O’Connor ignores him; he hasn’t been able to tear his eyes away from me, like he can read the thoughts flitting through my brain. I tighten my arms more securely around my chest and return his stare. He may unnerve me, but there’s no way in hell I’m backing down.
“Why should I tell you what I’ve been up to? Are you going to be a proper wife to me now? Keep all my secrets. You can’t have it both ways. Either you’re in or you’re out. What’s it gonna be?”
“Weren’t you just railing at me yesterday because I did something without your say-so? Maybe I just want equality?” My breaths are coming in little pants like I’ve been running a marathon.
We’re in our own little bubble, staring each other down, unable to look away. Outside of the bubble, Mara teases Eamon as he fakes pain under Yasmine’s care. Their voices are filtered through cotton, and they may as well be miles away.
“You want something. I’m willing to give you whatever you want, but it’ll cost you,” he says.
“I said no such thing.” Haven’t I already given him enough?
“I’ll make you a deal. I’ll tell you where I am and what I’m doing.”
“I should have asked for a tracker on you when you insisted I have bodyguards.” The words fall out of my thoughts and my mouth before I can stop them. Fuck, I shouldn’t have letYasmine talk me into so many margaritas. I lost track of time and thought I’d be able to sober up before he got home.
His intensity amplifies. Somehow, he’s inched closer to me, herded me into a corner of the dining room, blocking Yasmine and the others from my sight, and I let him, body soft as melted wax, pliant for him.Goddamnmargaritas.
“Let me get this straight. You want all my secrets, but won’t tell me yours. Is that what you consider equality?”
“I’m in your bed every night, what more could you possibly want from me?” I ask.
“I want you to wear the rings I gave you.”
My eyes drop to my bare hand. I tried to wear the rings in the beginning but stopped out of spite. It seemed like a little thing at the time. A rebellion no one but me would notice. Apparently, I’d been wrong about that. He’d noticed. The sensitive skin at the back of my neck prickles in warning.
“You want me to wear my rings?”
“That’s right.”
“And you’ll tell me what happened?”
He nods and inches closer until our fronts brush. A flash of heat has sweat beading on my hairline, behind my knees. My pussy contracts, and I swallow a gasp. He’s too close. It’s too soon after this morning. The memory of his hard cock pressed against the crease of my ass is too fresh.
“Go get it, and I’ll tell you everything.”
Yasmine and Mara are still contending with Eamon—who’s putting up a fuss and enjoying all the attention—so I duck under O’Connor’s arm and practically fly up the stairs, heart in my throat and pounding in my ears the whole way. This could be the answer to learning more about his boss and what ties they may have to my family. Or information I can use to my advantage in the future. It’s too good an opportunity to pass up.
Downstairs, the rings clasped in my sweaty palm, I find Yasmine finishing up the bandage on Eamon’s wound. Mara has a near empty margarita in her hand as she sways to music from the movie’s end credits, lost in her own world. Eamon is trying everything to ruffle Yasmine’s feathers, but he’s not making much headway. Nothing can derail Yasmine, not even the full force of his twisted charm.
O’Connor is exactly where I left him, except now his blood-smattered—don’t look at them—sleeves are rolled up, exposing his tattoos. He’s taken off his tie and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt. The death moth at his throat ensnares me. I want to put my mouth on it. Bite the skin. Suck until the whole thing is purple.
My breath catches in my throat, and I fumble with the rings. Before I can shove them on my ring finger, O’Connor slips them from my nerveless grip.
“Let me,” he says, his voice a rumble in his chest.
“I—”
But whatever protest I’m going to make dies on my tongue as he slides the gold band and diamond solitaire over my knuckle. They’re slightly too big, so it shifts as he brings it up to admire.
“Good night,” he calls over his shoulder without looking.
I double blink, then search the vicinity for Yasmine and find her grabbing her stuff. She makes thecall megesture, and I nod, unable to form words.
“Good night, lovebirds,” Mara calls.
Eamon exaggerates a limp even though his legs are in perfect working order and grumbles behind them. He keeps flicking glances at Yasmine as they all walk out.
“Where were you?” I ask. Emotion swirls in my chest, and I’m not self-aware enough to identify it. Disdain? Dread? Fear? It causes the margaritas, popcorn, and candy to slosh uncomfortably. “What happened?”
