I spear a meatball a little harder than necessary, and the silverware scrapes the bottom of the dish.
“You okay, princess?” he murmurs, leaning into me, his voice a low rumble. “You’re flushed. Is that because of me or the alcohol? If you’re too warm, I could take you upstairs and help you out of that dress?”
“You’re not playing fair,” I mutter under my breath, keeping my focus firmly on my plate.
“Making me wait isn’t fair.”
His fingers move again. Slower this time. More intentional in their paths.
I take a bite and chew just as he leans in again, his breath warm against the side of my face.
“You look beautiful like that.” His voice dips further. “With your mouth full.”
My scalp prickles, and the burning ache in my core that I’ve tried so hard to ignore these past few days catches fire.
I swallow too quickly, nearly choking, and reach for my glass to cover it, taking a sip that does absolutely nothing to cool the blaze spreading through me.
“Tierney,” Allegra says, drawing my attention back up. “Are your stitches healing well? Bronx told us he’s arranged for a doctor to visit you at the penthouse.”
I straighten, forcing composure, lifting my fork again as if nothing at all is happening beneath the table.
“They’re healing well,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “Bronx has been very attentive. I’m lucky to have him.”
“Yes, you are,” she says with a nod. “And he’s lucky you cared enough to protect him.”
Inwardly, I smile at that. All it took was fifteen stitches for this woman to see me as an ally.
I turn my head toward Bronx, my expression sweet, my tone anything but.
“You won’t be feeling lucky when I wedge this fork in your roaming hand,” I mutter under my breath. “Put it back on the table,husband, before I make a scene.”
Bronx doesn’t even try to hide his reaction. A slow, satisfied smirk stretches across his handsome face as his fingertips drag just beneath the edge of my dress, close enough to make my breath catch.
“I love watching you squirm, princess,” he murmurs, just for me. “Do you think it’s hot in here? Should I open a window?”
I glare at him as Reign talks to his father about something, and Livvie chats to Connor about some guy they both know back home in Dublin.
“You’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”
“I’m not tired.” He grips my thigh, and I almost jump. “And neither are you.”
“Will your father fly over for the vow renewal ceremony?” Reign asks me out of the blue.
I look over at Connor and watch him knock back the rest of his champagne.
“He’s not invited,” I say, staringat my brother. “Don’t get me wrong… the man is my father, and I want nothing bad to ever happen to him, but I am done being his soldier.”
Connor offers me a weak smile. “And what about me, Tier? Am I invited?”
Bronx goes rigid beside me. The hand that settled on my thigh moves, and his arm snakes across my shoulders instead.
“Tell me this,” he says. “Would you take a bullet to save your sister?”
Without even a second of hesitation, Connor nods. “I’d do anything for you, Tierney. That’s why I lied. Da said if I told you what was going on, you’d try to sort it out yourself and the Murphys would cut your throat.”
His face goes pale and he sits back in the seat.
“I saw a man choke on his own blood when I was nine.” He sighs. “Remember?”
