Free F*ck of the Irish (The Hard and Dirty Holidays #4) by Celia Aaron

the fire behind me the same way he would stare into my paintings. He studied something far away, past the flames and the bricks and the mortar.
    Fatigue was written in every line on his face. Not even the flickering orange glow could hide how drained, how frightened he truly was. He hadn’t looked this haunted since the night he found me lying on the floor, almost two years ago. I rubbed my eyes, trying to erase his fear and the memories from my mind.
    He let out a labored groan and fell back against the chair.
    “Dylan!” I called.
    My stepbrother appeared in the doorway within moments. “What’s going on? Was that the dick prosecutor I passed in the hall?”
    “It doesn’t matter, just please help Dad to his room. He needs to rest.”
    “No, no. I’m fine.” Dad clutched me to him again, his grasp weaker, fading. “I love you, Stella. Don’t forget that. No matter what happens tomorrow.”
    I forced my heart to stay together. If it shattered, I would be of no use. I couldn’t become a quivering heap of regret, not yet. Not until I found out what Sinclair Vinemont wanted from me.
     
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