Page 99 of Ruthless Dream

The January blues tinge pink when we head into February, and then we’re into a blustery spring, with the hint of warmer weather that keeps eluding New York.

I shake out my dark hair, debating how to style it. I’m at Ciaran’s, in front of the bathroom mirror, examining myself.

A short black and silver dress hugs my curves. I’ll put on my stilettos when we leave. My eyeshadow is smoked out, my blush is perfect, and I’ve got on my favorite wine-colored lip stain.

Tonight, Ciaran has a family event, and he asked me to attend. His uncle’s birthday party. We’ll be going to his penthouse, and it’s the first time I’ve ever been invited.

The other O’Connell cousins get sprinkled here and there, but Ciaran is closest to Seamus and then Dermot. I’ve seen them both multiple times now over the past few months. Ciaran has fought at Leon’s several more times, so it’s not like I haven’t been around his uncle.

This must be how Ciaran felt around the holidays, though.

All week there’s been a crackle of energy, nerves as I think about this party. I’m happy to go with Ciaran, and it’s not that I’m intimidated by his uncle.

But he’s different. That’s the only way I can put it.

Ciaran and his cousins laugh loudly, tipping their heads back. Cormac barely lets a ghost of a smile on his face—and even then it’s a bit eerie.

Ciaran cares about his appearance, but Cormac is so buttoned up, his steel-colored buttons were polished the last time I saw him. Also, he stares an extra second whenever he speaks to me. I don’t think it’s meant to be creepy. But I don’t think I understood what lingering eye contact meant until I met the man.

His nephew is loyal, though, and I can’t say it’s unwarranted. His uncle is at every fight. They don’t just talk about work when they’re together. It’s like my connection with Dad when we water the garden at home together.

Cormac raised Ciaran. He dropped him off at school, taught him how to tie a knot, and gave him advice when Cain Murray didn’t answer his phone.

Ciaran’s dad is absent from all his fights. I was tempted once to ask Ciaran if he’d ever heard if his dad and his teenage girlfriend were still together, but I don’t think he’d have appreciated the joke.

I went out and bought a gift for Cormac. It’s a book on Irish history, perfectly wrapped because I asked Nat for help. I was actually inspired by Lennie, who’d thoughtfully given Ciaran a history book for Christmas.

My boyfriend’s face had lit up when he’d unwrapped it. One, because he was surprised he’d gotten presents (I’d told him we weren’t going to be rude), and two, because he knows how shy Lennie is. This was a big gesture coming from her. A sign that she didn’t mind his presence at family gatherings.

“Adeline Marie,” Ciaran calls from the living room because he got ready in ten minutes. A phone call from Nora gave me a chance to take my time, but his patience has officially run out.

“I need ten more minutes,” I lie.

“Ten more minutes,” comes his disgusted reply.

Picking up a bottle of Ciaran’s favorite cologne, I take a sniff, inhaling warm cedar and amber. What can I say? My man smells good.

Ciaran’s towering frame looms in the doorway. “What? You’re not even⁠—”

I take another sniff, playing it cool, when really on the inside I’m much more nervous than I even want to think about.

“Do you like my outfit?” I quietly ask, looking up at him from under my lashes.

His mouth hangs open, his eyes raking over me.

I place the cologne down and then decide that I really can’t stand the curls I created. A loose braid over one shoulder will do. Mama taught us the art of mixing casual with glam, and I don’t want to feel overdone for some reason.

Ciaran makes a noise, his hand reaching out. “No, I liked⁠—”

I duck out of the way, my fingers weaving. “You get no say on my hair.”

My belly dips when his brow pinches together. His jawline is sharp, his beard groomed. Tattoos peek down his arms since he rolled his sleeves up. This is the Ciaran I know, the one whose eyes crinkle with boyish amusement.

“You look so cute, I’d kiss you if it didn’t ruin my makeup.”

A plea crosses his face.

I laugh, walking around him to get to my shoes. “Hey, um, do you want to drive?”