Nash’s gaze was a chill pill of baby blue. Orla’s was the same molten brown as her brothers, but I never fell head first into Cam or River’s dark stare and resurfaced a different man. I never ached to run my rough hands over their tattooed skin, and it wasn’t because they lacked Orla’s curvy hips and delicate neck. Hell no. The O’Brian gene pool was fine as fuck, but only Orla had me a ball of raging heat with the scrape of her damn fingernails.
