“I’d give you indigestion,” she says.
“It’d be worth it.”
She flicks a look over her shoulder as we move to the front door. I manage to tear myself away from imagining taking a bite out of her ass. “Shouldn’t you be focused on tonight?”
“I have a great attention span.”
“Well, direct it toward what you need from me, please. I don’t want another mess like the reception.”
“Whatever you say. The foundation I run puts on galas like this and the masquerade”—at this, she has the grace to blush—“a couple of times a year for a variety of charities and causes. This one is important because Cian will be attending. He likes to come stateside every few months to check on his investments. I’ll explain to him what’s happened, and he’ll be obligated to invite us back to meet the others in the organization.”
“How does that all work? Why is it important?”
By now, we’re in the back of a limo, rolling through the streets of New Orleans. It would be so easy to divert to the airport. Take her away somewhere hot and tropical, where she could spend most of the day naked. I wouldn’t have to share her with anyone.
“Traditionally, when a member of the organization with no other family marries, it spins off their own clan. So for me, that would be Clan O’Connor.”
“What about your… um, father? Didn’t he—I mean, wasn’t?—”
“Yes, we used to have Clan O’Connor before his death. Several families currently make up our organization: the Lynches, Carrolls, Moores, Kellys, Burnses, Clearys, Murphys, and O’Briens. There used to be more—many more—including the O’Connors. But after Cian took power, he was ruthless about cutting out those he thought weren’t loyal, starting with my father.”
She sucks in a breath. “So you marrying means you’re breaking from his Clan and starting your own?”
“To put it simply. When Cian killed my father, anyone who was of Clan O’Connor was absorbed into Clan Lynch. Eamon is a Murphy, and he has a younger brother with a family, so theymaintain his Clan, though it’s mostly for looks at this point. Eamon refuses to take his place and draw Cian’s attention.”
“Great, so we’re walking into the lion’s den. I hope you have a plan.”
“To a very dangerous lion. I need you to stick close to me tonight. Don’t go wandering off.” Before she can object, I raise a hand. “You can galavant all you want on any other night, but not tonight. I need to focus, and I won’t be able to do that if—if I’m chasing you down.”
“I’ll stay in your sight at all times. I promise. Thank you for, um, inviting my family at my request. I’m hoping we’ll be able to mend fences.” She’s looking out of the window at the lights speeding by.
“Anything you need, I’ll give it to you.”
She directs an amused smile my way. “I highly doubt that.”
All too soon, the limo pulls up to the Emerald Isle, where a red carpet leads to the central entrance. A small contingent of photographers lines either side, lights flashing. “Last chance to turn back.”
“I thought O’Connors didn’t walk away from a challenge?” she teases, then opens the door, extends a shapely leg and folds herself out of the limo before I can help her. I’m too stunned by her including herself as an O’Connor to do more than gape like a fish.
We manage the gauntlet, posing for pictures, and Catriona plays her part to perfection. She curls against me with a hand on my chest and the other around my waist. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she was born for this.
The Emerald Isle is part luxury resort, part riverboat casino. The casino itself is in a 30,000-square-foot steamboat on the pier behind the resort. It’s not like me to want to impress people. I normally rely on intimidation to do my introductions, but I find myself studying Catriona’s face for her reaction.
I’m not disappointed. She observes her surroundings, her mouth falling open on a gasp. Pleased, I guide her through the main floor, evading several patrons along the way, to bring her to the elaborate ballroom in the hotel where the event is taking place. It’s already packed with people, who all turn in a wave the moment we walk into the room.
Catriona presses closer to my side; the only betrayal of her emotions is the way her grip tightens on my arm. I loop an arm around her wrist and guide her through the crowd to our table. Mara and Eamon are already seated. I lock eyes with Eamon, and he gives a nod, confirming the body has been taken care of.
“I tried to tell him to put you in pink, like we agreed, but he wouldn’t hear a word about it,” Mara says, gesturing with her glass toward Catriona.
“He doesn’t listen very well,” Catriona says, nodding at the server for a glass of wine.
“It reminded me of your dress from the masquerade.”
If I weren’t paying such close attention, I would have missed the way her breath catches at my admission.
“Are you going to tell me what you were up to before you got home?” Catriona angles to me and lowers her voice.
“If that’s what you want.”
