Happy Release to Three Irish Brothers!
I can’t wait for you to meet the sexiest country brothers in all of Ireland!!!
Hope you enjoy them all! 😉
xoxo Sienna
Three Irish Brothers
A Reverse Harem Romance
“Sienna Blake delivers, yet again, with her signature brand of gritty, all-consuming romance!” ~ Lamplight Review
I used to think I was one of the lucky ones.
But at twenty-six, I’ve left my “perfect” life in New York behind—my perfect fiancé, my stylish friends, my high-flying marketing career—and moved to Ireland.
Truthfully, my perfect fiancé is now my ex after I walked in on him face-deep in my best friend’s p***y.
And my career? It’s over. Because that cheating ex-fiancé of mine…he owns the company I worked for.
I know. I know. Don’t screw your boss. Trust me, I’m never making that mistake again.
On my way to the remote Irish farm I’m now working on, my car hits a ditch. I’m rescued by the three sexiest men I’ve ever seen.
The three Irish O’Callaghan brothers.
Broad shoulders, strong arms, accents that make me wet just to hear them.
I want them. All of them.
I know they all want me.
Plot twist…
Turns out they’re my new bosses.
Warning: This is a sexy yet emotional reverse-harem romance, a full-length, standalone novel at 50k words. Three sexy Irish brothers who want nothing more than to please their special woman. All at the same time.
Sienna’s Quick & Dirty series consists of standalone novels which are hotter, dirtier and quicker than her other novels.
Get your hands on Killian, Fionn & Aiden now
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Exclusive Excerpt of Three Irish Brothers
Fuck. Fuckety fuck fuck.
I’m fine, just a slight crick in my neck. But the car is not. It won’t start and the front bonnet is crumpled to hell and this stupid rain won’t let up.
There’s no reception on my phone.
I can’t call a tow.
I can’t call my new boss, who is expecting me.
I can’t call anyone.
I am so fucked.
I sit in the driver’s seat of my now-wrecked car, gripping my steering wheel. What the hell do I do now?
I let out a long scream. It echoes inside the car, my answer to the constant drumming of the rain on the top.
I feel slightly better.
But I’m still fucked.
Okay, Savannah, think.
I only have snacks in my bag that I purchased from a gas station. Tayto crisps and Maltesers aren’t going to last me the day.
I could walk to find help. I did buy those totally cute knit Skechers at the airport. Too bad they’re not waterproof. Nor did I think to buy any waterproof rain jackets.
Fuck. Me.
I’d be drenched in ten seconds flat. Then I’ll catch pneumonia and die alone on the side of a too-skinny road in the middle of nowhere Ireland where no one knows I am. A fitting end to this shitty, shitty day.
I spot a flash of something farther up the road.
It’s a truck driving towards me. A truck, which means people, which means help!
I don’t think twice. I burst out of the car and run into the road waving my hands at them, signaling them to stop. The rain has faded to a drizzle but I can still feel it frosting the hairs on my skin and making my clothes damp.
The truck slams on its brakes and halts a few meters away from me.
The driver’s side door opens and a large man jumps out. “What the fuck?”
That. Accent.
Holy hell.
Deep yet melodic, it travels through my body like a shiver.
He strides towards me in the rain. He’s tall, around six two, I’m guessing. And looks unlike any man I’ve ever seen. He wears long rough trousers made of thick material and a rough-spun button-up shirt, clean but clearly has seen better days. The rain is already causing it to fit across his wide chest and thick torso, straining around his biceps.
Oh wow. This man didn’t get his body from a well-designed weight-lifting program at the gym. He got it working the land and getting dirty.
I could get real dirty with him.
I shove aside that thought.
Two other doors of the truck open and…oh my fucking God, another two of them get out.
Holy crap.
There’s three of them.
Three broad-shouldered, ruggedly handsome, dark-haired men.
Maybe I hit my head in the crash and I’m seeing triple.
Triple handsome. Triple bodies like gods. Triple hot as hell. Surely, this can’t be real. They can’t be real.
As they stride towards me like something out of an action movie, I feel myself growing faint. I’ve never swooned before. I thought that kind of thing only happened to women in Victorian novels with too-tight corsets. But the sight of them is making me woozy. And hot. It’s getting very fucking hot inside my body. I’m way too young for this to be the onset of menopause.
The three of them come to stand before me in a wall of rugged muscled man, all with thick brows over deep, dark eyes, strong, stubbled jaws and kissable lips. They must be brothers. For a second I think they’re triplets. But then I notice the subtle differences between them.
The tallest one has the strongest jaw under a five o’clock shadow and the deepest set eyes. He’s the one who climbed out of the truck first. The one who yelled at me with that deep accented voice.
The second one, the one standing in the middle of the trio, is about an inch shorter at around six feet one. He’s the only one who has a smile on his face, a dimple marking his left cheek. He’s the most tanned of the three and appears the friendliest.
The shortest one, still a good six feet tall, has the broadest shoulders, the widest torso. He has a faint scar that mars his top lip and disappears under his beard, the thickest of the three. It doesn’t detract from his attractiveness, quite the opposite. It makes him look mysterious. Sexy. Almost dangerous.
“Are ye feckin’ mad, woman?” the first man says. “What the hell are you tryin’ to do, jumping out in front of my truck? Ye could have been killed.”
He’s scowling at me as if I’ve wronged him personally. I frown. I gave him plenty of time to see me. It’s not like I jumped out in front of his truck. What the hell is his problem?
“Ah, don’t be such a sourpuss, Killian,” the middle one says. His voice isn’t as deep as Killian’s, but it’s more playful, more lyrical. I imagine he’d have an incredible singing voice. “The lass needs us.”
The innuendo in his tone is not lost on me, and my stomach erupts into flutters.
“I need a tow and a mechanic,” I say, trying to ignore the strange feelings coursing around my body. “But I’ll take a lift to the nearest phone instead. Mine won’t get reception out here.”
“You’re American,” the middle one says. His smile broadens into a lopsided grin. He looks on the border of laughing at any moment.
“Don’t hold that against me.”
The middle one laughs. He mumbles something under his breath. It might have been my imagination, but I swear I heard, “I’d rather hold you against me.”
I think I’d rather that, too.
“I’m Fionn,” he says out loud and holds out his hand.
“Savannah.” I take his hand, a shot of electricity going up my arm at the contact. He must have felt it, too, because his brows furrow.
I let out a shaky breath. “I’ve never heard the name Fionn before.”
“A truly Irish name. Named after a legendary Irish hero. These are my brothers, Killian and Aiden.” He thumbs over his shoulder.
So they are brothers.
“But I’m the only one you really need to know.” Fionn grins and my heart flips.
Careful, my inner voice warns me. This one is definitely a heartbreaker. I bet that grin has broken more than its fair share of hearts in this county and the next.
The third brother, Aiden, still hasn’t said anything. But he has been staring at me this whole time. I smile at him and try for a tiny wave. He doesn’t smile back.
“We can give her a lift to town, can’t we, Killian?” Fionn calls back over his shoulder, his eyes still on me.
Killian makes a grunting noise, turns on his heel and strides back to the truck. I can’t help but notice his strong thighs in those jeans or the way he just cuts up the ground with his long legs.
“That means yes in grumpy-speak,” Fionn says with a wink. “Come on.”
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