Ignoring the prickle of unease in my chest, I follow him out and nearly laugh at myself.
He’s helping an elderly woman from her limo. Mrs. Charlene Hathaway, one of our most generous patrons, is a vision in her babydoll pink sequin gown and faux-fur stole. Her silver hair sparkles in the evening light.
My heart melts, and the space between my thighs throbs with desire.
What a gentleman. Is he even real?
When our eyes meet, Connor winks. My lungs stutter.
I hold open the door, and he nods in thanks while escorting Charlene in and setting her up at a table with a champagne flute.
This is the Dane Ryder I first fell into bed with.
As if he’s telepathic, he saunters over.
“Nice threads, Ricci. Can’t wait to get you out of them.” His dazzling grin’s on full display, his brown eyes even darker underneath the glow of the chandelier.
He bends close, and I back up, hyperaware that there’s no alliance yet.
Though we’ve been working together, I don’t think I’d recover if anyone in the organization knew we were lovers.They’d view it as me sleeping with the enemy in the most literal sense of the phrase.
Connor reads me and backs out of my personal space, sighing dramatically. “Fine. I get it. I’m already yesterday’s plaything.” He shoves his hand through his hair, his lips tipping down in a subtle pout. “I had no idea I was so disposable.”
I swallow a laugh, fighting the urge to reach for him. “You’re ridiculous. Don’t talk so loud, you idiot.”
He takes the insult in stride by grinning and offering his palm. “Dance with me.”
I’d love to.“Hell, no.”
Connor clicks his tongue against his teeth and waves a hand at the room. “You’re on the clock. If any of these other knobs asked you to dance, you would. And I have art on the walls.” He walks over to his J. Rochelle and proudly points with his thumb. “I’m pretty sure this qualifies as a dance ticket.”
“Dane Ryder has art on the walls.” I smile and shrug. “But you’re here as Finn’s representative, an adversary until an agreement is signed. Some people here know you, or will know you, as a Gallagher. So no dance. Sorry about your luck. Come back next year.”
Connor rolls his eyes and adjusts his beautiful gray tie. “Fine. I’ll ask Pruitt to dance.”
My laugh bubbles out before I can suppress it. “He’ll have to lead. He’s a foot taller than you.”
“I’m sure I can manage.” Connor grins and winks, then turns and disappears into the crowd.
Disappointment smolders in my chest. Fine. Now I can focus on the gala.
Except, Connor only left to say hello to the curator and grab a brandy. For the next two hours, he acts as my shadow, interjecting himself into conversations while I’m chatting with waitstaff or bartenders. The man puts on every hat in the house,playing server by replacing empty drink glasses and assuming the role of curator by talking like a damn art historian.
He’s toying with my control, pushing me toward the edge with all this almost-flirting. He’s literally charming the damn pants off not just me but everyone in my radius, and he’s even introduced himself as Dane Ryder to a few.
His plan is working, the bastard. The thrill of breaking the rules erodes my determination to play the calm, cool, and collected curator’s assistant.
Finally, Nino emerges from the crowd, and I breathe a little easier. Connor would never do anything with my little brother in sight.
We zigzag through the throng to meet each other.
“You looking dashing.”
Nino strikes a quick pose in his red suit, and I giggle. I love the rare occasions when the old Nino makes an appearance.
He plants a hand on his hips and glances over my dress. “You clean up okay yourself. If you weren’t my sister, I’d even say you were beautiful.”
“You’re such a jerk.” I flutter my lashes, then sober. “How’s Father?”
