Connor
I started recommending the wine as if I’d mashed the grapes with my own two feet. I figured that was the only way to get Cat alone.
Sure enough, my angel in green chiffon floats down the stairs in a flurry, and I follow her into the wine cellar.
“I thought maybe you could use an extra set of hands.” I close the thick wooden door behind me.
Two walls of bottles flank the corridor-style space.
It’s chilly, probably fifty-eight degrees on the nose for all this red.
The stone floor and soft lighting are perfect for a quiet tryst. This cellar has Eduardo Ricci written all over it, and I only just met the man.
Even in his unwell state, he possesses a certain elegance.
I’m about to wax poetic about this state-of-the-art room when Cat sets the three bottles of Chianti in her arms down on a barrel top converted into a table for two.
She beckons me over, clutching my lapels as soon as I get close enough and dragging me down.
“You, sir, are in trouble.” She barely manages a break between kisses. “You’ve been driving me crazy all night.”
“Mission accomplished, then.” I dodge her sweet lips, my hands sliding across the slick fabric covering her back. “For a minute there, I thought you were immune to me.”
She unfastens my jacket and untucks my gray button-down with deft fingers. “Just trying to manage two hundred guests floating among fifty million dollars’ worth of art.”
Cat unbuttons my shirt, kisses my chest, and travels north until she finds my lips again.
I could get used to this.
In small doses, her take-charge attitude is oddly refreshing.
As long as she remembers who’s really in charge.
Ignoring my dick—which is attempting to drill a hole through my pants—I cup her chin and stare into her eyes.
They’re extra catlike tonight, the thick, dark liner making the gold flecks pop.
“Fuck, Cat. I know I’m the one who suggested this clandestine meeting, but maybe we should probably stop here. ”
“If you think I’m letting you get away with all those texts, you’ve got another thing coming.”
Pulling away, she strokes my neck with her tongue. Though I ache to bend her over one of the wine barrels posing as café tables, I don’t.
Doing this here carries real risks. Her family’s right upstairs, along with Finn and a host of other Gallaghers.
She hoists her dress up, hops up on a barrel, and cradles between her thighs.
“Cat… Baby, we—”
She bites down on my shoulder, her fingers playing with my nipple.
Fuuuuuck.
I unzip my fly, hold her thigh with one hand, and sink into her warm, wet heat with a groan.
I’m so glad I didn’t bend her over the barrel, as that would have prevented me from meeting my siren’s gorgeous glowing eyes. I plunge in and out of her—faster since we don’t have much time—while I dream about how I’m going to enjoy fucking her properly all night long.
Her place…my place…I don’t care. This green gown will soon be history so I can explore every square inch of her curvaceous body.
Hope she’s not too tired after this party, because we’ll be up late tonight.
As her mouth attacks mine, she slides a hand between us to rub her clit in rhythm with our thrusts.
She climbs the hill quickly, her muscles tensing around my cock with each rock of our hips.
She may not have been able to control herself, but she knows that we have maybe five minutes before people start missing us.
She feels amazing, and the angle allows me to go deep as she writhes and bucks against me.
“Connor…” She bites down on my bottom lip, her free hand digging into my shoulder. “I’m so close. Shit…”
I cup her ass and haul her up, thrusting harder.
My hips are pistoning now, and I think we might finish together as I watch my cock pound in and out.
I press my forehead against her shoulder, groaning low and panting against her skin. “Yes, Cat…”
My head spins as we ride the wave together—
Bang!
The cellar door slams against the opposite wall.
I whirl around, slipping out of Cat asTony di Norelli’s silhouette fills the doorway. Even in the darkened room, his hulking shape is a dead giveaway.
Fuck fuckity fuck. This bastard is Nino’s best buddy, and from what she’s told me, also Cat’s ex…
“You treasonous bitch.” He pounds a fist on the door. “Wait until Nino hears about this!”
“It’s not like that, Tony. Calm down.” Cat jumps off the wine barrel before straightening her gown and smoothing her hair.
He’s not blind.
I keep my mouth shut as I tuck myself into my pants. Speaking up won’t get me anywhere.
I recognize this guy’s type. He’s the only ex-boyfriend Cat’s ever spoken of, and he’s been Nino’s shadow ever since their summer fling seven or eight years back. He’s got it bad for her and won’t let go.
I get it, buddy. I do.
Tony can bark all he wants about loyalty and honor, but I’m no stranger to jealous rage.
He points at me. “You’re dead, you motherfucker.” He’s seething as he stalks our way, his feet stomping against the floor so violently that glass tinkles as he passes, the high pitch singing in my ears.
I’m surprised those broad shoulders don’t wipe out an entire shelf of wine.
I zip up and spin, ready to lay him out.
Instead of aiming at me, he rushes for Cat. “Where’s your head? What the hell is this?” He seizes her arm.
“Tony, get off me.” When Cat tries to yank free, his iron grip causes her to wince.
My blood boils.
I don’t think so, you blond fuckstick.
“You need to take your hand off the lady and back up, man.” In my mind’s eye, clips of all the ways I could kill this guy stack up like plates. Out of respect for Cat, I hold myself in check as I step closer. “She’s a grown woman. You don’t make decisions for her.”
“Fuck you, Gallagher.” He swings, hitting me square in the jaw with a solid thwack.
That actually kind of hurt.
I shake off the sting and land a sucker punch to his chest.
Tony stumbles into a wall of wine, smacking his temple on a few bottles sticking out from the racks.
They rattle but don’t fall.
“Stop it!” Cat clutches the skirt of her dress. “Both of you!”
Tony recovers and plows toward me, tackling me into the barrel holding Cat’s three bottles of Chianti.
We smash the barrel to smithereens, and the bottles shatter, shooting purple liquid and shards of glass everywhere.
As Cat screams from behind him, Tony gets his hands around my neck and squeezes.
This asshole is scaring her.
He’s not getting out of this now.
I was more than willing to let him go, but he just won’t quit.
I don’t bother trying to get him off my throat.
Instead, I shift my lower body, get a good angle, and ram my knee up into his nuts.
“Shit!” Tony wheezes and collapses on top of me.
He’s incredibly heavy, but at least air’s flowing into my lungs again.
I gulp it down as I roll out from under him and jump to my feet.
Tony writhes on the stones, clutching his pearls.
“Enough.” I wipe wine from the side of my face. My suit’s ruined, so that’s great. “Get up.”
He’s on his hands and knees in a puddle of wine, wincing and rubbing his nuts while explaining in impressive detail all the ways he’s going to get me back for this.
If not for Cat, I’d kill this asshole.
“Tony.” Cat sighs and inches toward him. “Tony, are you okay?”
He whips around to confront her, his face purple from wine and rage, his eyes wide and bloodshot.
She jerks back, her breath catching. “Tony—”
“Fuck you!” Rising, Tony shoves Cat, and she falls with a loud gasp.
That bastard. “Cat, are you—”
Tony whirls for me, swiping through the air with a broken wine bottle clutched in his fist.
I duck and slide, but I felt the breeze of his efforts on my neck.
A couple centimeters over and that would’ve been it for my jugular.
The man is playing to kill.
He charges me again.
Grabbing the wine racks for balance, I back up and land a kick to his face.
His nose crunches beneath my heel, spewing blood like a sprinkler down the front of his white shirt.
He stumbles away, cradling his head.
Cat manages to stand and grasp his arm. “Tony…”
I steady myself and start toward them. “Damn it, Cat. Stay back!”
Tony bats her away while swinging the bottle.
Her arm catches the sharp edge, blood slicing through the air.
Red floods my vision.
This bitch is going to die.
I yank my ankle knife free. “Settle down, Tony!” At this point, whether Cat wants him to or not, I hope he comes for me.
He does.
The rabid bull jumps at me with surprising agility, aiming that broken bottle at my face.
Tony di Norelli might have sixty pounds on me, but I’ve got speed, experience, and agility.
As I bend backward to keep the sharp glass from shredding my jawline into hamburger, he practically throws himself on my knife.
The blade sinks into his flesh, right between two ribs.
The jackass collapses, gurgling and spitting blood, with my knife jutting from his chest to the hilt.
Cat covers her mouth, her eyes wide, crimson still spilling down her arm.
Maybe fifteen seconds elapse before the bastard stops breathing altogether, the tang of iron mixing with the scent of dark, spicy fruit.
Tony di Norelli dies on the cold stone floor.