His eyes find mine across the room—they’re dark, unreadable, dangerous.
For a second, just a second, his gaze drops… down my body, slow and deliberate, like he’s taking inventory. Doesn’t anyone elseseethis, or are they all too busy chatting?
My nipples tighten under the thin fabric of my dress.
Traitor body.
When his eyes meet mine again, something flickers in them. Or maybe I’m imagining it?
Maybe I’m losing my fucking mind.
Cavin McCarthy isgorgeous. Yeah, I said it.
All the McCarthys are, which is probably half the reason Ballyhock worships them so.
I try not to stare, and wish Bridget were here because I want her toseethis guy.
Am I staring?
God, I hope I’m not staring.
But when his gaze meets mine a second time, I take an involuntary step back. There’s a coldness in his eyes that wasn’t there at St. Albert’s, a rough edge etched into the bone of his face. I suddenly wish I could hide.
My gaze drops, too, to the powerful column of his neck and masculine collarbone. He left one tiny button undone… and still, the heat beneath his shirt pulses.
My gaze drops further. Thick arms. Tanned skin. Veins like cables.
Hands that look strong enough to crush or cradle.
I feel… small.
Oh Jesus, help me.
Even my mother’s eyes widen, probably half expecting to see the boy from St. Albert’s, and not this man who takes up half the room.
My father straightens, recovering fast. “Cavin. Pleased to meet you, son,” he says, extending a hand.
This boy—no,man,takes up too much of my brain space rent-free because of how he treated me, and my own father’s never even met him.
Cavin doesn’t smile, just nods and shakes my father’s hand. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”
His voice is deeper, rougher than it was in school. We barely talked at the cemetery. I didn’t notice.
Then he turns to me and takes in a deep breath again.
“Mam says you’d like a tour of the estate,” he says gruffly.
His eyes find mine, and for a second, just one, something wild and feral flashes across his face.
Recognition.
Hunger.
Rage.
My breath catches. Didn’t anyone else see that?
He crosses the room in three strides. Doesn’t stop until he’s in my space—close enough, I can feel the heat coming off him.
