Keira
No one looks at the men posted near the doors, though everyone gives them room.
Around me, champagne flutes pass from tray to hand, and the conversations rise. Tonight, the racetrack has opened its doors to the South of Ireland’s wealthiest breeders, councilors, developers, and men who prefer their influence kept off paper.
Saint’s lips graze the shell of my ear. “You keep watching the door.”
“So do you.”
“I’m not watching for him.”
I take a sip of champagne and meet his gaze when he straightens. “He always comes to events like these, even if you’re heading them.”
“Maybe your da knows he’s not gonna win this time. He doesn’t run things the way he used to.”
“Because you do?”
His thumb presses against my waist. “I always have, princess.”
A councilor near the fireplace looks at Saint’s hand where it rests against my bare arm, then at Saint’s face, and suddenly finds his wife’s bracelet fascinating when Saint returns his stares.
One of the older breeders lifts his glass in our direction and looks away after nodding at Saint.
I keep my shoulders square and my chin level, though part of me wants to go back to the cabin and spend the evening alone with Saint. The hot impulse races beneath my skin, but I chose to stand next to him in public.
If they want proof that the rumors are true, they can watch me give it to them.
I skate my finger along the lapels of the tailored jacket covering his black shirt and press myself against his chest. “Maybe we should really give them something to talk about?”
As his hand slides to my ass and squeezes, he lowers his mouth to mine and kisses me. Heat spreads through me so quickly I have to curl my fingers into his lapel to keep my balance.
“One hour,” he says against my mouth. “Then I’m taking ya home.”
Across the hall, Rafe mutters something to Dane that earns him a sharp look.
Rafe watches us with his glass near his mouth, his stare moving from me to Saint as if he is still trying to decide where to put all the hate.
“Rafe’s finding it hard to accept us,” I say.
“He doesn’t have to accept it,” Saint says, stroking a lock of hair back from my face. “He only has to respect my choice or answer to me.”
I glance across the room again. Rafe averts his gaze to the main entrance with his empty glass held low, his jaw set around whatever storm he’s holding in. Dane leans beside him at the bar, loose-limbed and watchful, taking in the guests one woman at a time.
Twenty minutes later, the conversations nearest the entrance lose their rhythm.
Fionn lets the room notice his arrival first, shaking hands with Crowley’s eldest daughter, Aileen, and then he moves inside with three men behind him.
He wears a black suit with a white shirt buttoned to the throat and a narrow tie pulled into a neat knot, every inch of him arranged for public respectability.
The people nearest the doors stare at him, then the hush spreads.
A woman near the bar lowers her wine glass and catches the corner of her lip between her teeth before remembering her husband is beside her.
One councilman turns his wife by the elbow, putting his own body between her and my brother as if that will make her forget where she was looking.
He’s always had this effect on a room.
Fionn Vaugh Harrington has always made women look twice and men resent him for the power he holds.
In public, he’s all Harrington manners and charm, but I know what the suit hides because I grew up with him. Ink under the shirt, old fight scars beneath starched cotton, and enough mischief behind the smile to make sensible people step back.
His gaze travels over the guests, counting exits, loyalties, and weaknesses before it finally stops on me.
Saint keeps his hand at my waist, and I stay where I am, close enough for my brother to see I’ve chosen this.
Fionn gives me the smallest nod, respectful for witnesses and slight enough to make it hurt.
I offer him a smile but let him have silence in return. A muscle tightens in his jaw before one of the local men steps in front of him with a hand outstretched.
“Mr. Harrington. Good of you to come.”
Fionn accepts the handshake. “The Harringtons never miss a room worth watching.”
Saint’s mouth comes near my ear. “Still with me?”
“Always.”
He smiles as his attention lifts past me, and I turn a little to follow his gaze.
Máirín Tallon stands near the long windows with a champagne flute held between ringed fingers. She pinned her hair up for the occasion, threading silver through the dark, and the blue of her dress sharpens every cool line of her face.
Since I moved into the cabin with him, she has perfected the art of being in the yard without ever meeting his eyes.
Now she lets her gaze settle on us, her expression closed to everyone watching.
Saint’s hand stays on my back, but the pressure changes. His fingers press harder and his muscles stiffen.
Máirín’s eyes stay on him, and the insult of ignoring me isn’t missed.
Saint’s fingers press into my waist as he nudges me closer. My throat tightens, and I glance up at the dark shadow on his jaw and breathe in the intoxicating clean scent of him.
He doesn’t look away from his mother, yet his hand stays on me, publicly visible, and Máirín has to take in the scene without him saying a word.
Her shoulders draw back a fraction, and her mouth tightens at one corner, the first crack she has allowed all evening, and then she turns to the man beside her before Saint can be the one to look away.
Near the fireplace, Sera stands with her best friend Eilish, both of them barely tolerating the men who gravitate too close.
Sera has concealed her bruises well, hiding them beneath a black dress that covers her arms. Though no amount of make-up could fully hide the faint discoloration along her cheekbone. A bracelet of dark stones circles one wrist, catching the light each time she sips champagne.
She looks bored by the crowd and the men who try to speak to her. Even her stillness has teeth.
Eilish touches Sera’s arm as they talk. She wears all gold satin and diamonds, the well-known Kinnane name sitting around her as clearly as the jewels at her throat.
Her father answers to Don Hennessy, which means the men in this room know better than to mistake her for decoration.
The second Fionn heads in their direction, Eilish nudges Sera with her elbow.
Fionn strolls through the room, stopping for greetings and handshakes, accepting liquor he doesn’t drink while every pause brings him nearer to the fireplace.
Sera sees him coming. Her shoulders snap back, her fingers tighten around her glass, and she takes a long drink before he joins her.
Saint follows my gaze, and his hand firms at my waist before he speaks. “He’s too close to my sister.”
“He won’t do anything,” I say. “Fionn likes control too much for that.”
My brother stops at Sera’s side, close enough to make her choose between holding her ground or giving him space, then lifts his glass and takes a drink without looking at her.
Sera glowers at him. “You look like a lost dog, Harrington.”
Fionn cocks his head and lowers his voice to a taunting rumble. “Woof.”
Sera’s breath catches just enough for me to notice, then she glares at the bubbles in her glass as if they deserve more attention than he does.
“Try the bar. It’s safer,” she mutters.
Fionn’s smile lingers as he angles into her. “For me or for you, Tallon?”
Saint goes still beside me. “He has five seconds.”
“Sera can handle him.”
“I know. That’s why he still has five seconds instead of one.”
I take his hand and link our fingers. “She doesn’t need you starting a fight at a charity function.”
“She’s my sister.”
“And I’m his.”
That holds him for a second, his thumb pressing once against my knuckles before he makes himself release the pressure.
Eilish stays beside Sera, watching Fionn over the rim of her glass. “I heard Mick Hennessy wasn’t impressed when your father brought Harrington trouble to his Dublin associates.”
Mick Hennessy’s name is enough to make nearby conversations lower.
Fionn smiles, all charm and bad intentions, the dimple in his cheek appearing exactly when he wants it to.
“You mean he didn’t appreciate the Tallons calling in debts from half of Dublin and pretending it was strategy?”
Eilish takes a slow sip, eyeing him over the rim. “That would be one version.”
“Hennessy knows exactly who caused trouble,” Fionn says. “And he’s not known for overlooking disrespect.”
His gaze slides to Sera, and one breath slips past her control before her eyes narrow.
Saint goes rigid beside me in a way that has nothing to do with calm, his gaze fixed on my brother.
I turn into him before he can take a step. “I’ll deal with it.”
“No.”
My fingers close around his sleeve. “I can handle my brother, Saint.”
His gaze flicks to mine as he swallows the instinct to step in front of me because I need him to let me stand. His hand moves to my jaw, and he kisses me.
When he pulls away, his thumb brushes beneath my bottom lip. “Handle him, then. But if he forgets where he is, I’ll remind him.”
By the time he reaches Dane and Rafe, he accepts a fresh whiskey, props a hip against the bar and gives me his full attention.
I smile at him, still a victim of the flutters he gives me and cross the room to join my brother’s side.
“Keira,” he says, leaning in to kiss my cheek. “Our father sends his regards.”
“No, he doesn’t.”
“No,” Fionn grins. “He’s at home pretending he expected better from the daughter he gave everything to.”
“I know what he gave me. That’s why it hurt when he turned me into one more thing he owns.”
His gaze moves past me to Sera, and there’s a flicker there, quick and buried fast.
He takes a drink, then turns to Eilish with his manners slotting back into place. “You’re Eilish Kinnane, right? Art’s daughter.”
Eilish offers her hand, and Fionn takes it.
“Please…” Sera sighs. “Get your paws off my best friend.”
Fionn wraps his hand tighter around Eilish’s, his eyes flicking to Sera. “Why? Are you jealous?”
Sera’s brows snap up. “Jealous of being mauled by a Harrington? Hardly.”