Page 11 of Guilty as Sin

“You’re staring at me,” I tease.

“I don’t have a choice,” she says flatly. There’s fire in those ice-blue eyes of hers. A defiant fire I wasn’t expecting from my assigned, meek little mafia wife. I smile to myself. This is going to be fun.

Nothing about Cora is what I expected, but I find myself drawn to her in spite of that.

Or perhaps because of it.

I get the impression that she’d expected to be displeased with me. And she finds exactly what she’d expected. Funny how that works. If she’s dead set on being dissatisfied with me, that’s her prerogative.

It makes my challenge all the more intriguing.

“There’s always a choice,” I say, and she scoffs.

“For you maybe.”

The song’s backup vocals begin. They add depth to the music as I lead my wife around the parquet floor. We’ve never danced together before. But we’re moving together flawlessly. I’m surprised she’s letting me lead, given how feisty she’s been today.

It’s almost as if she’s accepted her role in this dance.

“You had a choice,” I tell her. “And you made your decision.” She opens her mouth to protest. But I continue, “Your choice now is to bitterly regret that decision for the rest of your life. Or, to make the most of it.”

She purses her lips. Her mouth is too plump to make a straight line. It’s still a very sexy pout.

“Who knows?” I say. “You may even be pleasantly surprised.”

As the song’s lyrics crescendo, I spin my wife away from me. She gives a small, startled yelp. But she recovers perfectly. She even flourishes out her arm before spinning back into me, a little too hard.

When her back hits my solid chest, she lets out a soft, “Oof.”

As the song fades out, I cradle her there against me. I relish the feel of holding her so close. I dip my head so my lips brush her ear.

“I know I am,” I whisper.

She shivers in my arms.

Chapter 5

Cora

As soon as the first dance is over, I escape to the nearest bathroom and lock myself in a stall.

What the hell is wrong with me?

This is a man so possessive he won’t even let a waiter pour my drink. I should not be quivering at his touch. Standing alone in the upscale cubicle, I press my forehead to the cool marble and take deep breaths through my nose.

When I’ve recovered enough to be presentable, I return to the ballroom. My eyes automatically scan the crowd, searching for Connor’s bruised face. It’s just the two of us against this sea of O’Sullivans.

But the first person I register is Brady. Even from all the way across the room, my eyes are drawn to him. Stupid eyes.

He’s standing in a loose circle with his brothers and some of their friends. They’re all good-looking young men, most of them with muscular frames straining against their tuxes. Liam’s the tallest, and Finn’s the broadest, but Brady shines with something else, something more.

And he knows it.

For a moment, I see a different life. I imagine that this is my dream wedding. I’m never going to have another one, so why not? I’m in my dream gown, which I really do like, and I can tell that Brady likes too. I’m at my dream venue, which honestly is stunning with all the decor that Orla’s coordinated. And just for right now, I pretend that I’m marrying my dream husband.

He truly is sexy.

Devastatingly, dangerously so.