Page 131 of Carnal Wagers

“HD?” Liam asked over my shoulder.

I elbowed him out of the way. “You mind?”

My annoyance had nothing to do with the fact that Alice still hadn’t revealed what that abbreviation stood for, and everything to do with her demanding more space.

“Never.” He winked, and I barely resisted slapping the ability to wink off his face. “You’re not going to leave her be, are you?”

I glanced at him dryly, and he whistled. The pitch of it rose, then fell with a harsh drop.

“You know what this means, don’t you?”

“What?”

“You’ve caught feelings. I’d wager you might even love her.”

I shifted my jaw side to side and shoved upright, the chair scratching along the flooring. Truth was, I had already considered that over a week ago when I was planning to check off “a getaway weekend with someone who loves me” from Alice’s bucket list.

“Careful. It’ll hurt all the more if ever…”

“I know.” I rubbed at my chest.

At this point, if I lost her, I knew she would leave a hole I’d never recover from, which was why I wasn’t leaving anything to chance.

I shadowed her for the rest of the day, through every shopping expedition she made. Then when she came home, I took her in my arms and made love to her until the anxiety that buzzed under my skin melted away.

Chapter 32

As Cillian handed our coats to the attendant, I adjusted the side train of my mini dress, that gave the delicate beaded tulle fabric a more sophisticated length. Then I gave the curls of my side-swept hairstyle a last check. With my shoulders back, head up, and smile plastered, my game face was on. I was ready for whatever tonight’s gala might bring.

Cillian kissed my hand. His eyes roamed my body from top to bottom, a lustful twinkle there.

“You’re mesmerizing, love. A real fairy among men.”

He didn’t look too bad himself in a suit and tie, his bad-boy look shrouded beneath polished pomp and a classy pair of oxfords. They didn’t quite take the weighted menace out of his gaze or the rigidity from his posture, but I was looking forward to unwrapping him and rediscovering every single one of his tattoos and hard angles with my tongue later tonight. It was definitely a step up from his appearance at our wedding seven years ago.

When he offered me his arm under the eyes of Boston’s wealthy society, with our guards not too far behind, a ridiculous flush crept up my cheeks. I was no better than a schoolgirl with her first crush.

We made our way through the Boch Center’s entrance arm in arm below glimmering lighting fixtures. Gentle classical music softened the clack and echo of heels on tiles against the low-hanging ceiling, but the closer we got to the doors toward the grand lobby, the louder the rush of ping-ponging conversations became.

My steps faltered as I realized one very simple but crucial detail. We never discussed how I was to help him today. I tugged him slightly off to the side to let others pass.

“So what’s the plan?” I eyed the clusters of couples chatting beyond the doorway to the grand lobby. “Who are we schmoozing?”

“Schmoozing?” Cillian repeated with a twinge of amusement, his hand settling on my waist.

“Yes, who is your focus tonight?”

I glanced covertly at the assembled crowd. The men sported suits designed by a range of brands from luxury to masstige, but at first glance, none of them were worth less than six hundred euros. The women were comparatively styled, which meant this evening entertained a wide range of people in the upper class.

“Are we meeting someone specific? An investor for a business opportunity? Or maybe the mayor to discuss annual donations you might make?”

His soft chuckles reverberated against my spine.

“What? What is so funny? I am only trying to help.”

He planted a kiss against my shoulder.

“There’s no plan, sweetheart. Just enjoy.”