Page 17 of Lawless Sinners

I laugh under my breath. “I’m sure Count Dentula would love to watch ya sleep.”

“If my father ever introduces me to a man like him, please, please, please plan my escape.”

“Deal.”

I raise my glass and clink it against hers.

Men drift close, discover neither of us intends to rescue them from their wives or their dull personalities, and drift away again.

Then the conversations nearest the entrance falter.

The change moves through the room in a wave. My scalp prickles before Eilish peers around me to see who arrived.

“Guess who just walked in,” she whispers.

My fingers tighten around the stem of my glass. “Please tell me Fionn isn’t here.”

“He’s here.”

I take a long drink before turning.

Fionn stands inside the main doors with three men behind him. He shakes Aileen Crowley’s hand, and a dimple appears beside the smile I bet he uses when he wants a room to forget what his family does to people.

His suit is black, his shirt white and buttoned to the throat, with a narrow tie pulled into a neat knot. Every inch of him has been arranged to suggest respectability.

But fuck, I know what those hands feel like when they aren’t shaking someone else’s for show. I know how quickly the Harrington charm disappears when he has my wrists pinned and his pelvis grinding into mine.

I know the change in his breathing when the rush of whatever twisted thing happened between us got the better of him.

My clit pulses and swells, proving it has poorer judgment than the rest of me.

I turn back to the fireplace.

“He’d need a death wish to try anything in a room full of armed Tallons.” Eilish strokes my arm. “And I’m right beside you.”

“I don’t need protecting from him.”

“I know. But you seem a little edgy, or something. It's not like you.”

I drain my glass and ignore the heat spreading under my skin. “Even if nobody in here had a weapon, I could still handle that pretty-boy prick. He’s all looks and no substance.”

“He has the looks all right,” Eilish agrees. “But I’ll never forgive him for tying you up in that barn.”

“Get in line.”

I face the room again and meet Fionn’s intense glower.

He takes a whiskey from a passing tray. A councillor intercepts him with an outstretched hand, forcing Fionn to look away from me, and the dimpled smile returns as they exchange pleasantries.

Seemingly, it’s a performance he's mastered over the years. A way of persuading half the county he’s civilized while the other half would never dream of challenging him.

The councilor releases him and practically bows as he backs up.

Fionn starts walking in my direction.

He moves through the crowd at his own pace, stopping for greetings and handshakes while every pause brings him closer. People shuffle out of his path before he even reaches them.

For one stupid second, I forget to breathe. Then I straighten my shoulders and take another flute from a server's tray.