Page 133 of Carnal Wagers

“And even rarer. You have a date.”

“I do. If you both would excuse us.”

“Actually, Hanklin needs some of your time, Killy. Certain questions I can’t answer, and since you’re here…” Liam turned his sunny disposition on me. “You don’t mind, Alice, do you?”

Was there really ever a choice during these events?

“You can keep Eloise company,” Hanklin said, and she looked as thrilled at being pawned off on me as I did.

But Cillian’s attention remained focused on me, and that made this worth it. Whatever business Hanklin and Liam wanted to discuss, my mobster’s intense gaze stated exactly where my importance ranked compared to it. That turned my knees into a pile of goo, ready to kneel and submit to anything he wanted from me.

“Go,” I urged him softly. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder, or so I’ve heard.”

“I don’t need to be apart from you for that.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll have Eloise.” I waggled my eyebrows teasingly.

He grunted. “Let’s get this over with.”

Then he stomped away with the other two.

“Well, lucky you. That man looks like he’d be fun in the sack,” Eloise said, then slugged down the second half of her champagne. “Come on, I need more to drink.”

What started as a short mission for alcohol with one person turned into a congregation of women. The conversation bounced from the dresses they planned to wear at an upcoming charity event to the cause of said charity event. That then attracted the host-to-be and his entourage, which somehow twisted into a psychoanalysis on male versus female altruism in the upper class compared to the middle or lower class, before switching over to tonight’s donated auction lots and an estimation of their worth. Like usual, I mediated. I redirected when a lull came up. I appeased, complimented, and laughed along at tactless jokes. Needless to say, when Cillian wrapped his arm around me and stole me away from the clucking hens, I went with gusto, practically sighing into his arms.

As I gently massaged the corners of my eyes to liven them back up, he led me to our table and pulled a chair out for me. He sat in the next one over.

“I thought you might need this. A little pick-me-up.”

On my place setting was a steaming, strong-bodied espresso wafting warm notes of caramel and roasted hazelnuts.

Oh god, the smell. I hadn’t even drunk it yet, and already life flowed back into my tired brain.

“Yes. Merci. Thank you.”

Over the rim of the demitasse, I spied his slick smile, one that said he was thoroughly pleased with himself.

“That look because of one little coffee?” I asked.

“If it makes you happy. There’s little I want more than that.”

Surprise bubbled into warm fizziness that radiated from my chest out. Again, it hit me. He loved me.

I drank the coffee down, the backs of my eyes smarting.

Peopling was exhausting. I was good at it, having been forced to be. I even enjoyed it most of the time. That didn’t mean it didn’t take its toll, but no one had ever noticed before. No one but him. My lover, my boyfriend, my husband.

“You see me,” I whispered.

His forehead pressed to mine. “I do. I see you. I cannot unsee you.”

“Why me?” Why you? was the real question.

“Because there’s no other woman in the world like you. You’re in my line of sight, mo leannán, and I refuse to let you out of it.”

My smile was brittle. This was supposed to have been a means to an end. A bet to hurt him the way he hurt me. He was supposed to fall in love with me, never the other way around. Yet I couldn’t deny these feelings butterflying around in my stomach or how he tied me up in knots.

My trap had snared us both. This wasn’t just sex. This was waking up to him in the morning happy. Basking in his touch. Bickering over which movie to watch or whose taste in food was better. This was my heart unfolding in his care and never wanting to let him go. This was about growing old with the love of my life.