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! š
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, Iāve left my āperfectā life in New York behindāmy perfect fiancĆ©, my stylish friends, my high-flying marketing careerāand moved to Ireland.
Truthfully, my perfect fiancĆ© is now my ex after I walked in on him face-deep in my best friendās p***y.
And my career? Itās over. Because that cheating ex-fiancĆ© of mineā¦he owns the company I worked for.
I know. I know. Donāt screw your boss. Trust me, Iām never making that mistake again.
On my way to the remote Irish farm Iām now working on, my car hits a ditch. Iām rescued by the three sexiest men IāveĀ everĀ seen.
The three Irish OāCallaghan brothers.
Broad shoulders, strong arms, accents that make me wet just to hear them.
I want them. All of them.
I know theyĀ allĀ wantĀ me.
Plot twistā¦
Turns out theyāre 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.
Siennaās 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.
Iām fine, just a slight crick in my neck. But the car is not. It wonāt start and the front bonnet is crumpled to hell and this stupid rain wonāt let up.
Thereās no reception on my phone.
I canāt call a tow.
I canāt call my new boss, who is expecting me.
I canāt call anyone.
I am so fucked.
I sit in the driverās 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 Iām still fucked.
Okay, Savannah, think.
I only have snacks in my bag that I purchased from a gas station. Tayto crisps and Maltesers arenāt 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 theyāre not waterproof. Nor did I think to buy any waterproof rain jackets.
Fuck. Me.
Iād be drenched in ten seconds flat. Then Iāll 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.
Itās a truck driving towards me. A truck, which means people, which means help!
I donāt 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 driverās side door opens and a large man jumps out. āWhat the fuck?ā
That. Accent.
Holy hell.
Deep yet melodic, it travels through my body like a shiver.
He strides towards me in the rain. Heās tall, around six two, Iām guessing. And looks unlike any man Iāve 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 didnāt 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 andā¦oh my fucking God, another two of them get out.
Holy crap.
ThereāsĀ threeĀ of them.
Three broad-shouldered, ruggedly handsome, dark-haired men.
Maybe I hit my head in the crash and Iām seeing triple.
Triple handsome. Triple bodies like gods. Triple hot as hell. Surely, this canāt be real.Ā TheyĀ canāt be real.
As they stride towards me like something out of an action movie, I feel myself growing faint. Iāve 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. Itās getting very fucking hot inside my body. Iām 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 theyāre triplets. But then I notice the subtle differences between them.
The tallest one has the strongest jaw under a five oāclock shadow and the deepest set eyes. Heās 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. Heās the only one who has a smile on his face, a dimple marking his left cheek. Heās 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 doesnāt detract from his attractiveness, quite the opposite. It makes him look mysterious. Sexy. Almost dangerous.
āAre ye feckinā mad, woman?ā the first man says. āWhat the hell are you tryinā to do, jumping out in front of my truck? Ye could have been killed.ā
Heās scowling at me as if Iāve wronged him personally. I frown. I gave him plenty of time to see me. Itās not like I jumped outĀ in frontĀ of his truck. What the hell is his problem?
āAh, donāt be such a sourpuss, Killian,ā the middle one says. His voice isnāt as deep as Killianās, but itās more playful, more lyrical. I imagine heād have an incredible singing voice. āThe lassĀ needsĀ us.ā
The innuendo in his tone is not lost on me, and my stomach erupts into flutters.
āI need a tow and a mechanic,ā I say, trying to ignore the strange feelings coursing around my body. āBut Iāll take a lift to the nearest phone instead. Mine wonāt get reception out here.ā
āYouāre American,ā the middle one says. His smile broadens into a lopsided grin. He looks on the border of laughing at any moment.
āDonāt hold that against me.ā
The middle one laughs. He mumbles something under his breath. It might have been my imagination, but I swear I heard, āIād rather hold you against me.ā
I think Iād rather that, too.
āIām Fionn,ā he says out loud and holds out his hand.
āSavannah.ā 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. āIāve never heard the name Fionn before.ā
āA truly Irish name. Named after a legendary Irish hero. These are my brothers, Killian and Aiden.ā He thumbs over his shoulder.
So theyĀ areĀ brothers.
āBut Iām the only one you really need to know.ā Fionn grins and my heart flips.
Careful, my inner voice warns me.Ā 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 hasnāt said anything. But he has been staring at me this whole time. I smile at him and try for a tiny wave. He doesnāt smile back.
āWe can give her a lift to town, canāt we, Killian?ā 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 canāt help but notice his strong thighs in those jeans or the way he just cuts up the ground with his long legs.
āThat means yes in grumpy-speak,ā Fionn says with a wink. āCome on.ā
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