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I frowned and crossed my arms. Did I want to win her over? To make her fall for me? I was still trying to sort out my own feelings for her, a delicious and terrifying tangle that ran hot one moment, cold the next. Cassidy was the most infuriating woman I’d ever met. Sweet and surprisingly perceptive when her guard was down, bitterly fighting like a she-wolf when it was up. Precise and efficient at work. Problems aside, her calm, capable handling of that fiasco with Alfie had deeply impressed me, and, if I was being completely honest, had been a huge turn on.
Cassidy saw me staring and cocked an eyebrow as I walked over to her. If there was any possible upside to this dreaded dinner, it was her. It was the first time I had seen her in formalwear since the wedding, and once again, she took my breath away.
She was absolutely stunning. Her strawberry blond hair had been styled into some kind of twisty up-do, and she wore a red, floor-length Valentino with a plunging neckline. It hugged her curves in a way that sent a rush of heat through my veins and sinful thoughts to my head.
“Are you all right?” She asked. “You look…weird.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle softly, even as my heart did a funny little flop in my chest. I knew I was acting like an idiot, but I really didn’t much care. My heart ached, and I was so, so tired of all the bullshit. If only things could be simple with us.
“You’re beautiful,” I whispered in her ear. I lightly kissed her cheek, letting them linger. She smelled amazing. “I just wanted to tell you.”
She looked at me, bemused. Color flooded her cheeks prettily, but I could tell by her stiff posture I was millimeters away from overstepping. Instead, I flashed my most disarming grin. She rolled her eyes. “Thanks. Although, you don’t have to compliment me just to keep up appearances.”
“I wasn’t.”
I saw Callum wave me over and I left Cassidy standing there, feeling like maybe a point had been won in my favor. I had never put forth this much effort chasing after someone—if that was even what I was trying to do, GoddamnSloane for getting into my head about this—and the little dance I seemed to find myself in with Cassidy both excited and exhausted me.
Callum was huddled on one end of the bar with Tommy, both shoring up Michael between themselves. He looked worse, if that was even possible.
“Lorenzo Moretti has been up my fucking ass. He just sent me an ultimatum—the violence will cease if we hand over the Seaport. Fucking guinea bastard. It’s only a matter of time before there’s collateral damage,” Callum was saying. “We’ve got the numbers now. We need to nip this in the bud before it becomes a bloodbath.”
“And it isn’t already?” Michael snorted. “Tommy, pour me another.”
Tommy did as he was told, but he scowled as he handed the drink over. “You’re not supposed to be drinking on your meds.”
“And you’re not my keeper, boy.” Michael swiveled his attention to me. “Connor. Tell me where we’re at with this mole.”
Briefly, I met Tommy’s eyes, saw him twitch his head to the side. He wasn’t ready to put the finger on Alfie any more than I was. “We’ve tightened things up. Need to know, only. I’m looking at the usual suspects, money owed, sick relatives and the like.”
“And young Johnny? Did you find out who he’d been talking to?”
“Not yet. The kid was good at what he did and played his cards close to his chest. I’m still running down leads.”
Callum took a swig off his drink and grimaced. “Keep your nose to the fucking pavement, then. Run it to ground. Somebody’s going to an awful lot of trouble to keep this quiet, first Johnny, now Cassidy.”
I didn’t need to be reminded. I just hoped to God my best friend wasn’t at the other end of this.
18
Cassidy
Connorhuddledatthebar with Callum, Tommy, and my father. It looked like a meeting of the minds, and judging by the rigidity in Connor’s stance, it didn’t seem to be going well. Occasionally, he’d glance my way, his features tightening imperceptibly. Not that I was looking for it, of course.
I’d become quite a student of Connor’s mannerisms. The closed-off way he carried himself, all walls and brute power and cold, calculating glances. But there was a lot going on beneath that façade that I had never noticed before. Little cracks in the veneer when he was with Tommy or Alfie. Or whenever he looked at me.
I didn’t want to acknowledge it. He was a complete and unmitigated asshole, but then…then he’d turn around and do something sweet like he’d done just a few moments ago. His face raw and unguarded, his blue eyes alive with something dangerously close to affection. He’d seen me earlier tonight. How I looked wasn’t a surprise at that point, but he still said it anyway.
Knowing in my gut that he meant it didn’t make me feel any better.
“All right, Pop. That’s enough work talk.” Sloane squeezed her father’s shoulder and grabbed Connor’s hand. “Come on, Connor. Play for us.”
Sloane was tugging Connor away from the group at the bar, now, and giving him a playful shove towards the piano. She was a force to be reckoned with. Connor didn’t put up much of a fight, but I could see he didn’t want to play. He looked tired. Still, he did as she asked, offering up a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. I still hadn’t forgotten what he’d confessed to me about the part he’d played in Aiden’s death, and the guilt he felt was painfully obvious.
Graceful fingers arched over the piano keys. Hands that were as duplicitous as he was. Hands that had hurt, hands that had dealt death. Beautiful hands that had caressed every inch of my body, hands that could create something so sweet and fragile as the song he began to play, something slow and sultry, melancholy with longing.
Connor looked at me—only me—and played on, pouring himself into each note. I recognized the song from the last time he’d played for me.
I was a butterfly, and Connor’ eyes were the pin that had run me through, pinning my wings to the board and leaving me utterly exposed and naked under his gaze.
