“You just did, but fine. Now tell me what Ciar did so I can make fun of him tonight.”
She shook her head in exasperation, even though he couldn’t see her. “Gray called right before you did. When she modeled the dress she was wearing tonight, which is stunning by the way, Ciar asked her if she thought it might be a little revealing for a mother of two small children.”
“Christ,” Jonathan swore. He wasn’t married or a father, but he knew how out of line that was. “I’m not defending him?—”
“I should hope not,” Mags cut in.
“Not his finest moment, true, but you and I both know that Gray is stunning inside and out, right?”
“Damn straight, she is,” Mags huffed.
“Have you, or Gray, for that matter, considered that he knows that there will be a ton of men at the party, and he doesn’twant any of them to see his wife in something that makes her look more gorgeous than she already is?”
Mags tapped her upper lip thoughtfully. “I hate when you’re right.”
Laughing, he said, “Better text Gray and tell her to let Ciar explain his stupid comment. He does have a point, though. What are you wearing?”
Mags, Mirren, and their mother had gone shopping after the cookout last weekend at one of her favorite secondhand designer-clothing stores. It had a few tears where the rings held the fabric together and a stain on the hem, but it fit her like a glove and—hello—she was pretty handy with a needle.
“A long black dress. The neckline barely shows my collarbone, and the hem brushes my ankles.” If she purposely left out that the dress hugged her body like a second skin and that the sides, from below her armpit to the floor, were held together with beautiful gold rings, showing a perfect amount of creamy, white flesh and side boob, well, it was a simple oversight. Surely.
“That dress should be fucking illegal, Mags,” Jonathan growled in her ear while they were ushered into Gray Eyes.
He had her practically surgically sewn to his side, probably trying to hide some of her body, but it wasn’t like she didn’t have two sides. When he picked her up at Eze’s, it had been extremely satisfying to watch his eyes nearly pop from his head.
He twirled her around in the lobby before backing her against a column and kissing her senseless, the doormen be damned.
That had been thirty minutes ago, and since then and now, he’d asked her no less than forty times if she was sure she wouldn’t be too cold.
After he asked the last time, and she snarled, “I don’t know, Ciar, do you think I’ll be too cold?” he accepted defeat and became her new trench coat.
They saw their friends gathered at one of the back bars and waved, but before they could join them, Jonathan stopped walking, and since they were literally joined at the hip, she stopped too.
He touched her cheek gently. “I’m sorry for being such an ass, Mags. You’re stunning. I’m proud that you’re mine. I just want to pummel every shady little shit that looks at you like I do.”
Mags’ posture relaxed. “No one looks at me like you do, Jon, and if they do, I’d never notice. I love you.”
“I love you, too, but if you tell Gray about this, I will spank your ass until you can’t sit down.”
Mags grinned as they started walking again. “I’m afraid your punishment just makes me want to tell her even more.” She giggled when he cursed.
The cocktail hour had been all about mingling and meeting other business owners. She vowed to herself that eventually she would be successful enough to speak at one of these illustrious events.
Normally, an O’Faolain would speak at an event like this, especially given all the philanthropic ventures the family undertook for the Dublin community and surrounding villages, but since Hugh’s passing, his sons and grandsons had taken a step back. Everyone knew them, respected and even feared them if they happened to want the same business or property one of the ‘Wolves’ wanted, but foremost, they were respected.
Mags and Jonathan were about to follow their group to the tables set up for that night’s event when a beautiful blonde, taller than Christ in 6-inch stilettos and hair braided and bedazzled enough to be seen from Heaven.
Fine.That might have been an exaggeration. She was tall and runway-ready, though, with a supercilious expression sucking in her already sunken cheeks.
The negative opinion formed the second she stepped between her and Jonathan, turning her slender back to Mags’ face.
“Jonathan O’Faolain,” she purred like a fat cat hacking up a hairball. “I haven’t seen you in weeks.”
Weeks. Not months.
Mags had to blink rapidly to expel the red shell of fury trying to cover her eyes.Wait for an explanation, Mags.
“We were supposed to go to Aspen, and you never called me back.” Pouty voice engaged. “I bought six more pairs of your favorite lace panties that you enjoy ripping off me so much.”
