Chapter 10
Maeve
Magisterially (adj) in a confident and demanding way
“Safety first,” he says, his voice soft and velvety.
His face is hovering just above mine, his eyes alight with evident excitement.
I feel the muscles deep in my core clench in response, and my breathing speeds up.
He smiles lazily at me, his hand grazing lightly across my lap.
I look down at the contact, focusing on the tattooed Egan across the knuckles of his right hand.
I glance back up at him as he straightens and closes my door.
I let out a breath. Damn.
Why do I keep getting so flustered? What is he doing to me?
It hadn’t been like this before, when we were younger.
This new energy between us feels… dangerous.
Scorchingly hot. I’m not sure I’ll survive it.
He knows, I decide as I watch him stroll casually around the front of the car.
He has to know. I feel weak, nervous, and jittery.
His scent lingers, a blend of juniper and amberwood with a hint of whiskey.
It’s tantalizing. Intoxicating. I take a few deep breaths and make myself aloof and impassive again, throwing up my walls.
I don't want him to see any emotion, good or bad. Not yet, anyway. Plus, the only reason I consented to this dinner in the first place was to get information from Callum. And he’d promised to deliver that information. I just have to remain focused.
It’s getting really difficult, though.
Suddenly, he pauses just as he’s reaching for the driver’s side door handle and pulls out his phone to check something.
I watch from my peripheral vision as he slides the phone back into his pocket and adjusts the collar of his dark sports coat before opening the door and sliding behind the wheel.
He’s wearing a pair of dark slacks that hug his muscular thighs, and wow. His arse looks really good.
Focus, Maeve.
I can still feel the butterflies in my stomach as we exit the driveway and speed off into the night. Luckily, it’s a stick shift, so his right hand is deftly switching gears and unable to reach for me, to touch me.
I suppress a giggle as I glance around the car’s interior, taking in the details.
Little does Callum know I also own a classic Mustang, one that’s almost identical to this, but the interior coloring is a bit different.
This one has white accents in the original upholstery stitching, while mine has refurbished upholstery with a forest green stitch.
Mine’s definitely better, I think with smug satisfaction.
I don’t know where we’re going, but I also can’t stop thinking about the fact that my father said he wasn’t going to “wait up” for me to return.
Since when did he decide to become so relaxed about me going out?
I always had to wait till he was either away for business, or wait for him to be asleep to go do anything without a heavy security presence.
Does he really trust Callum that much? Obviously, he does, but I can’t figure out why, especially in light of the longstanding rift between our families.
Because it wasn't real, dumb arse. I remind myself.
Trust or no trust, Orin will definitely be following close behind us, and out of sight in the restaurant. Well, he always thinks he’s out of sight. After being kidnapped at eighteen, the nightmares still consume me regularly, and I’ve become keenly aware of everything.
Like the car that has been following us for the last three or so miles.
I’m not afraid, but I keep my eye on it.
I have protection for myself, of course.
Underneath this insanely gorgeous dress is a Stiletto OTF strapped to my thigh.
The Italians may not be good for much, but one thing I can say is that the Italian who invented that beauty is okay in my book.
No one could know it’s there unless they have their hands all over me, which would absolutely not be happening.
I also have my stainless Walther PPK/s in my bag, just waiting for someone to try me.
I’m not interested in being a victim. Never again.
The radio is on, but the song is lost in the background as I watch the shops pass by one after the other, and the lights of the town reflect in the windows.
I steal glances at Callum as he drives, his left hand draped casually over the wheel, his right hand shifting gears smoothly.
His dark brown hair is just a little bit messy, like he’s been running his fingers through it, and the five o’clock shadow on his jaw gives him a rugged edge.
It’s so odd to be close to him now. The Callum of my memory is a tall, lanky boy, still a little goofy and carefree, but this Callum is a man.
Always poised and in control with a dangerous edge just under the surface.
He turns to look at me, but I avert my gaze before we lock eyes.
When I look back, he has a grin on his face.
He knows I was looking. I run my hands over my dress nervously.
“You look beautiful,” he tells me without turning his head, his voice warm with adoration.
“Thanks,” I say, looking back out the window. “Someone has decent taste.”
He laughs softly in response, and I stifle a grin.
I’ve missed that laugh. The thought strikes me with the force of a punch, and I force it back down, not wanting to acknowledge it.
When we reach the restaurant, Callum pulls into the valet lane and hops out of the car, striding around the front end.
In the rearview mirror, I catch a glimpse of the vehicle that had been following us, parallel parked on the opposite side of the street, about a block back.
Callum opens my door, bringing my attention back to him.
I look up to see him staring down at me, his electric blue eyes sharp, regarding me intently, a half-smile on his lips.
He holds out his hand for mine. I grasp the skirt of my dress in one hand, pulling it clear of my heels, and grab his hand with my other, but only long enough to get upright.
His grip is firm but gentle, his palm big and warm.
As soon as I’m standing, I let go and straighten my dress.
He holds his arm out, gesturing for me to walk inside, but before I do, I look back to the other car that had been following us just in time to see Orin’s hulking, muscular frame step out of the passenger's side. I can’t see his face, but I know it’s him without a doubt in my mind.
The interior light briefly illuminates another shadowed figure in the driver's seat, but the tint on the windows is so dark that I can’t tell who it is.
I feel Callum’s hand on the small of my back, guiding me toward the door.
He walks toward the hostess stand where a petite blonde girl, who can’t be more than twenty, straightens up as she catches sight of us.
Or rather, as she catches sight of him. She places her arms on either side of her chest, obviously trying to push her tits out as much as possible. Poor girl.
In a pesky, high-pitched voice, she squeaks, “Mr. Egan, it’s so nice to see you again!”
I feel a flash of annoyance. How often did he come here, and with whom?
“I saw you on the reservation list and made sure to put you in your favorite suite,” she bats her lashes comically fast, and I stifle a laugh, feeling a little embarrassed for her.
She then places her hand on Callum’s arm and steps closer, an idiotic pout on her face.
She cuts her eyes at me, looking me up and down, then smirks rudely and turns back to Callum.
“When I saw that your reservation was for two, I assumed it would be Mr. Ronan or a business associate accompanying you, not…” She pauses and looks back at me. I tilt my head and narrow my eyes as I look back at her.
Callum sneers at her coolly, and she hesitantly removes her hand from his arm, looking hurt. He brushes the spot on his sleeve where her hand had been, as if she’d left dirt there, then he squints down at her name tag.
“Sydney, right?”
She swallows nervously and nods, crumbling under the level, withering glare Callum is giving her.
“I’m sure Mr. Callaghan, the owner of this establishment, would love to hear about your…” he trails off, his lip curling, “inappropriate physical contact with guests. And about how dismissive you’ve been of my guest. Hostess indeed. Tsk tsk,” he says, shaking his head.
He places his hand on the small of my back again and steps so close that his firmly muscled chest presses against my left side. My body ignites at the contact. She looks back and forth between us, color flooding her cheeks.
I almost feel sorry for her. He’d dressed her down good.
But, I’m too busy trying not to look as turned on as I feel.
Callum must be feeling the same thing, because when I turn to look at him, his eyes are…
predatory. He’s watching me, drinking me in, waiting to see what I’ll do next. It feels like a dare. I smirk at him.
Challenge accepted. The girl had been incredibly rude, after all. Time to teach her a lesson.
I take a step closer to poor Sydney, towering over her with the help of my six-inch stilettos, and fix a glare on her. She meets my eyes nervously.
“I’d be really careful who you place your…
” I look down at her hands distastefully.
“…dirty little digits on. The next time you lay a finger on what’s mine, I’ll see to it that this pretty little face of yours,” I say, running the pad of my finger down her cheek and grabbing her chin tightly, ”isn’t so pretty anymore. Do I make myself clear?”
Her face goes pale, and she hurriedly nods. Still holding her chin, I continue, “Good girl. Now, show us to our table before I lose my patience.” I release her chin and give her a radiant smile.
She grabs two menus and leads us through the restaurant, not saying another word or looking at us again.