kitchen counter, flung his leather bag into the trunk of his rental car, then sped away, heading to the
airport.
Chapter 5

Kennedi glanced at her phone for the second…or maybe the millionth…time. It was Friday and she’d been waiting for a call
from Sean all week. But how could he call her? He didn’t have her cell phone number.
Of course, he could have called Tom and gotten it at any point.
“Are you okay?”
Kennedi jerked her head around, blinking up at Tom, unaware of how her mouth had fallen open. At the concern on his
wrinkled face, she pulled herself together. Straightening her spine, she forced her lips to smile. “I’m fine,” she finally replied
and valiantly fought back the tears that threatened to spill over her lashes. Again.
“You don’t look fine,” he replied, his fluffy, silver eyebrows furrowing with concern. “Why don’t you take the rest of
the day off and head on home? You’ve worked more than your contract hours this week.” He turned away and winked
playfully at her. “Plus, it’s Friday night. Surely a lovely lady like you has a hot date lined up.”
Kennedi forced a weak laugh because Tom always teased her about “hot dates”, even though he knew perfectly well
that she rarely dated. She knew Tom was trying to cheer her up, but after last weekend, it wasn’t working. She doubted it
would ever work. Especially since she now heard the whispers. She’d gone to Ella’s coffee shop on Monday, needing a pick
me up. But the whispers behind hands and the chuckles, the glances of contempt, had been too much for her.
Plus, coffee wasn’t agreeing with her lately. For some reason, even the smell of coffee made her stomach churn.
Her phone rang and she saw that Brody was calling her. Why couldn’t that jerk understand that she would never, ever,
go out with him? Especially not after his atrocious behavior last weekend. He’d made a nuisance of himself for the last time.
In an abrupt change of plans, she stood up and grabbed her purse. “Tom, I’m going to take you up on your offer. I’ll
see you on Monday, okay?”
“Have a great weekend, Kennedi!” he called out from his office. The door was always open. Tom encouraged staff
members to interrupt him anytime for questions or suggestions.
She liked that about him, but at the moment, she also knew that Tom was watching her carefully, trying to understand
why she’d been so upset this week.

Sean stalked down the hallway of his headquarters, his sharp gaze taking in the activities of his small staff. He didn’t
need a large team since nearly all of his work was done online. His team of handpicked experts researched companies that
needed saving. He would either stealthily buy up enough stock to have the controlling interest, or if the owner was amenable,
he would negotiate a sale price. Then he’d call in his group of consultants, figure out the problem that hindered profitability
and growth, fix the problem, and then sell everything off for a profit.
He thought about “The Old Goat” brewery, wondering how he could get control of that place.
Then he rejected the thought. He wasn’t buying that place. The brewery could rot in hell for all he cared. That way,
Kennedi would lose her job and he would relish the thought.
No, that wasn’t right. He didn’t want her to suffer, he reminded himself. Okay, yes, he did. But there were others at
the brewery that needed employment. He couldn’t ruin a whole company simply because a woman rejected him.
Those were his daddy issues at play and he’d vowed never to let his father gain any kind of control over his life.
Kennedi’s rejection, her racing out of his life, had stung, but he would be fine. He was back on track. And there were several
companies he was interested in acquiring. He would focus on work. That had been his revenge ever since he’d first
understood his father’s preference for his legitimate son.
Either way, he was relieved to be back on track. If his subconscious was tormenting him at night with dreams of
holding Kennedi in his arms, then he would just work through the pain, just as he’d done throughout his whole life!
Chapter 6

It lied!
Kennedi stared down at the plastic stick, willing the test results to change.
“Impossible!” she whispered, hovering over her bathroom sink. “Not happening!”
She reached out and flicked the test with her forefinger. But the positive sign was still there. Taunting her.
Which would make sense since she had several symptoms of pregnancy. Tender breasts, aversion to coffee, morning
sickness, and afternoon fatigue had all led her to wonder. Now she had proof.
She was pregnant.
Sighing, she pushed her hair out of her eyes and forced back tears. “I’m going to be fine!”
For a moment, she considered an abortion. She wasn’t ready to have a baby. She was too young, too poor, and too…
stupid. She’d had sex…a lot of sex…with a man over a twelve hour period. Unprotected sex. And now…she was pregnant.
But as soon as the thought occurred to her, she rejected the option of an abortion. For some reason, she truly wanted
this child. It may have been conceived under less than ideal circumstances, but she could do this.
Sure, her mother had been a horrible mother. She’d gotten pregnant too young and hadn’t wanted to be a parent.
Tammy was a perfect example of what not to do when pregnant.
Immediately, her hand moved to her still-flat stomach and she thought about the pizza she’d eaten for dinner last night.
No more pizza, she vowed. No more beer. No more coffee.
Okay, the coffee was an easy thing to eliminate, since even the smell made her stomach churn.
And yes, she needed to contact Sean and let him know that he was going to be a father. She didn’t want to do it, but it
was the right thing to do. He deserved to know.
She didn’t have his contact information, but Tom would know how to reach Sean. The two men had been talking about
something that first night. It had looked serious and Tom had been upset afterwards.
Two hours later, she tentatively knocked on Tom’s door. “Hey,” she started off, stepping into his office when he turned
to look at her. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but by any chance, do you have Sean’s contact information?”
He scowled at her, steepling his fingers together. “Sean Byrne? I can probably find it for you. Why do you need to
speak with him?”
Kennedi hesitated for a long moment, then shrugged. She wasn’t ready to announce her pregnancy. They’d all find out
soon enough when her belly started expanding. For now, she wanted to maintain her privacy.
“Clara mentioned that he’d left something behind at the house he rented. She was going to call him to return it.”
Tom’s expression cleared and he nodded. “Clara’s a good person. I would have just tossed his stuff in the garbage.”
He sifted through several file folders, then pulled one out from the bottom of the pile. “Here you go,” he said, handing her a
sticky note with a phone number on it.
“Thanks,” Kennedi said, tucking the note into her pocket before backing out of Tom’s office. She felt her boss’s eyes
on her as she slowly returned to her desk and she wondered if the guilt was written all over her features.
Sighing, she focused on working. After she got caught up with work, Kennedi started to plan. She lived in a one
bedroom apartment, but if she was going to have a baby, she would need a second bedroom. A house would be better, but there
was no way she could afford a house right now.
She’d also need to save up enough money to carry her through maternity leave. Tom would give her the time off, but he
couldn’t afford to pay her through the entire three months she’d need off to bond with her baby. That was asking too much.
By the time she got home, she had the beginnings of a plan. But the first thing she needed to do was inform Sean. She
didn’t expect him to be around much. He’d certainly dashed out of town as quickly as possible.
 As soon as her temper started to burn, Kennedi tamped down on the emotion. She couldn’t go down that trail of
resentment again. She’d already cried enough that first week after he’d abruptly left town. She refused to cry over him any
longer.
Dialing the number, she waited with rising trepidation as his phone rang. And waited. And waited! Finally, his voice
mail clicked on and she trembled at the memories of his deep, husky voice issuing her orders. Naughty orders. Sensuous,
delicious commands that had only made their passion even more intense.
“Um, hi!” Kennedi replied, startled at the end of the recording. “This is…Kennedi. From Newnan. Georgia!” She
closed her eyes, wishing she could be more articulate. “Sorry,” she sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Anyway, I was wondering
if you might…um…give me a call when you have a moment.” She wondered if she should say something more, but then
dismissed the idea. “Anyway, I hope you’re doing well. And that you’re…fine. Just…call me when you have time. Thanks.”
She ended the call and closed her eyes, wishing she hadn’t rambled. But seriously, how was one supposed to deliver
news of this level? It was life changing!
Pushing away from her kitchen counter, she headed into her bedroom and started pulling out clothes. Maternity clothes
were something else she’d have to buy. But thrift store finds would have to suffice. If she was going to save enough money to
get through her maternity leave, then she couldn’t spend money on frivolous items. Every penny was going to be needed later.
She’d need to start saving for her child’s college too. How soon was too soon? As a pregnant woman, could she put a
few bucks into a college savings plan? And what about health insurance? Did her health insurance from the brewery cover
maternity costs?
So many questions, and yet, Kennedi only wanted to fall asleep. “Just a few moments,” she promised herself. Curling
up onto her bed, she closed her eyes, vowing to get up in a few minutes and make herself some dinner.

Sean listened to the rambling message again, sitting at the bar in “The Bastard’s Club” that most people thought was
“The Billionaires’ Club”. He pressed the button to listen to the message a third time. Kennedi’s soft, sweet voice reminded
him of her breathy laughter when he’d shown her something new sexually. Or when she’d asked him to do something to her.
Or when she’d cried out his name when he’d brought her to pleasure. Over and over again, she’d screamed his name.
But her voicemail message wasn’t actually breathy. It was tentative. Annoyingly uncertain. What did she want from
him? It had been three months since that weekend!
He muttered an expletive, his thumb hovering over the delete button.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Levi grumbled, sitting down next to him at the bar. Emily was working tonight,
and she immediately poured him a draft beer, placing it in front of hm.
Sean’s finger moved away without deleting the message, then he shoved his phone into his pocket and sipped his beer.
“Nothing.”
“Something is wrong.” Levi eyed him closely, but it was Matteo that understood the problem.
“It’s a woman,” he announced, sitting down on the other side of Sean.
“It’s always a woman,” Mandy, their accountant, replied as she dumped a pile of reports onto the bar counter. “I have
documents I need one of you gentlemen to sign.”
She looked at each of them in turn. When none reacted, she shook her head with a chuckle. “Right,” she replied with a
shake of her head. “I’ll leave these on your desk, Levi. When you men are ready to do some actual business, I can explain
things to you.”
And with that, she collected the reports and walked away.
“Thankfully, we no longer have accounting problems,” Levi commented. “Thank goodness Clarissa found Mandy after
that debacle with Milton Burrows.”
Matteo rolled his eyes, then jerked his head towards the third member of their group. “Sean has bigger problems than
we do.”
 Levi chuckled and took a sip of his scotch. “I suspect you are correct.”
Sean ignored his friends, replaying the voice mail in his head. Why the hell would she call him now? It had been
months since they’d had contact. Months since that weekend.
With a muttered curse, he pushed away from the bar and stalked out of the club. He’d hit the gym. Maybe there was
someone at the gym that he could spar with for an hour or two. He needed to work out some of this anger and frustration.
Chapter 7

Kennedi wasn’t aware of the tears streaming down her cheeks as the nurse placed the tiny bundle in her arms. “Hello,
darling!” she whispered to her newborn son. She touched his red, blotchy face and the dark thatch of hair on his sweet, soft
head reverently. Her son’s eyes were closed and his tiny fists were clenched, vibrating in the air. “It’s so nice to meet the
little guy who has been kicking me every night.”
The nurses chuckled, moving efficiently around the room as they cleaned up after the delivery. Kennedi ignored the
bustle, entranced by the beauty of the child in her arms.
A knock on the door startled her out of her reverie. Looking up, she beamed as she saw Dorothy and Tom standing in
the doorway to her hospital room.
“Is it too soon for visitors?” Dorothy asked.
Tom followed, looking like a proud grampa. Kennedi had to admit that the pair had certainly stepped up as
grandparents. As soon as she’d admitted she was pregnant, Tom had hovered over her. Dorothy, his wife, brought presents
nearly every day. The couple hadn’t been able to conceive during their forty years of marriage. So, they’d been incredibly
excited about her pregnancy and Kennedi was thrilled to have their unwavering support.
“Come on in,” she whispered, smiling as both of them gazed down at the red-faced infant in her arms.
“He’s adorable!” Dorothy cooed.
Kennedi laughed, shaking her head. “He looks like a troll.” Then she kissed the top of his head. “But the nurses
assure me that the redness will ease over the next few days.”
“He’s incredibly handsome,” Tom assured her, the proud-grampa expression firmly in place. He was holding a
bouquet of daisies, as well as a large package with tissue paper fluffed out of the top. “Oh, and this…this is from us.”
Kennedi beamed, shaking her head. “You guys have bought me too much,” she replied, fighting back the tears. “I
would never have gotten through the past several months without you.”
Tom sniffed slightly and wiped a handkerchief over his face. His voice was gruff as he said, “We’re honored that
you’re letting us participate in this miracle with you.”
Kennedi grinned. “Do you want to hold him?” she offered.
Tom’s mouth fell open but Dorothy immediately stepped forward. “I thought you’d never offer!” she gushed, then
hurried to wash her hands. She returned and reached out, carefully lifting the bundle into her arms, then sat down beside
Kennedi. “Oh, he’s precious!” Dorothy whispered reverently.
Kennedi glanced over at Tom, who was staring wide eyed at his wife and the baby in her arms. Her heart ached for
him. He would have been such a wonderful father! He was always so caring and concerned with everyone at the brewery.
But now, she would ensure that he got to be a grandpa. He was the closest thing to a grandfather that her son would
have.
“What’s his name?” Dorothy asked.
Kennedi looked at her tiny child and sighed. “I don’t know yet.”
“You don’t have a name picked out?”
She shook her head. “I was thinking Liam,” she admitted, wanting to give her son an Irish name. “But now that I’ve
met him, he doesn’t feel like a Liam to me.”
Tom chuckled and set the colorful bag beside Kennedi. “What does he look like to you?”
Kennedi peered over Dorothy’s shoulder, smiling at her son. “What about Declan?” she offered. “Does he seem like a
Declan?”
Tom’s smile and nod of approval warmed her. She’d never had a father, but Tom had always been there for her.
 “We have something for you,” Dorothy said. “Tom, give her the envelope.”
Tom jerked to attention, then shuffled through the tissue paper to pull out an envelope. “Here. This is…well, just think
about it before you reject it, okay?”
Kennedi took the envelope hesitantly. “Okay,” she replied slowly, then turned the envelope over and pulled open the
seal. She expected to find a card, but instead, there were photographs. “What’s this?” she asked, then flipped through the
images of an adorable cottage. There was even a covered front porch with a swing at one end. “Oh, what a charming house!”
she gasped.
“Do you really like it?” he asked.
She looked up at him, not sure where this conversation was going. “It’s absolutely darling.”
“It’s a three bedroom, two bath house, with a refinished kitchen,” Dorothy explained. “And if you like it, then we can
get you moved in before you leave the hospital.”
Kennedi’s mouth fell open. “You bought me a house?” she asked, needing clarification.
“Well, we actually bought it as a rental property several years ago. But,” Tom shrugged. “It’s a lot of upkeep. When
one renter moves out, we have to get the cleaning crew in and restock everything.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his
neck. “So, Dorothy and I thought that you might move in there so it wasn’t invaded by rodents and…other things.”
She didn’t understand what he wasn’t telling her, but she was just too relieved by the offer. “How much did you
charge the renters?”
“Oh, it’s not for rent anymore. No one has lived there for over a year now.”
She eyed them carefully. “I love the house,” she said. “And it would be much better than my apartment. But if I’m
going to live there, then I’m paying rent. What did you charge the previous renters?”
Tom looked relieved and Dorothy sighed with happiness. “How much do you pay in rent for your current apartment?”
Tom asked.
She named the amount and he nodded sharply. “That’s how much we received in rent from the previous renter.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “No, a three bedroom house should be more expensive than–”
“We won’t accept more, Kennedi,” Dorothy announced firmly. “And that’s that!” then she cooed to the baby. “You are
going to have your own bedroom, aren’t you, Declan?”
Kennedi tried to laugh, but it came out closer to a sob of relief. “Thank you,” she whispered to both of them.
Tom shuffled his feet, looking down for a moment. “You’ve been one of our most valuable employees, Kennedi. And
you’re a good person. I know that you’ve been hurt by some of the comments and rumors, the comparison to your mother, but
you’re nothing like her!” He sighed heavily. “You’re a good and decent person, and I know that you’re going to be a
wonderful mother! Plus, your recommendation for the expansion plans was an excellent idea. We already have several new
investors, including one large investor. I’ve even spoken to an architect and we’re going to start looking at location sites
tomorrow for three new pubs.”
She smiled at him. “And you’ve been a wonderful mentor, Tom.”
Thankfully, the emotionally charged moment ended and they talked about Declan. She said the name in her mind
several times and grew to like it more and more. It was “Irish” enough to make her think of her son’s ancestry, to honor that part
of him, but American enough that her heart wouldn’t ache every time she called her son’s name.
If her heart still fluttered whenever she thought of the man who had left town so abruptly, Kennedi just shook her head
and forced her thoughts elsewhere. He was gone. She’d called him three times, left three messages asking him to call her
back. But he never had.
As far as she was concerned, that was the end of her responsibility to inform the man that he had a son. The woman
shouldn’t have to bear all of the responsibility for contacting the father. Sean was fully aware of the fact that they’d had
unprotected sex. A lot of unprotected sex! At a minimum, the man should have gotten in touch with her to make sure she was
okay. Why did the woman always have the responsibility of informing the father? Especially when she’d called him several
times and he’d ignored her calls.
Sighing, she pushed the guilt away. Other than leaving him a message that he was a father, she wasn’t sure what to do.
And leaving a message…perhaps she should do that. She glanced over at her phone, but before she could decide to pick it up,
several of her co-workers stepped into the hospital room, eager to congratulate her on her son and bearing colorful bags filled
with useful gifts.
Kennedi was truly grateful for being part of this “family”. Everyone was so supportive and encouraging. However, by
the time they left thirty minutes later, she was completely exhausted. The parade of visitors didn’t stop though. Her friends all
traipsed into the room for a glimpse at her newborn son. Then there were the customers, her neighbors, Ella from the coffee
shop, and a whole host of others. By late evening, the attending nurse took one look at Kennedi’s exhaustion and stopped the
constant flow of visitors from entering her hospital room. She promptly fell asleep, not waking up until it was time to feed
Declan.
Chapter 8

Sean walked into his headquarters with the feeling that something was off. He couldn’t figure out what though. He’d just sold
three companies for a record profit. TBC had gained an additional ten members, two of which, he, Matteo and Levi were
going to keep a careful eye on. And his realtor had just informed him that a new house was up for sale. This one had an
excellent view of the Philadelphia skyline.
However, there was something that was making him hesitate. And Sean never hesitated. When he wanted something,
he went after it.
Thoughts of a dark haired, blue eyed beauty popped into his mind. Why the hell was he hesitating about returning to
Newnan? He wanted that brewery and Tom had just expanded his operations. Through one of his private corporations, Sean
had impulsively invested several million dollars in the brewery’s expansion plans. That made him part owner, if not majority
owner. Tom remained head of the company, but Sean knew that he could easily convince the newly formed board of directors
to switch out company leaders, putting him in charge of the brewery as well as the expansion plans. Even better, he’d bought
up all the extra shares before his father could grab them. And Sean knew the Earl of Winton had tried to get those shares,
which only made his ownership even sweeter.
Sitting down in his favorite large, leather chair, Sean turned, staring out the floor to ceiling windows. But he didn’t
see the view or even acknowledge the sunset that had painted the sky pink, purple, and neon orange. All he could see was
Kennedi’s hair, splayed out on the white pillow, her soft smile as she turned to look at him. Or that taunting, tempting glance
when she looked over her shoulder, inciting him to make love to her again.
“Damn it!” he muttered, then pushed out of his chair. He stalked out of his office, snapping at his assistant to, “Cancel
my afternoon meetings.”
The woman didn’t even glance up at him this time. Apparently, he’d been acting like an ass for months, and Diandra
had gotten used to his mercurial moods.
That probably wasn’t a good thing, but Sean wasn’t sure what to do about it except to stop acting like an ass.
He drove out of the city, thinking to work on club business for a few hours. But as soon as he stepped through the doors
of TBC, Emily stopped him. “Nope!” she announced, halting him with a hand in the air.
“What are you doing?”
The dark haired woman glared up at him. “You’re not coming in here to snap at people again today. We’re sick of it.
You either promise to be nice, or leave.”
He laughed, thinking she was adorable. “I’m just going to my office to get some work done.”
Her eyes narrowed up at him. “The last time you came in, you won over half a million dollars from Harvey.”
“So?” Sean didn’t care about the pompous bank president. The man deserved to lose the money.
Emily chuckled as she crossed her arms over her chest. “So, you’re still in a foul mood and we’re not going to fleece
our members today.” She leaned forward, whispering in a conspiratorial tone, “You’re scaring away the members!”
He grumbled. “If they can’t take the bets, they shouldn’t sit at the table with me.” He started to step around her, but a
snarl came from the right. Sean glanced in that direction, already knowing what he’d find. Sure enough, Hendrix Pilarti, the
head of security for the club, stood off to the side, a warning look in his dark eyes.
Since he was an ex-special forces guy, Sean chuckled, but backed off. He looked at Emily once again, contrition in his
features now. “How about if I promise not to gamble today? Can I go to my office then?”
She considered the offer for a moment, then she nodded slowly. “Fine. But stay out of the poker room.”
He agreed and again started to step around her, but she did a quick side shuffle and added, “And you aren’t allowed in
the pool room either.”
Sean muttered a few choice words under his breath, but nodded his agreement. Not that he would have allowed Emily
to keep him out of the club. He was one of the owners while she was only the club manager. But she was a formidable
personality within the club. Emily was an essential part of the club’s recovery.
Also, if anyone pissed her off, she’d leave and take the entire wait staff with her. Emily garnered an impressive level
of loyalty among the staff members.
And that brought his thoughts right back to Kennedi. She held enormous loyalty to Tom. So did the rest of the staff
members at the pub and brewery. Hell, even he felt a certain amount of loyalty to Tom and he didn’t even work for the man!
Damn it, he really was losing his mind!
Since he wasn’t allowed to play poker or pool, both of which would have given him something to focus on besides his
current problem, he headed stiffly to his office on the third floor.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Levi demanded. “I thought Emily was going to ban you from the grounds until you
cheered up.”
Matteo stepped out of his office, leaning a shoulder casually against the wall as he surveyed Sean. “It’s been months
since you have been in anything besides a foul mood. What gives?”
“None of your business,” Sean countered, trying to step around the two men he considered his best friends. “I just…
have some things on my mind.”
“Would those things have anything to do with a quaint brewery located in a small, southern town?”
Sean stopped, his eyes narrowing suspiciously as he glared at the smirking pair. “How the hell do you know anything
about that?”
Levi and Matteo shared a glance. Matteo was the first to speak. “Because your hobby is buying up any brewery that
has a gifted brew master,” the man replied.
Sean gritted his teeth. “I don’t buy up just any brewery. Just the ones that are a good investment.”
Levi sauntered closer, clapping Sean on the shoulder. “We know your brewery hobby is mainly to spite your father.”
He looked at Matteo, then said, “We each have ways we snub our dads. But was there something special about the place in
Georgia? It seems as if you’ve been on edge ever since returning from that trip.”
“Nothing was wrong with the brewery in Georgia,” he snarled, thinking of that day when he’d held Kennedi in his
arms, feeling her passion and laughing with her in between bouts of mind-blowing lust.
Matteo pushed away from the wall. “Are you telling us that your visit to Georgia last year didn’t have anything to do
with creating a better brewing empire than your father?”
Sean rolled his eyes impatiently. “My father owns one small pub and a small beer distribution factory in Ireland. He
lives off of the profits from those two establishments.” He looked at Levi, then at Matteo. “There is no chance that my father
could ever compete with what I’ve accomplished over the past fifteen years.”
“No doubt. There’s no competition between you and your father,” Levi agreed easily and Matteo nodded. “So, what’s
going on?”
Sean ran a hand through his hair, frustration hitting him hard. He considered just turning around and heading to the gym
for a hard workout, but his two best friends in the world, the two men he trusted more than anyone, were telling him that he’d
been an ass for the past year.
Their comments, plus Emily’s comments about his merciless gambling issues, were enough to make him pause.
Leaning his shoulders against the hallway wall, he stared up at the ceiling, his jaw clenching for a long moment. Then
he said, “I met a woman.”
Both men appeared unconcerned.
“You meet women all the time,” Levi asserted.
Matteo frowned thoughtfully and shook his head. “Actually, he hasn’t taken anyone up on their offers lately.”
Sean’s lip curled and he glared at the Spanish man. “How the hell do you know anything about my sex life?”
 Matteo chuckled. “Because Lisa Delaworth approached me three nights ago. She asked me why you’ve been such a
pain in the ass lately.” He shrugged one shoulder negligently. “I put two and two together and figured that you hadn’t had sex
in a while.”
Levi’s eyes widened at the ring of truth, plus Sean’s slightly guilty expression solidified the assumption.
“Is that true?” Levi demanded, horrified at the possibility of going without sex for so long.
Sean stood there, seething with fury. “What if it is?”
“Was there a woman in Georgia?” Matteo asked, his voice a bit less accusatory now.
“A freaking year?” Levi asked, going back to the original issue. “You’ve gone an entire year without sex?”
Sean rolled his eyes. “Sex isn’t as necessary as oxygen,” he snapped.
“Yes it is,” the other two replied in unison.
Sean simply shook his head and pushed away from the wall. “Well, as delightful as this little chat has been, I have
work to do. Those membership applications won’t get approved if you two don’t back off.”
Levi and Matteo stood their ground. “We’re worried about you. More so now that we know you haven’t…uh…taken
up with anyone in over a year.”
“I’m fine!” he replied with authority.
“Who is she?”
“And why the hell don’t you get your ass back to that place,” Matteo asserted, leaning forward, “and exorcise her from
your mind? Then you can hurry back here and be a normal human being again.”
Sean thought about that, but the possibility of seeing Kennedi again…!
“I’m fine,” he asserted, more firmly this time. “Now I’m going to review those damn applications and then I’ll get out
of the club. You won’t have to worry about me.” With that, he walked into his office, slamming the door behind him. He
never closed his door. Not here at the club nor at his headquarters. But today, he just…he couldn’t handle anyone else asking
him why he was acting like an ass.
Chapter 9

“What the hell am I doing here?” Sean asked himself as he stepped onto the tarmac. Slipping his dark sunglasses on, he looked
around. Not much had changed. The airport was still out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees and farmland.
He hurried over to the luxury rental sedan that his assistant had arranged to be delivered. She’d also reserved a house,
but not the same one. He wasn’t returning to that lake house. The memories had haunted him for the past year.
However, when Tom had called to say he wanted to discuss the sale of the brewery, Sean hadn’t been able to stop
himself from coming down here again.
Dumping his leather bag into the backseat, he moved to the driver’s side and…froze. Was that movement in the
woods?
A memory from the last time he was here in Newnan flashed into his mind. A red dress, or shirt, or something…in the
woods. At the time, he’d thought it was his imagination. But now he saw another flash of red. This time, the red was just
lingering, almost as if someone were hiding behind the tree.
Or was he imagining things? Sean knew that his father had been on his mind more often lately. Were the flashes of red
merely a flashback to the rumors of the red dress his mother had worn the night his father had attacked her?
Or maybe he was just losing his mind.
With a shrug, he ducked into the driver’s seat. If he was thinking about his mother more lately, perhaps he should
schedule a trip to Ireland soon. But if some kid was out there, hiding in the woods wearing a red shirt, that was none of his
concern. He had one mission today and he planned on heading right back to Philadelphia as soon as the meeting with Tom was
over.

“It’s the right thing to do,” Dorothy whispered, shifting Declan in her arms and patting his back. “She tried to tell him.”
Tom rubbed a hand over his face. “I know, sweetheart. I just…” he sighed as his shoulders slumped. “I feel as if
we’re ambushing her. She was so devastated when he didn’t call her back. What if we’re just ripping open a wound that has
finally begun to heal?”
Dorothy soothed herself and the tiny soul in her arms by swaying back and forth. “What if we heal a wound that has
been festering this whole time?”
Tom contemplated that, then looked sharply at his wife of forty-five years. “Do you really think that she is still
hurting?”
Dorothy bounced and swayed now, still rubbing Declan’s back. “Yes. I’ve seen the haunted look in her eyes. I’m sure
she’s hurting. Plus, she’s terrified that she’s going to fail as a mother and cries all the time.”
“Maybe she’s suffering from postpartum depression?”
“That’s possible,” Dorothy replied with a nod. “I’ve urged her to see her doctor and explain what she’s feeling. But
then she looks at Declan and smiles.” She looked down at the tiny infant, her heart aching with love for him as well as his
mother. “I’m just not sure of anything anymore.”
“If the man hurts her again, we will be there to help her through it again,” Tom vowed with absolute certainty.
“Kennedi knows we will always be here for her.”
Tom grunted with agreement, then ran a gentle hand over the infant’s back as well. “Woman, you’ve held that little man
for too long. It’s my turn!”
Dorothy chuckled as she handed over the baby. “When is he due to arrive?”
Tom shook his head. “I have a meeting with him in thirty minutes. I’ll have enough time to speak with him while you
and Kennedi are having lunch. I’ll feel him out and find out why he left so abruptly. If I think his rationale is good enough, I’ll
let you know. Otherwise, stick to the plan and keep her away from the office.”
 “Will do,” his wife assured him, then went up on her tip toes to kiss his age-roughened cheek. “I love you, Tom.
You’re a good man with a big heart and I’ve loved you since the first moment I set eyes on you.”
He chuckled and kissed the top of her head. “I love you too, my dear.”
She sighed, then rubbed her hands down her thighs. “I just hope we’re doing the right thing.”
Tom grumbled his agreement. “I do too.”
She brightened. “At a minimum, if you sell the brewery, then we can go on that road trip across the country!”
He chuckled, nodding his agreement. “Exactly, love. You’ve already picked out the camper. We’ll just pack a bag
and head off into the horizon.”
She beamed, delighted with the idea, her eyes softening as she watched him gently patting Declan’s well-diapered
bottom. “You’re a good man, Tom. And you’ve given me a great deal of happiness in this lifetime.”
Dorothy headed out of her husband’s office in search of Kennedi. She and her husband had this all planned out.
She was just patting herself on the back when the doors opened and the man in question stepped into the air-
conditioned office. “Mr. Byrne!” she gasped.
What was that phrase about the best laid plans?

Kennedi did a little wiggle of happiness as she flipped her clipboard around, tucking it under her arm. Declan had
slept through the night last night. She knew it wouldn’t happen again for a while. Her little man was only three months old, but
she adored him with every part of her soul.
That didn’t mean she didn’t also enjoy her time away from him. She was so appreciative of Dorothy for taking care of
him during the days. She wondered why Dorothy hadn’t had children of her own. She and Tom were like grandparents to
Declan and they doted on him. It was rare that Dorothy didn’t show up with an outfit or toy for Declan whenever she arrived.
Kennedi wondered what would happen when Declan could eat solid foods. Dorothy would be baking cookies and
cakes like crazy! She was laughing as she pushed through the supply room doorway and…came to a screeching halt.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded, glaring at the man who had completely changed her life.
A soft cry pulled her attention away from the man. Unfortunately, it also pulled Sean’s attention towards her tiny son.
Tom stood in the doorway, holding Declan, and Dorothy was hovering in the office lobby, not sure what to do.
A comedian might have written the next sixty seconds. Sean’s gaze bounced from the baby, to Kennedi, then back to
the baby. Dorothy’s eyes went from Kennedi, to Declan, and then to Sean, her mouth forming a small “O” of surprise. And
Tom’s expression morphed from surprise to guilt as he cradled the infant, one hand cupping Declan’s soft head. A head with
hair the exact shade of Sean’s dark locks.
Declan, on the other hand, waved his tiny fists in Kennedi’s direction, his gaze unwavering.
Kennedi was the first to react. She reached for Declan, trying to appear as casual as possible. Meanwhile, her
stomach was churning and her betraying heart fluttered with unexpected hope. Hope that he was here to see her. Hope that he
cared about his son. But how could he know about Declan? She hadn’t told him about their son because he’d never bothered
to call her back! After all of those phone calls, he dared to just show up over a year later?
Damn him! How dare he just appear out of the blue like this?
“Hello there, sweetie. Are you hungry?” she asked, taking her son from Tom and cradling him. The little guy was a
voracious eater and when he was hungry, he made sure everybody knew it! Right now, he was squirming eagerly, nuzzling her
breast, eager for his next meal.
“I’ll be in my office,” she announced, ignoring the stunned silence. She spun around and walked off down the
hallway. Once she was in her office, she closed the door, sat down, and started unbuttoning her shirt.
“Okay, okay! Just hold your horses little one!” she murmured. But Declan had already created a wet spot on her
cotton blouse and was grumbling angrily, his tiny fists batting at her chest.
 “Goodness, you’re a hungry boy!” she soothed. His blue eyes looked up at her and she smiled, wondering if Sean had
made the connection. She certainly hoped not. Maybe, if she was very lucky, he would just leave town.
Exactly as he’d done a year ago.
Leaning back in the comfy chair she’d purchased for exactly this purpose, she rocked Declan as she shifted her ugly
nursing bra out of the way. Immediately, Declan started suckling, his tiny hands kneading his “meal” as he sucked hard.
Immediately, Kennedi felt the pressure in her breasts begin to ease as her son drank his fill
Sighing, she stroked his hair, then slid a gentle finger down over his tiny nose. It was their thing, she thought. She
loved touching him, loved the way he paused in his feeding to beam at her when she stroked his nose or his ears.
Goodness, she loved this baby!

Sean stared at the now-empty hallway where Kennedi and the tiny infant had disappeared. He wasn’t sure what he
was thinking other than, “What the hell?!”
“You’re early, Mr. Byrne.” Tom commented, clapping his hands together. “Would you like to talk?” Tom offered.
Sean turned towards the older man, then back towards the closed door. “What is going on?”
Tom lifted a gray brow at him. “I invited you here to talk about buying additional interest in the brewery, right?” he
replied. “Are you still interested?”
Sean stared at the closed door, while his mind whirled with unformed questions. Something wasn’t right. He vaguely
heard Tom say something about the sale and brewery. That snapped his thoughts back to his bastard father and Sean’s hobby of
buying up the best breweries in the world.
He nodded, but his eyes were still trained on that closed door.
“Mr. Byrne, if you please?” Tom called out, pulling Sean’s gaze away from that damn hallway.
Reluctantly, Sean pulled his eyes away, but he was still confused. Slowly, he stepped into Tom’s sunny office and
blinked as his mind tried to figure out what was going on.
“Have a seat,” Tom offered, gesturing to one of the rough tables in the corner of the office Sean sat down in the nearest
chair and Tom came over, several file folders in hand.
“Thanks for flying down here again to discuss selling ‘The Old Goat’,” Tom said as he sat down. “I’m sorry I wasn’t
ready to talk about the sale last year. But things have…” he paused, chuckling as he shook his head. “Well, my life is a bit
different now. My wife and I are ready to take some time off, and be with each other so that we can finally enjoy our
retirement.”
Sean stared at the man, still thinking that he was missing something. Something big. Monumentally huge.
“Who’s baby was that?” he asked, and knew that was the right question.
“Oh, that’s Declan. He’s a cutie, isn’t he?”
“And Kennedi is his mother?” Sean asked, needing clarification.
“Absolutely. She’s a wonderful mother too. She just dotes on that little guy. Dorothy and I love watching him
whenever she lets us.” He slid a folder across the table to Sean. “Now,” he started off, “after doing some research on similar
breweries, I’ve come to the conclusion that a fair price for my controlling shares would be this,” he said and pointed to a
number on the bottom of the first page. “If you are interested in the distribution plant, then the price would be here,” he
continued, flipping to the second page. “But I have another buyer who is interested in the distribution aspect. Someone from
Ireland who says that my factory and bottling plant would be a good way for his company to break into the American market.”
Sean knew exactly who the other buyer was. His father. The old man had been trying to break into the American
market for years now. That was exactly why Sean’s hobby was buying up the best breweries. Every time his father tried to
buy a place here, Sean was already there, purchasing the company and stopping the old man’s ambitions. It was his favorite
hobby and goal in life, to mess with his father’s business aspirations as much as possible. The cost of buying up these
breweries was nothing compared to the profits of his other businesses. And it gave him a great deal of joy.
Trying to focus on the current issue, that of stopping his father from expanding, he forced himself to concentrate on the
matter at hand.
For the next hour, they went through the details of the brewery and the bottling company, Tom’s distribution reach, his
marketing plans, and other details. They talked about financial issues, competition, obstacles, overhead costs, capital
expenditures, and even staffing challenges.
But the whole time, Sean couldn’t get the image of the baby out of his head.
When Tom leaned back in his chair with a satisfied expression, Sean looked out the window. “Would you mind taking
me on a tour?” he asked.
Tom chuckled. “I would be honored. This place is my pride and joy.”
“Who is the other potential buyer?” he asked, just to be sure. He still wanted to buy the place, even more so now that
he understood just how well run the brewery was. Tom was an excellent business manager and he had a staff of people that
worked hard and believed in his vision. That was rare to find.
They both stood up and headed for the door. “Does the name Liam O’Clary ring a bell?”
Sean chuckled and nodded. Bingo. There was no backing out of the sale now. His asshole of a half-brother was
trying to buy his way into the market and that simply wasn’t going to happen.
“I’m familiar with the family,” he replied back.
They toured the restaurant, which was relatively quiet since it was the middle of the day. There were a couple people
who had come in for lunch, but it wasn’t as busy as it would be later in the evening.
Sean continued to ask questions and was impressed with Tom’s answers as well as the cleanliness of the operation. It
was well organized and everyone seemed to take a great deal of pride in their work.
However, by the time they returned to Tom’s office after going through the bottling factory, Sean kept an eye out for
Kennedi. Was she still with the baby? Who the hell was the father? And how old was the baby? Hell, the baby was
absolutely tiny. She must have been with some other man right after he’d been here. Unless…!
Sean stopped and turned, facing the man. “Tom, who is the father of Kennedi’s baby?” he asked, then held his breath,
waiting for the older man’s answer.
Tom paused, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck as he looked around. When he sighed and stuffed his hands into
the pockets of his khaki slacks, Sean knew he wasn’t going to tell him.
“That’s not a question I should answer. I think you should discuss it with Kennedi.”
Sean nodded slowly, agreeing with him. But the answer only tightened the muscles in his gut. He knew something was
off, but he still wasn’t sure what the right question was.
No, correction; he knew what he wanted to ask, but…he wasn’t ready to hear the answer.
“Is it a boy or girl?”
Tom smiled, his shoulders losing some of their tension. “His name is Declan. And he’s adorable.”
Sean nodded again. “How old is he?”
Tom hesitated briefly, then seemed to mentally shrug. “He’s about three months old.”
“About” wasn’t specific enough. But that didn’t matter. He was going to find out soon enough.
As soon as he tracked down Kennedi, he would get more answers.
Right after he finished that thought, Kennedi and Dorothy stepped back into the reception area. When their eyes
clashed, he recognized the sudden panic there. And acceptance.
“Do you want me to take Declan?” Dorothy asked.
 Kennedi looked down at her son, who was sound asleep in the carrier. “No, that’s okay. He’ll sleep for a while
longer.” She looked at Dorothy, keeping her eyes away from Sean. He’d ignored her after all of those phone calls. It was her
turn to ignore him. “Thanks, Dorothy.”
“Well, let me know if you need a break.” She turned to her husband. “I’ll see you at home for dinner tonight?”
Tom nodded, then glanced at Kennedi, sending her a silent message. She needed to tell Sean about Declan. It was the
right thing to do, but Kennedi wasn’t ready. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready.
Correction, she’d been ready a year ago. She would have loved to receive support and encouragement a year ago. But
now? Sean didn’t deserve her consideration now!
“I’ll have those reports to you by the end of the day, Tom,” she said, hauling Declan down the hallway to her office.
“No rush. I don’t need them until the end of the week.”
Kennedi walked into her office and closed the door. She thought it was the perfect indicator that she wasn’t in the
mood to talk.
However, Sean hadn’t understood the closed-door message. Or he’d simply ignored it, because as soon as she set
Declan on the floor right by her desk where she could watch him while she worked, he pushed the door open, stepped quietly
into her office, and closed the door behind him.
Thankfully, he had enough control not to slam the door. But if the fury in his eyes was any indication, his control was
slipping.
“Who is the father, Kennedi?’ he asked with a low growl.
Kennedi bent down to pull the cotton blanket over Declan’s tiny hands, then stroked his cheek with her finger. “He’s
my son, Sean.”
“Ye’re the mother,” he snapped, his voice going up. But he rallied and regained control. It took him a moment, but
then he asked again, “Who is the father?”
Kennedi stood up and braced herself. It took her several moments, then she said, “You are.”
He turned, muttering several quiet epithets and she stood there, glaring right back at him.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me that you were pregnant?” he demanded in a low, angry voice.
Kennedi didn’t say anything. Instead, she pulled up her phone and flipped through something. When she came to the
call list on her phone, she turned it around and showed him. “I tried to tell you. Several times, Sean. You didn’t give me the
courtesy of returning my calls.”
He had the decency to look guilty, his jaw clenching. But then he shook his head. “No, I’m not accepting that. Ye had a
son! Ye gave birth to my son and ye didn’t tell me anything!”
She sliced her hand through the air, shaking her head. “You left town without a word!” She huffed a bit. “You left me
here, in a small town, pregnant and alone! I tried calling you several times, Sean. I wanted to tell you! I accept that you don’t
want the responsibility of being a father, but…”
“Ye don’t know anything about me!” he argued furiously.
That reply took all of the anger out of her and she slumped slightly. “You’re right, Sean. I don’t know anything about
you. I know…well,” she felt her cheeks heat up and prayed that it wasn’t too obvious. “Well, the things I know about you are
no longer relevant.” She looked out the window, then down at Declan. His tiny fists had slipped out from underneath the
blanket again. He looked like he was ready to go into battle. When she looked up at Sean, she realized that he had the same
exact expression on his face.
That broke her heart for some reason she didn’t understand and wasn’t quite ready to analyze just yet.
Taking a slow, deep breath, she forced herself to calm down. “The past doesn’t matter, Sean. What matters is the
present and what’s best for Declan.”
 His blue eyes lifted, sapphire fire burning from their furious depths. “And you know what’s best?”
She lifted an eyebrow at him. “You think you know?”
“I might know, if ye’d bothered to tell me of his existence.”
Kennedi bristled. Leaning forward, she braced her hands on her desk, glaring at him. “I might have told you about his
existence if you’d answered your damn phone!” she snapped.
He ran a frustrated hand though his hair. “I might have answered my phone if you hadn’t rushed away from me as if
you were ashamed of what we’d done that day.”
She gasped and pulled back, stunned and horrified. She stared at him, wondering where that wound had come from.
She shook her head as she said in a softer tone, “I didn’t rush away from you, Sean. I wasn’t ashamed of you.”
He crossed his muscular arms over his equally impressive chest, glaring at her. “You could have fooled me,” he
snarled. “You raced out of that lake house as if your ass was on fire.”
“I did,” she replied, her anger dissipating as she realized that…she’d hurt him that morning! She’d been so focused on
her own shame, her own terror at the potential gossip, that she hadn’t paused to think about what Sean must have felt about her
abrupt departure.
Her tone softened further. “I was ashamed, but not because of you. I was ashamed because…” she shrugged,
unwilling to tell him the vicious stories that the townspeople had whispered behind her back all of her life. Her mother’s antics
were legendary. “I wasn’t ashamed of you.”
He didn’t reply for a long moment, as some sort of electric current quivered between them.
Then he suddenly broke their glaring contest. Running a frustrated hand through his hair, he backed up a step. He
gazed down at Declan, and she saw the hunger in his eyes. The need. She recognized that need because she felt it too.
Whenever she was away from Declan for too long, she longed to hold him, snuggle with him, and just…breathe in the same air
as her precious son.
“We need to talk,” he snapped. “But I need time to process this.” Again, Sean’s eyes were drawn down to the small
carrier, drinking in the sight of his son. When he looked up at Kennedi again, he’d wiped all emotions from his face. “Can I…
he’s sleeping now, but…I’d like to…I need…” he stopped and ran both his hands through his hair this time. “I’m struggling to
come to terms with this.”
Kennedi had no compassion for him. “Imagine what I went through a year ago,” she snapped at him. “Alone, in a
small town, and pregnant, with a bunch of gossipy bitches telling me that I’m a whore.” Just like her mother, they’d said,
among other horrible comments.
That jerked him back to the present and he narrowed his eyes. “Who said those words to ye?” Sean demanded in a
furious hiss.
She laughed bitterly, then glanced down at Declan to ensure that he was still asleep. He hadn’t even moved, she
realized with a pang of wonder.
When she looked up at Sean, she knew she had to do what was best for Declan, even if it wasn’t the best course of
action for her.
Crossing her arms over her stomach, she reluctantly glanced up at Sean, then quickly away. She bit her lip, then
sighed. She knew what she had to do, even if her wounded feelings didn’t want her to follow that path.
Looking down at her son, she groaned, then asked, “Why don’t you come over to my place after I get off work? He’s
very active around five o’clock in the evening and you can feed him, then help me get him ready for bed.” Then she thought of
a small bit of retribution for the terror that had gripped her so often over the past year. Unconsciously, a slow, malicious grin
spread over her face. “He absolutely loves his bath time.”
Sean nodded. “Fine. What’s your address?”
She whipped off a sticky note and wrote down her new address. “It’s just outside of town. Lots of land and a big
yard, so that Declan will have plenty of space to play once he’s older.”
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
Le origini del Teatro Tragico, facile è argomentarlo, sono comuni con
quelle del Teatro Comico: i due generi si vennero solo col progresso
di tempo separando, divisione poi compiutamente operata
allorquando il trovato de’ scenici ludi si sollevò all’onore dell’arte,
mercè le composizioni de’ poeti che si vennero sul teatro
rappresentando.
Tuttavia per taluni assegnare si vuole speciale carattere agli
incunaboli della tragedia, e se a’ principj della commedia satirica si
prestarono i cavalletti di Susarione, il primo arringo a quelli della
Tragedia si pretese riconoscerlo nell’Attica, nel carro di Tespi, forse
quello stesso carro, che i medesimi abitatori della campagna
valevansi ne’ giorni della vendemmia a portar uve e vasi vinarj.
La vecchia tradizione è consacrata ne’ seguenti versi del libro, o
epistola De Arte Poetica di Orazio, indirizzata a’ Pisoni:

Ignotum tragicæ genus invenisse Camœnæ

Dicitur et plaustris vexisse poemata Thespis;
Quæ canerent agerentque peruncti fœcibus ora [45].

Tespi era poeta dell’Attica, non dell’Icaria, come altri sostiene;

quando pure egli non sia che un pseudonimo, sotto il quale Eraclide
di Ponto [46], al riferire di Aristofane, fece comparire diversi suoi
componimenti. Tespi visse nella 51.ª Olimpiade, vale a dire 534 anni
prima dell’Era Volgare, ai tempi di Solone; e vuolsi infatti che fosse il
primo degli ultimi suoi drammi — de’ quali però non si ha pur un
frammento superstite, e che andava di villaggio in villaggio
rappresentando — che gittasse le fondamenta del Teatro Tragico.
D’onde il nome, variano, come per tutte le antiche e più celebrate
cose, gli etimologisti. Lo dicono i più venuto dalle due voci greche
τράγος, capro, e ὠδῄ, cauto, perchè colui che nella tragedia avesse
vinto, conseguisse in premio un capro, che poi il vincitore sagrificava
a Bacco, come lo stesso Orazio ricordò nella succitata Arte Poetica
in questo esametro:

Carmine qui tragico vilem certavit ob hircum [47].

Altri al contrario, tenendo conto del tingersi che gli attori facevano
del volto col mosto o feccia, la quale in greco è detta τρυζ, e nel
dorico dialetto τραξ, γὸς, fanno originato da tal pristino costume il
nome a questo genere di composizione.
A differenza della commedia, che assai spesso da seri, torbidi a
complicati eventi trae principio e si chiude poi con lieto e tranquillo
esito: la tragedia ha tutto luttuoso il subbietto e tristissima catastrofe
per fine. Laonde Ovidio, personificandola, la fa camminare violenta,
a grandi passi, colla fronte torva per la scomposta chioma e col
cascante peplo:

Venti et ingenti violenta Tragœdia passu:

Fronte comæ torva, palla jacebat humi [48].

Differenzia altresì la Tragedia nella natura e qualità de’ personaggi;

spesso ridicoli, del popolo, o di servil condizione quelli della
commedia: la tragedia li richiede invece gravissimi, re, principi e tali
da versar nelle corti, come il più spesso i subbietti svolgonsi infatti
nelle reggie, o nelle aule dei grandi, trattandovisi calamità, delitti e
luttuosi fatti.
Dopo di Tespi, al quale il Lambino, nel commento d’Orazio, afferma
che sianvi di coloro che credono anteporre Epigene come inventor
del teatro ed anzi esservi chi prima di lui pretenda che fossero sedici
altri a precederlo in simil genere di ludi; Orazio indica essere stato
Eschilo ad avantaggiar la tragedia prestandole la maschera, il peplo,
il coturno, a valersi della scena ed a far uso di più perfetta parola:

Post hunc, personæ, pallæque repertor honestæ

Æschilus, et modicis instravit pulpita tignis
Et docuit magnumque loqui, nitique cothurno [49].

Aristotele non dà ad Eschilo questo vanto, dicendo ignorarsene

l’inventore: Quis autem, scrive egli, personas introduxerit, vel
prologos, vel multitudinem actorum et alia hujusmodi, ignoratur [50].
Suida ed Ateneo lo concedono, in quanto alla maschera, al poeta
Cherillo, contemporaneo di Tespi.
Vedemmo già delle maschere nel capitolo antecedente e notai la
diversità della maschera della commedia da quella della tragedia: or
mi piace d’aggiungere nell’argomento maggiori particolarità per
quella speciale importanza che nella tragedia la maschera vi aveva.
Il volto, sotto del quale presentavasi sul teatro l’attore, era sempre
corrispondente alla parte ch’ei sosteneva, nè si vedeva giammai un
commediante rappresentare la parte d’un uomo dabbene colla
fisonomia d’un briccone. — I compositori, scrive Quintiliano, allorchè
pongono sul teatro un loro componimento, sanno dalle maschere
trarre eziandio il patetico. Nelle tragedie, Niobe appare con riso
melanconico, e Medea coll’aria atroce della sua fisonomia, ci
annuncia il suo carattere. Sulla maschera d’Ercole sono dipinte e la
forza e la fierezza. La maschera di Ajace mostra il sembiante di un
uomo fuor di sè stesso. Per mezzo della maschera si distingue il
vecchio austero dall’indulgente, i giovani saggi dai dissoluti, una
giovinetta da una matrona. Se il padre i cui interessi formano lo
scopo principale della commedia, deve essere ora contento, ora
disgustato, mostra aggrottato l’uno de’ sopraccigli della sua
maschera, oppur l’altro abbassato, ed è attentissimo nel volgere agli
spettatori quel lato della sua maschera che più si addice alla sua
situazione. Si può quindi congetturare, che il commediante il quale
portava quella maschera, si volgesse ora da una parte, ora dall’altra,
onde mostrar sempre il lato del viso che era alla propria situazione
più conveniente, allorchè rappresentavansi le scene in cui egli
doveva cangiar d’affetto, senza poter cambiare di maschera in
iscena. Se quel padre, a cagion d’esempio, compariva lieto sulla
scena, presentava il lato della sua maschera, il cui sopracciglio era
abbassato; e allorquando gli avveniva di cangiar d’affetto,
camminava sul palco e con tanta maestria, che presentava in un
istante allo spettatore il lato della maschera col sopracciglio
aggrottato, avendo cura, tanto nell’una, come nell’altra situazione, di
volgersi sempre di profilo.
Giulio Polluce, parlando delle maschere di carattere, dice che quella
del vegliardo il quale sostiene la prima parte nella commedia deve
essere afflitta da una parte e serena dall’altra e trattando delle
maschere delle tragedie, le quali debbon essere adattate al
carattere, dice altresì che quella di Tamiri, quel rinomato temerario il
quale fu reso cieco dalle Muse per avere osato di sfidarle, doveva
avere un occhio cilestro e l’altro nero.
Le maschere permettevano inoltre agli uomini di rappresentare le
parti di donna, le quali esigendo, per l’ordinaria vastità dei teatri e,
per sopraggiunta, scoperti, non altrimenti che i circhi, robustezza di
voce, mal vi avrebbero veraci donne sopperito. Aulo Gellio racconta
infatti un aneddoto dell’attor tragico Polo, cui nella tragedia di
Sofocle venne affidata la parte di Elettra e ricorda come nella
situazione in cui Elettra doveva comparire tenendo in mano l’urna
ov’ella crede raccolte le ceneri del fratello Oreste, vi venisse
stringendo al petto l’urna in cui erano veramente rinchiuse le ceneri
di un fanciullo che egli aveva da poco tempo perduto; e che nel
volgere, come voleva l’azione, le sue parole all’urna, sommamente si
intenerì, non minore emozione destando nell’uditorio.
La necessità della maschera, per la suavvertita ragione della vastità
dei teatri, è constatata dall’autorità di Prudenzio: «Quelli che
recitano, dice questo scrittore, nelle tragedie, si coprono il capo
d’una maschera di legno e per mezzo dell’apertura fattavi fanno
sentir da lungi la loro declamazione.»
Servivano da ultimo le maschere a rendere più formidabile l’aspetto
dell’attor tragico, ciò che era uno degli studj più accurati nell’antica
tragedia; onde Giovenale nella Satira terza:

Ipsa dierum
Festorum herboso colitur si quando theatro
Majestas tandemque redit ad pulpita notum
Exodium, cum personæ pallentis hiatum
In gremio matris formidat rusticus infans [51].
Di venticinque specie almeno si contavano le maschere della
tragedia: sei di vecchi, sette di giovani, nove di donne e tre di
schiavi, distinte tutte da una peculiare diversità di lineamenti, di
colore, di capellatura e barba.
Eravi poi la persona muta, sorta di maschera portata dall’attore, che,
pur figurando nel dramma, non parlava mai, come le comparse del
teatro moderno. Questa maschera aveva dunque la bocca chiusa e
non aveva espressione al pari delle altre.
Tanto negli scavi di Pompei che in quelli di Ercolano, si rinvennero
nelle pitture esempi di personæ, o maschere tanto comiche, che
tragiche, e che di semplici comparse e rispondono perfettamente a
quei cenni che son venuto adesso fornendo.
Ho accennato più sopra che la maschera aggiungeva altresì valore
alla voce: infatti essa la rendeva più sonora, quasi raccogliendola
nell’emissione, come faremmo noi al bisogno di più grande clamore,
che portiamo le mani intorno alla bocca. Un attore tragico
domandava una forte e tonante voce, perchè dice Apulejo, il
commediante recita e l’attor tragico grida a tutta possa. Nè
diversamente intese dire Cicerone, quando nella enumerazione delle
doti necessarie all’oratore, chiede ch’egli abbia la voce d’attor
tragico: In oratore autem acumen dialecticorum, sententiæ
philosophorum, verba prope poetarum, memoria juriconsultorum,
vox tragœdorum, gestus pene summorum actorum est
requirendus [53]. — Vedrà facilmente il lettore quanta modificazione
avesse in progresso, e massime a’ tempi nostri codesto requisito; il
quale or vuolsi risponda alla vera naturalezza.
Seconda invenzione di Eschilo, al dire di Orazio, fu la palla, o con
più proprio vocabolo greco, pur serbato dai Romani, la sirma, Συρμα,
ed era la tunica che l’attor tragico portava lunga sino ai talloni,
sostenendo le parti di personaggi eroici o divini. Era essa intesa a
dare grandezza e dignità alla persona, e nascondeva la
sconveniente apparenza dello stivale tragico, cothurnus, ad alta
suola. Giovenale vi accenna nella Satira VIII, quando così apostrofa
Nerone:
Hæc opera atque hæ sunt generosi principis artes,
Gaudentis fœdo peregrina ad pulpita saltu
Prostitui, Graiægue apium meruisse coronæ.
Majorum effigies habeant insignia vocis:
Ante pedes Domiti longum tu pone Thiestæ
Syrma vel Antigones, seu personam Menalippes,
Et de marmoreo citharam suspende colosso [54].

Questo coturno poi era uno stivale portato dagli attori tragici sulle
scene, il quale aveva una suola di sughero alta parecchi pollici,
all’intento di far comparire, egualmente che la sirma, più grande la
loro statura ed aggiungere loro un più imponente aspetto. Da siffatta
consuetudine originò la frase sumere cothurnum, calzare il coturno,
per indicare tanto l’attore tragico, che il poeta che componeva
tragedie. Questa promiscuità d’indicazione fu motivata allora, come
fino a’ tempi moderni, da ciò che più spesso il poeta era anche
l’attore. Già, pur allora, ne accennai implicitamente nel parlare di
Livio Andronico; come dei tempi moderni può recarsene ad esempio
Shakespeare.
L’uso del coturno nella recitazione della tragedia vuolsi
generalmente introdotto da quell’altro sommo poeta tragico greco
che fu Sofocle; onde scambiasi, per metonimia, fin nel linguaggio
d’oggidì, coturno sofocleo bene spesso par tragica composizione.
Virgilio l’usò in un’egloga ad esprimere la severità o sublimità dello
stile, parlando de’ versi di Cornelio Gallo, al quale quel
componimento è diretto:

Sola Sophocleo tua carmina digna cothurno [56].

Nè la dignità maggiore dell’attor tragico, poteva tuttavia

differenziarlo, nella designazione, dalla classe dell’attor comico.
Entrambi detti istrioni, histriones, parola derivata dagli Etruschi, che
l’adoperavano a significare un attore pantomimico ed un ballerino
sulla scena, come ne fa fede l’autorità di Tito Livio [57]. — I Romani
accolsero la voce, ma ne estesero il significato, con tal nome
designando qualunque attore drammatico, che recitasse il dialogo
del dramma con gesto appropriato, e quindi l’attor tragico come
l’attor comico.
Plinio infatti chiamò M. Ofilio Hilaro istrione di commedie [58], come
Esopo istrione di tragedie [59]. Non fu del resto che più tardi che si
usò del nome stesso ad indicar uomo vanaglorioso e spavaldo ed
anche il vil cerretano.
E fu ciò tanto vero, che Macrobio, a dimostrare come gl’istrioni
fossero anzi stimati, cita l’amicizia intima di Cicerone con Esopo e
con Roscio istrioni: la dilezione avuta da Lucio Silla per quest’ultimo,
così che, dittatore, il regalasse di anello d’oro: il fatto che ad Appio
Claudio, uomo trionfale, fosse attribuito ad onore fra’ colleghi di
saper ottimamente danzare: pro gloria obtinuerit, quod inter collegas
optime saltitabat e chi tra nobilissimi cittadini, Gabinio uom
consolare, M. Celio e Licinio Crasso si recassero a sommo di onore
non solo lo studio, ma la perizia nella danza [60]. Io piuttosto dirò che
i ludi e le ludiæ recitando e danzando sulle pubbliche vie fossero nel
generale disprezzo, come lo sono tra noi i saltimbanchi e suonatori
di strada.
Ovidio è di questa sorta di ludi che parla nel Lib. I. Artis amatoriæ:

Dum quæ, rudem prœbente modum tibicine Thusco,

Ludius æquatam ter pede pulsat humum [61]

Fin da’ loro primordii, tanto la commedia che la tragedia ebbero,

nella loro recitazione, accompagnamento di musica, volendosi con
questa sostenere la voce degli attori e massime del coro, che
figurava impreteribilmente nelle tragiche composizioni, secondo ne
ammonisce in questi versi Orazio:

Tibia non, ut nunc, orichalco vincta, tubæque

Æmula, sed tenuis simplexque foramine pauco
Aspirare et adesse choris erat utilis, atque
Nondum spissa nimis complere sedilia flatu [62].
Gli istrumenti erano le tibie, le quali apprendiamo dalle notizie che si
leggono in molte edizioni in fronte alle commedie di Terenzio, che
fossero di più specie.
Erano esse fatte di canna, di bosso, di corno, di metallo, o stinco di
alcuni uccelli e animali, d’onde il nome ebbe origine. Alcune erano
simili al moderno zufolo, altre al flauto, altre eran curve, altre
s’accoppiavano ed eran pari, altre impari, ambe suonate ad un
tempo da un medesimo suonatore, altre dicevansi destre ed altre
sinistre, a seconda dovevansi tenere da una mano o dall’altra, e le
prime producevano le note gravi e basse, le seconde ottenevano le
acute.
L’Ecira di Terenzio, a mo’ d’esempio, fu accompagnata da due tibie
pari: modos fecit Flaccus Claudi tibiis paribus [63]: il Formione dello
stesso dalle tibie impari o disuguali: modos fecit Flaccus Gaudi tibiis
imparibus; l’Andria con doppio pajo di tibie; gli Adelfi dalle tibie dette
Sarranæ, che erano dell’egual lunghezza e diametro interno, come
le pari, in guisa che tutte e due si trovassero alla medesima altezza
di suono. Così dicasi delle altre commedie di lui, in molte edizioni
delle quali leggesi, come dissi, in fronte alle stesse la nota: Acta tibiis
dextris, vel sinistris, paribus vel imparibus.
I musici che suonavano le tibie nel teatro e che venivano altresì
adoperati nelle feste e solennità religiose e ne’ funerali, chiamavansi
Tibicines, e in Roma costituivano, come ne fa fede Valerio Massimo,
una speciale corporazione. — Una pittura pompejana ci rappresenta
un tibicen, seduto sul thymele nell’orchestra in atto di battere il
tempo col suo piede sinistro e coperto dalla lunga veste.
Nè ufficio di tibicini era solo accompagnare del loro suono gli attori
ed il coro durante la rappresentazione, ma ben anco di suonar negli
intermezzi e fra gli atti, come usasi modernamente e come Plauto,
chiudendo il primo atto del Pseudolus, informa con queste parole:
Tibicen vos interea hic delectaverit [64]: ma già fin d’allora avvertivasi
da molti alla inconvenienza di turbare con suoni le scene più
interessanti e poetiche della tragedia, se Cicerone colla finezza della
sua ironia avesse a scrivere: Non intelligo quid metuat cum tam
bonos septenarios fundat ad tibiam [65].
E in Grecia e in Italia, preponendosi, per gentile e religiosa
costumanza, alle scienze e alle arti quelle amabili divinità che sono
le Muse; se Talia, come abbiamo veduto, era musa assegnata alla
Commedia, Melpomene fu la musa della Tragedia.
Indarno lo scoliaste d’Apollonio e quello dell’Antologia [66] pretesero
a questa Musa attribuir l’ode, forse a ciò indotti dal valore del suo
nome, che significa cantante, senza riflettere che questo nome
meglio convenga alla musica, che, come testè ho esposto, usavasi
dagli antichi durante l’azione tragica teatrale; perocchè la maggior
parte degli scrittori e poeti, greci e latini, s’accordino nel dire
Melpomene la Musa della Tragedia e tra gli altri Petronio Afranio
nell’Elogio delle Muse lo affermi chiaramente:

Melpomene reboans tragicis fervescit iambis [67];

e Le Pitture d’Ercolano portano scritto μελπομενη τραγωδιαν,

Melpomene tragœdiam.
Il vestimento, che si assegna ordinariamente a questa Musa severa,
è una tunica lunga, appellata talaris, le cui maniche giungono a’
polsi, al di sopra di essa un peplum o tunica più corta, e da ultimo la
syrma teatrale, col pugnale e la maschera tragica alla mano, calzata
del coturno, austera nella figura ed ombreggiata da’ capelli la fronte,
fronte comæ torva, come ebbe a cantare Ovidio, che ho già citato.
Venendo ora alla materialità o forma e disposizione delle parti
architettoniche di un teatro tragico, non potrei che riferirmi a quanto
mi accadde di dire nel capitolo precedente, perocchè teatro comico e
teatro tragico si somigliassero quasi in tutto. Le differenze ho già del
pari notate, e son minime; l’Odeum più spesso, il qual era d’origine
greca, soleva esser coperto. Laonde vengo difilato al Teatro Tragico
pompejano.
Anche quella descrizione che particolarmente ho fatta del teatro
Comico, mi abbrevia il còmpito della descrizione del gran Teatro, o
Teatro Tragico di Pompei; perocchè suppergiù si avrebbero a dire le
medesime cose, da che e la distribuzione delle parti e l’ordinamento
e i locali si rassomiglino, come anche molto simili gli scopi.
Non noterò adunque che quelle specialità che lo differenziano, a
scanso d’inutili ripetizioni, non lasciando anzi tutto di prender atto del
nome del suo architetto, quale ci fu tramandato da un’iscrizione
ch’era in una muraglia attinente al teatro ed oggi trasferita al Museo
Nazionale e che suona così:
MARTORIUS M . L . PRIMUS ARCHITECTUS [68].

Il teatro Tragico era situato sul declivio di una collina, sulla sommità
della quale si trova il lungo e vasto portico accommodato a ricevere
gli spettatori in caso di pioggia, potendo all’uopo anche servire di
passeggio, e di lizza per gli esercizi ginnastici. A differenza del
Comico, era esso scoperto al pari dell’anfiteatro e della più parte dei
teatri d’allora, massime di Roma; onde notai come particolarità
quella dell’Odeum pompejano d’essere stato coperto, riferendo anzi
a prova l’iscrizione che l’attesta, ma che d’altronde non può dirsi che
fosse l’unico nella Campania, avvertendoci Stazio che pur in Napoli,
dei due teatri, l’uno fosse coperto e l’altro no, in quel verso:

Et geminam molem nudi, tectique theatri [69].

Non è però che il Teatro Tragico esponesse così gli spettatori

all’incommodo, non lieve in quella parte d’Italia, in cui l’estate è
precoce, de’ vivi raggi del sole; avvegnachè si fosse presto ricorso
alla invenzione di un mezzo per ovviare al grave inconveniente, nel
velarium, che vi veniva disteso al disopra; lo che praticar solevasi
anche ne’ giuochi dell’anfiteatro, come a suo luogo vedremo,
riportando anzi, come farò, il tenore di alcuni affissi che annunziando
al popolo gli spettacoli, lo avvisavano, a maggior eccitamento di
concorso, che sarebbe tirato sull’anfiteatro il velario.
Nei teatri della Campania, prima che altrove e per conseguenza pur
in questo di Pompei consacrato alla tragedia, secondo la
testimonianza di Plinio, venne introdotto l’uso del velarium a coprir il
teatro e difendere per tal modo gli spettatori dagli ardori del sole; e
come che esso richiedesse servizio di cordami e si componesse di
tele quali si usavano per le vele de’ navigli, e che anzi se ne
conservasse perciò loro il nome, così a distenderlo servivansi
d’ordinario di marinaj.
Questa commodità, che avrebbe dovuto essere come salutare
universalmente accolta, venne invece biasimata in Roma,
chiamandola effeminatezza campana, quando Quinto Catulo ve
l’importò, siccome leggiamo in Valerio Massimo: Quintus Catulus
imitatus lasciviam primus spectantium concessum velorum
umbraculis texit [70], e quello stupido mostro di Caligola, al dir di
Svetonio, recavasi a diletto di far ritirare improvvisamente il velario e
costringere gli spettatori a rimanere a capo scoperto esposti alla più
cocente sferza canicolare [71].
Ma se nella Campania s’era ritrovato questo eccellente, quantunque
calunniato, espediente contro la sferza canicolare, sappiam però da
Marziale, che assai spesso esso tornasse inutile affatto in Roma al
teatro di Pompeo, per l’imperversare del vento. Ma se così in Roma,
che sarà stato allora in Pompei? Sedendo la città in riva al mare, era
più che mai esposta alla furia di esso. Il Poeta che protestava,
nell’epigramma dal titolo Causia, cioè il cappellino usato nel teatro di
Pompeo, ch’ei conserverebbe il suo cappello in testa:

In Pompejano tectus spectabo theatro

Nam populo ventus vela negare solet [72],

senza volerlo, ci lasciò ricordato che a’ quei giorni anche in teatri

scoperti fosse della buona creanza lo starsene a capo nudo.
Giulio Cesare spinse la propria prodigalità fino al punto di volere in
una festa magnifica data al popolo romano, che disteso fosse il
velario di seta sull’anfiteatro e si sa che la seta si vendesse allora a
peso d’oro. Anche Nerone ordinò un velario di porpora, i cui ricami
d’oro rappresentavano il carro del Sole, circondato dalla Luna e dalle
Stelle.
Pare del resto che un certo lusso fosse entrato poi sempre ne’
teatrali velarj, nè più si componessero, come nelle origini, di semplici
e grezze tele di navi, se Lucrezio, nel suo poema De Rerum Natura,
ingegnosamente descrive a lungo il giuoco dell’ombra colorata
prodotta dai variopinti velarj, così che non mi so trattenere dal qui
riferirne il brano ch’io dispicco al IV libro:

Nam certe iaci, atque emergere multa videmus

Non solum ex alto, penitusque, ut diximus ante;
Verum de summis ipsum quoque sæpe colorem:
Et vulgo faciunt id lutea, russaque vela,
Et ferrugina, cum magnis intenta Theatris,
Per malos volgata, trabeisque, trementia flutant.
Namque ibi consessum caveæ subter, et omnem
Scenæ speciem, Patrum, Matrumque, Deorumque
Inficiunt; coguntque suo fluitare colore:
Et quanto circum mage sunt inclusa Theatri
Mœnia tam magis hæc intus perfusa lepore
Omnia conrident, conrepta luce diei [73].

Nè, a temprare l’ardore della stagione, usavasi nel teatro tragico di

Pompei del velario soltanto: ma ben anco d’altro curioso trovato, che
scaltrirà il lettore del quanto fossero innanzi i nostri maggiori negli
artifizj dilicati.
Nella parte superiore del teatro, oltre l’emiciclo, evvi una specie di
torre che figura tonda nel teatro e quadra al di fuori, in cui stava un
serbatojo d’acqua derivata dal Sarno, che serviva ad inaffiare e
rinfrescare teatro e spettatori, facendola scendere in minutissima
pioggerella, o spruzzaglia, a mo’ di rugiada.
Stando a Valerio Massimo che lasciò scritto: Cnejus Pompejus ante
omnes aquæ per semitas decursu æstivum minuit fervorem [74],
sarebbe stato questo valoroso capitano il primo che avesse ad
introdurre l’anaffiamento delle vie a diminuzion di caldura e di
polverio ed additasse così il bene dell’evaporazione: facile ne era
allora l’applicazione a’ luoghi di trattenimento, massime ne’ teatri, ne’
quali, per esservi rappresentazioni mattutine e nel pomeriggio, vi si
rimaneva tanta parte del giorno.
La ricercatezza venne spinta dipoi a mescere a quell’acqua, onde
rinfrescavansi i teatri, anche odorose essenze, e massime di
zafferano allora in voga ed a mezzo di tubi, disposti dentro de’ muri.
Esse venivano quindi sprizzate fuori, giusta quanto si legge nella
nonagesima epistola di Seneca: Hodie utrum tandem sapientiorem
putas qui invenit quemadmodum in immensam multitudinem crocum
latentibus fistulis exprimat [75]. Queste pioggie d’essenze, che
Antonio Musa, il celebre liberto e medico di Augusto e amico di
Virgilio, presso Seneca, appella odoratos imbres, pioggie odorose, e
Marziale nimbos, nimbi; più comunemente chiamavansi sparsiones,
nome anche comune alle liberalità che facevano i principi al popolo;
ma come già erano stati di molti che austeramente avevano
rimproverato di mollezza campana l’invenzion del velario, pur furono
a più ragione di quelli che a ricordo di virtù e sobrietà antica,
rinfacciassero alla loro età queste effeminate invenzioni.
E Properzio fra gli altri, nella sua Elegia, in cui accenna a un
grandioso tentativo poetico sui fasti di Roma antica sventato dai
consigli di un indovino forestiero, che lo ricondusse ai suoi canti
d’amore, ha questo distico:

Nec sinuosa cavo pendebant vela theatro,

Pulpita solemni non oluere croco [76].

Egual concetto modulava Ovidio nell’Ars amandi in questo distico:

Tunc neque marmoreo pondebant vela theatro,

Nec fuerant liquida pulpita rubra croco [77].

Ma poichè sono a dire delle varie costumanze del teatro, non

ommetterò quella che ci rivela Marziale, nel deridere in un suo
epigramma un cotale che ei noma Orazio, solito a comparire vestito
indecentemente il giorno degli spettacoli.
Ecco l’epigramma:
Spectabat modo solus inter omnes
Nigris munus Horatius lacernis,
Cum plebs, et minor ordo, maximusque
Sancto cum duce candidus sederet,
Toto nix cecidit repente coelo,
Albis spectat Horatius lacernis [78].

Quando adunque l’inverno, o l’inclemenza della stagione lo

consigliava, essendo i teatri scoperti, non si lasciava tuttavia di
andarvi, ma s’avea cura di avvolgersi in bianchi mantelli di grossa
lana denominati lacernæ, e quest’Orazio il Poeta mette in canzone
perchè fosse andato al teatro con una lacerna nera; ma la neve
inopinatamente fioccata in copia aveala resa bianca siccome le altre.
Ora i bianchi mantelli di finissimo cascemiro ricoprono soltanto le
nivee spalle delle nostre eleganti signore allorchè traggono a’ teatri
principali, od anche a serate di gala.
Se non che può credersi un abuso questo di portar mantello in
teatro, se un senso lato vuolsi dare al seguente passo di Svetonio
nella Vita d’Augusto: Ac visa quondam pro concione pullatorum
turba, indignabundus et clamitans: En, ait,

Romanos, rerum dominos, gentemque togatam?

Negotium ædilibus dedit, ne quem posthac paterentur in foro circove

nisi positis lacernis, togatum consistere [79]; ma credo che il divieto
d’Augusto non riguardasse che i soli mantelli neri.
Io ho detto emiciclo, parlando del corpo dell’edificio ov’erano gli
spettatori, ossia della cavea, oltre la quale eravi la torre del serbatojo
d’acqua; ma più propriamente la cavea del teatro tragico non aveva
la figura d’emiciclo, ma piuttosto di ferro da cavallo ed era del
diametro di 68 metri e si calcola aver potuto contenere da cinquemila
spettatori.
Gli scaglioni della cavea, gradus, e che noi diremmo gradinata,
erano in numero di ventinove, tutti di marmo bianco divisi in tre piani,
moeniana, da due precinzioni o intervalli, detti anche baltei o cingoli,
dal loro scopo, e questi pure divisi in cinque scale, scalæ, itinera, di
cui ciascuno scaglione formava due gradini, ripartiti in cinque cunei;
oltre due altre parti, le quali non sono ordinarie ne’ teatri, ma varietà
speciale di questo e che sono di forma rettangolare, una per fianco e
terminanti in due tribune riservate, nell’una delle quali si trovarono
anche gli avanzi di una sedia curule.
Queste tribune, o spartimenti, hanno ciascuna un ingresso
particolare, che mette sul portico di dietro, per una scala separata.
Il primo ordine della cavea aveva cinque scaglioni, venti ne aveva il
secondo e quattro il terzo. Sul primo scaglione del secondo ordine
eranvi incastonate lettere di bronzo formanti questa iscrizione:
M . HOLCONIO . M . F . RVFO
II . VIR . I . D . QVINQVIENS
ITER . QVINQ . TRIB . M . A . P .
FLAMINI . AVG . PATR . COL . D . D . [80]

Al medesimo personaggio, cioè a Marco Olconio Rufo figlio di

Marco, ed a Celere Olconio esiste altra iscrizione sulla scena, da cui
è manifesta come a loro spesa fossero stati eretti a decoro della
colonia una cripta, che è la summentovata torre quadrata onde
conservare l’acqua pel teatro, un tribunale, che è quello sulla via del
tempio di Iside in seguito a’ propilei del Foro Triangolare, di cui ho
già parlato a suo luogo, e questo teatro:
MM . HOLCONI RVFVS ET CELER
CRYPTAM TRIBVNAL THEATRVM
S.P.
AD DECVS COLONIÆ [81].

Benemerita la famiglia degli Olconj di Pompei e della colonia per

tante publiche opere, terrò conto pur di questa iscrizione ritrovata in
questo teatro, allo stesso M. Olconio Celere dedicata e scolpita in
marmo:
M . HOLCONIO CELERI
D . V . S . D . QVINQ . DESIGNATO
 AVGVSTI SACERDOTI [82].

Sotto la seconda cavea dovevano trovarsi tre statue, delle quali due
esser dovevano indubbiamente degli Olconii, Celere e Rufo, alla cui
spesa erasi eretto il teatro.
Una particolarità poi offre l’orchestra del teatro tragico in un
piedistallo, o piuttosto altare, su cui, a norma della costumanza
greca, — e della Grecia molti usi osservavansi, più che altrove
dell’orbe romano, in Pompei, — sacrificavasi a Bacco prima di dar
principio allo spettacolo. Chiamavasi con greco vocabolo thymele o
thimela, θυμελη, e serviva altresì ad altri usi, come anche di
monumento funebre, o di qualunque altro oggetto richiesto nella
rappresentazione drammatica, nascondeva il suggeritore che stava
di dietro, mentre il suonatore di flauto (tibicen) e qualche volta il capo
del coro prendevan posto su quello. In un teatro strettamente
romano non v’era thymele, perchè ivi l’orchestra fosse interamente
destinata ad accogliere gli spettatori, al pari della nostra platea [83].
Al sommo di ciascuna sala eranvi le porte, vomitoria, cui si giungeva
per mezzo di corridoi e scale praticate internamente.
Il proscenio presenta sette nicchie semicircolari per i tibicini e nella
parte anteriore corre tutto per il lungo quella cavità dell’hyposcenium,
da cui sorgeva l’aulæum, o sipario della tragedia.
Altre particolarità non si notano che il Gran Teatro distinguano
dall’Odeum, ove non s’eccettui la prospettiva della scena ch’era
costituita da tre ordini di colonne, l’uno sull’altro, con eleganti basi e
capitelli di marmo e sei statue saviamente collocate. Sembra che
anche questo publico edificio fosse stato ben danneggiato dal
tremuoto del 63 e che si trovasse nel momento della catastrofe del
79 in istato di riparazione, perocchè la scena che evidentemente
doveva essere rivestita di marmi ed altre decorazioni, se ne presenti
ora affatto spoglia. Delle tre porte ordinarie che la scena si aveva, e
che qui sono maestose, aperta quella di mezzo, secondo l’uso, nel
fondo di un emiciclo, chiamavasi regia, perchè di là uscivano i
principali personaggi della tragedia: le due laterali appellavansi
hospitalia. Fiancheggiano la porta di mezzo due nicchie che
contenevano le statue di Nerone e di Agrippina.
Piacemi finalmente tener conto di ciò che afferma il Rosmini nella
sua Dissertatio Isagogica, altre volte da me citata, che cioè questo
teatro fosse stato aperto al publico, od almeno dedicato ad Augusto
nell’anno vigesimosecondo del tribunato di questo imperatore [84].
Frammenti di statue di marmo, lapidi con iscrizioni, tegole ed
embrici, e pezzi di legno carbonizzati si rinvennero dalla parte del
Foro Triangolare, e il complessivo giudizio che dalle interessanti
reliquie è dato di formulare, può sicuramente mettere in sodo che a
questo loro teatro avessero i Pompejani ad aggiungere grande
importanza, se gli Olconj vi credettero portare enormi dispendj; tanta
vi pare la magnificenza e la perfezione dell’arte.
Quali fossero le tragiche composizioni che a questo teatro venissero
rappresentate cerchiamo ora coll’usata rapidità d’indagare.
Se ci fosse lecito di mettere il teatro pompejano a fascio cogli altri
teatri d’Italia, mi trarrei presto e facilmente d’impegno, dicendo che a
siffatto teatro si rappresentassero, nè più nè meno che ai teatri di
Roma, le tragedie de’ latini scrittori, e mi avverrebbe allora di
ricordare i nomi de’ più celebrati poeti; ma gli scavi ed oggetti teatrali
rinvenuti mi impongono obblighi maggiori.
Sappiamo che Andronico lasciò diciannove tragedie, comunque
appena qualche frammento sia rimasto superstite e giunto fino a noi,
e di questo autore ho già parlato altrove abbastanza: egual numero
ne lasciò Marco Pacuvio, e Quintiliano le loda per profondità di
sentenze, nerbo di stile, varietà di caratteri, sebbene la critica
moderna più severa, nel poco che ci è pervenuto, giudichi non esser
concesso ravvisare che liberissime imitazioni in istile oscuro e senza
armonia. Lucio Accio alla sua volta ne compose e raffazzonò di
molte, fra cui il Bruto e il Decio, soggetti patrizi che recitavansi
ancora ai tempi di Cicerone e più volontieri venivano lette, e
dell’Atreo, che Gellio scrisse aver Accio, giovanetto ancora, letto in
Taranto a Pacuvio, pur lodandolo di grandiose e solenni cose scritte,
non gli tacque di altre sembrargli dure alquanto ed acerbe; al che
avesse a rispondergli: non dolere ciò a lui, e trarne anzi auspicio di
buon avvenire, per accader degli ingegni quello che delle mele, che,
se nate agre e dure, divengono poscia tenere e succose; ma se
spuntino tenere e succose, col tempo, non mature ma vizze si
rendano e corrotte [85].
Di Gneo Nevio campano già dissi nel precedente capitolo del pari;
ora ricorderò Quinto Ennio Calabrese, che scrisse tragedie e
commedie non poche, che predicava di sè aver ereditato l’anima di
Omero, Cassio Severo, Varo da Cremona e C. Turrano Graecula
rammentati, a cagion d’onore, da Ovidio, come autori di buone
tragedie [86]; ma più vorrei intrattenermi di Asinio Pollione, che fu
riconosciuto siccome il più celebre tragico latino: ma che dirne, se
nulla di lui, come degli altri sunnominati, sopravisse? Istessamente
della Medea, che si sa avere scritto Ovidio stesso, della quale egli
nel libro secondo Dei Tristi, dopo avere ricordato i libri dei Fasti, i sei
ultimi dei quali o non iscrisse, come crede il Masson, o andarono
perduti, soggiunge:

Et dedimus tragicis scriptum regale cothurnis:

Quæque gravis debet verba cothurnus habet [87].

Di questa tragedia non sussistono infatti che il seguente verso riferito

da Quintiliano:

Servare potui, perdere num possim rogas? [88].

e l’emistichio seguente ricordato da Seneca il Vecchio, nella terza

Suasoria:

Feror huc illuc, ut plena Deo [89].

Se non che, oltre la Medea, più altri lavori sembra che Ovidio abbia
scritto pel romano teatro; fra i quali certo la Guerra de’ Giganti,
com’ei ce ne avverte nell’elegia I degli Amori:
Ausus eram, memini, cœlestia dicere bella
Centimanumque Gygen; et satis oris erat [90].

Si gloria egli stesso che molte volte fossero rappresentate anche alla
presenza d’Augusto [91], e continuassero a rappresentarsi con
grande concorso anche dopo il suo bando [92].
Nè di più posso dire del Tieste di Vario, che a giudizio di Quintiliano
cuilibet Græcorum comparari potest [93], e che Orazio nell’Arte
Poetica mette con Virgilio a paro.
Alcune tragedie, gonfie di declamazioni e mancanti di quel che
appunto costituisce il dramma, che è l’azione, raccolte in volume,
vengono tuttavia spacciate sotto il nome di Lucio Anneo Seneca da
Cordova. Esagerazioni, passion falsa, caratteri atroci, furori,
situazioni improbabili sono difetti comuni a queste composizioni, alle
quali non ponno tuttavia negarsi ben coloriti racconti, spesso maschii
concetti e qualche buona sentenza, laconiche e concettose parole.
Nella Medea, a cagion d’esempio, quando la nutrice la compiange
perchè più nulla le sia rimasto:

Abiere Colchi; conjugis nulla est fides;

Nihilque superest opibus e tantis tibi,

Medea fieramente risponde:

Medea superest [94].

Nell’Ippolito, Teseo chiede a Fedra qual delitto creda dover ella colla
morte espiare:

Quod sit luendum morte delictum, indica.

Fedra risponde:

Quod vivo [95].

Curioso è poi nel Coro de’ Corintj della Medea trovar vaticinata la
scoperta di un nuovo mondo, quattordici secoli, cioè, prima che
Cristoforo Colombo facesse quella dell’America:

Venient annis
Sæcuta seris, quibus Oceanus
Vincula rerum laxet, et ingens
Pateat tellus, Tethysque novos
Delegat orbes; nec sit terris ultima Thule [96].

Nè qui tutti furono i tragici romani, tra i quali si vuol perfino

annoverare Mecenate, l’amico e protettore di Virgilio e d’Orazio, ed
abbenchè si persista dai dotti a ritenere che Roma non abbia avuto
tragedie; pure io reputo che tale sentenza unicamente debba
intendersi nel senso che la romana storia non abbia prestato forse i
subbietti eroici come la greca, alla quale pur tolsero per la più parte i
proprj coloro che scrissero tragedie nella lingua del Lazio, e che però
non sia riuscita a lasciare, come la greca, traccie luminose. Ma io
non torrò, a tale riguardo, la mano al Nisard, che le cause ne indagò
ne’ suoi Études sur les moeurs et les poètes de la decadence,
trattando appunto di Seneca. — I subbietti di questo poeta, noterò
ad ogni modo, ed a rincalzo di questa osservazione, che all’infuori
dell’Octavia, sono tutti eroici greci, che tali sono appunto la Medea e
l’Hippolitus succitati, l’Hercules furens, Thiestes, Thebais, Œdipus,
Troas, Agamemnon ed Hercules Œtæus.
Ecco come il sullodato Nisard riassume le cause per le quali Roma
non ebbe tragedie:
«Nè il dramma per altro motivo è l’opera letteraria più indigena e più
originale d’esso paese, se non perchè non può essere fatto senza il
popolo, e perchè il popolo deve discuterlo in pieno teatro. Roma non
ebbe dunque drammi, perchè non ebbe vero popolo. Senza il popolò
può esser creata una bella letteratura d’imitazione, ma non il
dramma, e questo lo provò appunto la Roma aristocratica.
Seminando il suo vero popolo su tutti i campi di battaglia, essa
perdette una delle più belle glorie dello spirito umano, quella del