I could turn around and flee. Should give up this fruitless search and live my life. But I stride forward, resolute, through the threshold. With a sharp eye for detail, I scan my surroundings for clues about the mysterious dinner host but find nothing. When I drag my attention back to my father for a quick assessment, I nearly curse under my breath. The tension in his shoulders could practically snap his spine. That’s how on edge he is.
“Gallagher,” comes a smooth, rumbling drawl to our right, toward what I assume is the kitchen entrance. He must have been in a corner not visible from the hallway. Had he watched us come in? Why hadn’t he introduced himself first?
Then I recognize the voice.
One with a lilting, musical Irish accent that’s been a frequent star in my dreams.
No.
“I’m so pleased you could make it.”
My heart does a sickening flip in my chest and damn near breaks through my ribs. Elizabeth draws away from me as Father tugs her forward. I try to hold her hand because it’s theonly thing keeping me upright, but she pulls free of my grasp, and I breathe deeply so I don’t pass out.
“Of course,” Father answers. “I’d like to introduce you to my daughters. This is Elizabeth, my youngest.” A pause, reluctance. “And her older sister, Catriona.”
Turning slowly, I squeeze my eyes together and pray to a God I don’t believe in that I’m wrong. That stress is telling me the voice is familiar. But it’s not. It can’t be. There’s no way he can be here right now. I would have known. Why the fuck didn’t I insist on knowing who we were going to meet tonight? Why hadn’t it ever occurred to me that he and Father could be more connected than a simple real estate transaction?
I finally muster up the balls to open my eyes.
A low buzzing fills my ears. My hands go clammy, and I brush my palms against my thighs. I’d run, but Frances is already closing the double doors to the hallway, and his tall, broad frame occupies the only other exit to the kitchen. Unless I want to smash through the doors like the Hulk, I’m trapped.
Father urges a trembling Elizabeth forward, and she bobs her head as she allows the man to take her hand and bring it to his lips.
The first thought that comes to my panicking mind falls woefully short of my horror.
Fuck.
At my whispered curse—Did I say that out loud?—his familiar eyes, so light blue they’re almost pure silver, lift to mine as he kisses my sister’s fingers. He raises a brow, the only sign at all that he recognizes me.
It’s then, with equal amounts of crystal-clear clarity and sick horror, that I realize the purpose behind tonight’s impromptu meeting, and why it’s going to be an unmitigated disaster.
Above all, Father values connections, and he hasn’t made it a secret that he views Elizabeth and me as pawns to move aroundat his pleasure. I wouldn’t put it past him to use one of us to further his interests.
And that’s something I can never allow to happen.
Because the man extending to his full height with Elizabeth’s hand in his isn’t a stranger at all.
In fact, he’s been haunting my increasingly dark and dangerous dreams for months—ever since I left him sleeping in the messy sheets of the bedroom where he spent an entire night punishing me for crashing his party. A punishment I’ll never be able to force from my memory. Not that I’ve wanted to.
Clearly, expecting him to disappear from my life was a big mistake.
Huge.
CHAPTER 3
AIDEN
Istill with Elizabeth’s hand against my lips, already wishing I could speed up time until after the wedding. The sooner this is over with, the better. I let out a slow breath, everything inside me icing over as a sour taste fills my mouth. There is only one way tonight can end. Elizabeth doesn’t notice as she chatters blithely about how nice it is to meet me. I highly doubt she’ll maintain that sentiment for long.
Straightening, I release Elizabeth’s hand and then… there she is. Like she never left.
Frozen in the entrance to the dining room, Catriona observes the scene, expressionless. I blink once, but it’s all I need for the sight of her to sear itself into my brain. Skintight pink dress that makes her seem ages more innocent than she is. Hair in Hollywood curls flowing over her shoulders. Heels that emphasize her trim calves and shapely legs. I thought I’d imagined how good she looked. But I hadn’t. Not even a bit.
Trouble. That’s what she looks like. I’d known it then, and it’s even more apparent now. This woman is trouble.
Ripping myself away, I shake Rory’s hand and press my fingertips to her sister’s lower back, guiding them to the table, place settings already out for the meal. Frances quietly sets another place for Catriona. I hadn’t thought—maybe I’d hoped that she wouldn’t come. It would be less of a headache if she stayed as far away as possible in the future.
“Wine?” I ask Rory. He opens his mouth and pauses like he’s remembering our last conversation, and wonders if maybe I’m playing with him. I’m not, but I don’t mind how it immediately sets him on edge. It’ll be better for everyone involved if he stays that way. He scrutinizes the empty doorways like Eamon may be hiding in the shadows, then gives a jerky nod when he finds them empty.
