"It's just... I've only ever known you as Kincaid." She frowned. "Doesn't anybody else know your name?"
"No. And I'd like to keep it that way."
She folded her hands in her lap. "It's a lovely name-"
"Ava." A growl.
"I don't know why it bothers you so much, but I promise I won't reveal your dirty little secret."
"I've got dirtier ones than that, luv."
Heat thrilled through her. Ava swallowed. "I'll bet."
There was that look again. The one he often graced her with when he let his guard down, as if he forgot to remember he was supposed to stay away from her. Then it faded as rapid footsteps started down the stairs. "In fact, whatever you see or hear here, please don't repeat it. To anyone."
Ava had never been the overtly curious sort. She respected people's rights to their secrets-after all, she had her fair share-but the way he was acting set off her instincts.
Kincaid was hiding something, and that had to be the reason behind his tension on the way over here, and the stillness that lingered in his shoulders as he stirred the soup.
"I'll keep your secrets," she said quietly, reaching over and resting her hand on his forearm-the real one.
Kincaid looked down at that touch, then their eyes met, and something passed there that she hadn't felt since that night they shared in the Gardens of Eden six weeks ago, when she'd almost kissed him. Lust was one thing-she knew she was attracted to him. But there'd been something between them that night, a gentle sort of tenderness in his words and his touch, and now she was the one offering that to him.
He looked away. "You make hating blue bloods hard, did you know that?"
"Don't tell me I'm corrupting you to our side?"
There was a swish of skirts, and a breathless gasp as a young woman emerged from the stairwell. "Well, don't you look grand? Give us a look at you, Liam!"
"Orla." His expression and tone brightened, and he crossed to drag the small redhead into his arms, planting a kiss on her cheek. "It hasn't been that long."
"Two weeks."
"I've been busy," he protested, and the two of them shared a look that made Ava feel a little uncomfortable.
Whoever she was, this woman knew Kincaid in a way she didn't.
"Busy with what?" the woman demanded, and those gray eyes narrowed on Ava.
"Orla, this is my friend and associate, Miss Ava McLaren. Come on over here. Orla won't bite." When Ava complied, he tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow. "Ava, luv, this is my cousin, Orla Kincaid."
Cousin. She didn't know why that word eased the uncomfortable feeling within her. "A pleasure."
Orla turned back to Kincaid and arched a brow accusingly. "A blue blood? You've got to be kidding me."
Was it painted across her forehead?
His smile died. "Ava's a friend."
"Aye. I've met your friends before."
"That's enough." The abruptness of his tone shocked both of them. "It's not like that. Not at all. And I won't tolerate your rudeness to someone who ain't earned it."
Orla blinked, then turned to look at Ava again, as though seeing her for the first time. "I apologize. It's been a trying day."
"Oh, there's no need for apologies," Ava replied, though she didn't take her hand off Kincaid's arm. The animosity was something she'd seen happen to other blue bloods, but never experienced firsthand.
At least not until today. Today had been a day of firsts, she thought sadly.
"How is he?" Kincaid let her hand go, and returned to the soup.
"The same," Orla replied.
"Ava, have a seat," he said, and gestured toward the scarred kitchen table. Dozens of copper pots hung over it, and someone had been chopping parsley. "I'll fetch you some tea as soon as the kettle's boiled."
"Tea?" Orla stated, as though she couldn't help herself.
"Ava doesn't drink blood," he replied, that heat turning his blue eyes stormy again. The cousins glared at each other. "She's created a protein solution that seems to be able to sustain her." His hands kept moving, stirring the soup, and then setting out bowls, as though the everyday tasks came naturally to him. "She's the laboratory assistant for the company I work for."
"And which company was that again?"
"Malloryn Enterprises," he lied blandly, ladling soup into a bowl. "Does Ian want bread with it?"
Orla grew curiously quiet. "He's not got the stomach for it anymore. The soup will be fine."
Kincaid handed her the tray, and Orla gave a curt nod in Ava's direction before she ascended the stairs.
Something was very wrong here.
"Is your uncle unwell?" she asked quietly.