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Ronan
“Ten minutes.”
Finn checked his hair in the reflection of the elevator door, the vain bastard. “What’s ten minutes?”
“That’s how long I’m willing to stay.” I smoothed my hand over my tie and straightened my cuffs.
Tucking his hands in the pockets of his suit trousers, he cocked a brow. “Have you got somewhere more important to be?”
“Nah. But I can tell you I don’t want to be here.”
Finn had been invited to Saul Goodman’s party for his painfully young wife, Vanessa. He was a guest, while I was only here to do a spontaneous check of our hired security.
“Gettin’ old, boyo.” Finn clapped me on the shoulder. “When was the last time you went out for more than a walk in the park with Steven?”
“I don’t shit where I eat. We work for these people. They’re not our friends.”
Finn tugged his cuffs, releasing a huff. “Speak for yourself.”
The elevator opened directly into the penthouse, cutting off further conversation. Two of our guys stood sentinel, more for show than anything. We didn’t normally run into trouble at parties like this, but clients paid a lot of money for the reassurance.
The two mountainous men straightened when they laid eyes on us.
“Hey, Boss. Everything’s running smooth.” Matt, a guard employed by LSS, passed me his tablet. I gave it a quick glance to ensure he’d been checking in guests like he was supposed to. He was a good kid, but Aileen hired him for his sheer size, not his intellect. I was almost certain if I cracked his skull open, there would be more air than brains. Lucky for us all, he had found his calling in standing guard in doorways and looking up names on lists.
“Thanks, Matt. Looks good.” I handed him the tablet back and tried to listen as he and Finn discussed last night’s football game. A former player himself, Matt tried to convert us over to American football, but I was a rugby guy all the way through.
Soon, their conversation faded to the background as another sound caught my attention and held it like an iron fist. A powerful, sultry song rose like smoke in the air, clouding everything but the raspy lyrics. I must’ve looked like a man possessed because the other guard, Jay, chuckled right beside me.
“Mr. Goodman went all out. Hired some rock band to play for his wife. I think they’re called The Seasons Change. Kinda good, right?”
I nodded absently, following the music into the party. This wasn’t a band I was familiar with, but that didn’t mean much. I had a few musicians I stuck to, bands Gen Z would call oldies.
There were exactly two-hundred-fifty-three guests here tonight, but only a handful crowded around the makeshift stage. I lingered at the fringes, taking in the woman whose voice would surely haunt my dreams.
Dressed in black leather and blue silk, dark hair tumbling around her shoulders, she was a sight, even if I couldn’t quite make out the details of her face. She moved her body like a sensuous snake, arms raised above her head, clicking small cymbals between her fingers. The song reached a crescendo, and her head fell back as she released a wall-shaking wail.
Hard to believe that voice came from within such a delicate package. My cock stirred in my trousers as I imagined what this creature might sound like spread out on tangled sheets. The black and gray tattoos lining her arms and climbing her neck would only stand out in even starker contrast to my white bedding, especially if her skin flushed as prettily as I pictured.
There may have been a man beside her, but she owned her small stage. When she brought her head back up, her fingers slid through her hair, pushing it off her face. I moved closer without conscious thought, my gaze locked on her, something else stirring deep in my gut.
Recognition...and disappointment.
This stunning woman, now clutching the back of her guitarist’s neck and rolling her hips toward him as she sang about coming down from a bad trip, was the same raven-haired beauty from the park.
Iris.
I never heard from her again, and as let down as I’d been last week, I was now equally relieved. Famous women were not an avenue I would ever travel down, not even for one like Iris.
Given the attention she heaped on her guitar player and the way he looked at her like she was water in a desert, she wasn’t lacking for company. My fingers twitched with the urge to yank her free of him, but I stayed rooted in place, unable to tear my attention away even for a second.
“Are you a fan, Mr. Walsh?” Saul appeared beside me while I drowned in the tidal wave of Iris and her seductive voice.
“This is my first introduction,” I replied.
He watched them beside me as his wife bounced on her toes in front of the stage. “Stick around, would you? I would like to makeformalintroductions between you.”
I opened my mouth to object, but Saul’s unyielding expression had me biting my cheek. Mr. Goodman wasn’t used to being told no, and Aileen wouldn’t appreciate me upsetting one of our biggest clients.
