The Marriage Contract (6 page)

“That’s quite the proposal, Teague O’Malley.”

He grinned, completely unrepentant. “I plan on making up for the lack of originality in other ways.”

It was all too easy to imagine exactly the sort of thing his tone suggested. It took her back to that alley, to that kiss, to her desire for more. Callie reached across the table and snagged his whiskey, lifting it to her lips with a shaking hand. “Yes, Teague. I’ll marry you.”

T
eague couldn’t decide if he was the luckiest son of a bitch in existence, or if fate was dangling Callista in front of him, waiting to kick him in the teeth as soon as he relaxed. Judging from his history, it was far more likely to be the latter, but he couldn’t help reaching over and tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “If you could see the way you’re looking at me right now.”

She immediately dropped her eyes, but only for a heartbeat. “How am I looking at you?”

The waiter appeared to replace her empty wineglass, buying Teague some time to think better of his answer. It didn’t make a damn bit of difference, though. As soon as they were alone again, he answered her. “Like there are a thousand thoughts rushing behind those beautiful blue eyes and every single one of them involves us, naked and sweaty.” It was bold to say, probably too bold, but there was something about this woman that had him speaking freely—something he’d thought twenty-seven years in the O’Malley home had cured him of. He leaned forward, until their shoulders brushed and it would have been the most natural thing in the world to close the minuscule distance between them and kiss her. He wanted to. Christ almighty, he wanted to.

“We should be focusing on other things.” Then she touched him. It was just the brushing of her fingers over his knuckles, innocent as such things went, but he felt it like a bolt of lightning.

“Most definitely.” His gaze fell to the lightweight black scarf around her neck, and the reminder of the violence done to her was enough to have him sitting back. “Callista—”

“Not tonight. Please.” She picked up her glass of wine, and he’d have to be blind not to notice the way her hands shook. He stayed silent, watching her put herself together. He’d seen his older sister do it enough to recognize the signs—the deep breath, the slow sip of wine, the way she closed her eyes for a three-count before opening them and turning back to him, her armor firmly in place. It was a survival skill, one he hated that Carrigan had been forced to learn. He found he hated it all the more in Callista. She set the glass back on the table. “And, please, call me Callie.”

“Callie.” He liked the way it sounded on his lips.

She must have, too, because her gaze fastened onto his mouth, like she wanted a repeat of their kiss as much as he did. Before he could do something stupid like lean in, though, she glanced away. “What do you do for fun?”

“Fun?”

“Yes.” A small smile pulled at the edges of her lips. “You have to have some sort of free time.”

He did. And even when he wasn’t supposed to, he found ways to slip free for a few hours, if only to get his head on straight. Those little escapes had been doing less and less for him in recent years, though. He always had to come back to reality too soon, and he was starting to suspect that it would
always
be too soon to come back. He craved freedom the way a caged bird craved the sky.

It wasn’t in the cards for him—it never had been—and he knew better than most that wanting something so desperately was as good as handing over the most effective tool to hurt him to an enemy. His father was a genius when it came to applying just the right amount of hurt to a pressure point to get his children to do what he wanted without ever raising his hand. All he had to do was make an offhand comment about his wayward son’s apartment in the city—paid for with O’Malley money—or the night classes he’d been slowly wading through over the years, and Teague folded. As bad as it was being under his father’s thumb, it would be a million times worse if he lost his own space.

And losing the normalcy of being able to sit in class and know he was working toward an MBA. He couldn’t let it go.

He blinked, coming back to himself to find Callie watching him with curiosity. She’d asked a question, hadn’t she? He sat back. “I play poker.”

“Just not with James Halloran anymore.”

“No, not with James anymore.” He missed that big bastard, but there had been no fighting the pressure from everyone around them. O’Malleys did not associate with Hallorans unless there was business to be done—and they sure as fuck didn’t become
friends
. God forbid. Worse, he couldn’t shake the feeling that if James still numbered as one of his friends, there might have been some way to avoid the current situation.

It was too late to worry about it now, though.

“Are you any good?” She moved closer, her perfume teasing him, something light and feminine that he couldn’t place.

He shrugged. “I win more than I lose.” Though he hadn’t touched cards in months. The thrill of playing, of manipulating the other people at the table until he walked away with everything they had, had dulled. Hell, everything around him had dulled. He was living a half-life and he damn well knew it. Even the classes he’d fought so hard to be able to take weren’t enough to have him more than going through the motions. Last night was the first time in far too long that he’d been
awake
.

And the woman next to him was at least partially responsible.

“Do you play?”

Her smile widened, becoming something less politely interested and more real. “On occasion.”

He tried to picture it, and the image came to him all too easily. He’d seen Callie play the part of mob princess at the dinner, even though he knew for a fact she was as displeased about the whole three-ring circus as he was. It wasn’t too far a leap to see her at a table, wearing something like the red number she had on now, smiling sweetly and taking the men around her for everything they had. “I bet they don’t even know what hit them.”

She laughed softly. “Well, I do win more than I lose.”

“We should play sometime.” The words were out before he had a chance to reconsider them. “Though not for anything as mundane as money.”

Her blue eyes lit with interest that had nothing to do with cards. Christ, did she know the effect she had? It was everything he could do not to reach for her, to see if her skin was as soft as he remembered, if her mouth was as yielding.

If he could get her to make another of those sweet whimpers.

He looked away, trying to get control of himself. “Any other untoward habits I should know about in my future wife?” Future wife. Fuck if he didn’t love the sound of that, especially when it meant that four short weeks from now, Callie would be
his
. It was a savage thought, but he couldn’t shake it. Or deny exactly how much he wanted it.

“I love old movies.” That brought his attention back around to her, a moth to her flame. She twisted a lock of her blond hair around her finger. “If it has Marilyn Monroe, Jane Russell, or Audrey Hepburn in it, then I own it and have watched it entirely too many times to admit in public.”

He could see that. There was something about Callie that brought to mind the glamour and grace of actresses from that time period. He took a drink of his whiskey, enjoying the ease of their conversation. It didn’t matter that he’d convinced her to come out tonight in order to stop a war he was beginning to get the feeling there was no way to stop. Hell, he liked
her
. “I’d like us to be clear on something.”

“Yes?”

“This”—he motioned between them—“is a date.”

She gave him a look like she wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. “Okay…”

“Which means that we’re going to eat, and after that, I’m going to walk you to your car.” He leaned forward, crowding her a little. “Then I’m going to kiss you.”

Her eyes went wide. “And if I don’t want you to?”

He didn’t so much as twitch, because she looked like she was torn between bolting and actually liking the idea. He wanted to point out that, reasons for initiating it aside, she’d sure as fuck enjoyed their kiss in the alley. Not to mention the fact that they were getting married in a month, but that wasn’t a threat he was willing to utter. Neither of them had chosen this pairing, no matter how well they seemed to get along right now, and he couldn’t go into this expecting a certain outcome. But he could hope—and he could stack the deck in his favor as much as possible. “Do you?”

“I…” Her mouth opened and then closed, as if reconsidering whatever her knee-jerk reaction had been. “Yes.”

His breath left him in a whoosh. He’d thought she was just as interested as he was, but there was always the risk of miscommunication. No longer. Now he knew exactly where Callie stood. She wanted him, whether she was comfortable with the feeling or not. He took her hand and lifted it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of her knuckles. “In that case, I hope you’re hungry, because here comes our food.”

Callie had no idea what she ate. It could have been the most magnificent meal ever put in front of her or something served out the back of a truck, and she never would have known. Not when all she could focus on was Teague. He didn’t touch her again, but she was painfully aware of every move he made. How hadn’t she noticed his hands last night? They were wide and strong, and there was a scattering of tattoos across his knuckles. She’d seen them before, of course, but most of the men she knew had tattoos of one sort or another so it hadn’t really registered until now.

God, she wanted his hands on her.

The strength of the desire was enough to have her feeling skittish and uncertain, to the point that if he’d pushed any harder, she would have made some excuse and gotten out of there. It was a distraction, and not one she could afford. She hadn’t forgotten the fact that he wanted to know who caused the bruises on her neck—it was only a matter of time before he asked about it again. She didn’t know him nearly well enough to put her life and the safety of everyone under Sheridan protection in his hands.

Which meant she had to start finding out more information—the sooner, the better. “What are your thoughts on human trafficking?”

Teague raised his brows. “You leave something to be desired when it comes to light dinner conversation.”

“Would you rather I ask for your favorite color?”

“It’s gray.” He speared a piece of his salmon. “And I think human trafficking is one of the most despicable things people do to each other. I was under the impression that the Sheridans shared the sentiment.”

They did, but that didn’t mean she could take anything for granted. “We do.”

“Thought so.” He watched her for a long moment. “Any deep, dark secrets that I should know about before I slip the ring onto your finger?”

It took everything she had not to choke on her steak. Callie chewed mechanically, staring at her plate. He didn’t know. He was just teasing. She hoped. She swallowed. “Of course not. All my secrets are right out in the open.”

Teague snorted. “I doubt that.”

Because he wasn’t stupid. Even normal people had secrets that they kept close to their chest and never shared, even with the ones they loved most. For someone in their lifestyle, it was a given. She sipped her wine. “And you? Do you have skeletons in your closet that will pop up at the first available opportunity?”

“Not a single one.”

He was lying the same way she was, but she couldn’t call him on it without giving him the opportunity of doing the same. She hadn’t really thought it would be that easy, had she? She gave a reluctant smile. “Then it seems we’re more fortunate than most engaged couples.”

“Most definitely.” The curve of his lips was tempered with the considering look in his eyes, and she had to remind herself for the millionth time not to underestimate him.

She sat back. “Good.”

“Wonderful.”

“Perfect.” She paused, and then laughed. A real one this time. “We’re quite the pair.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

The waiter appeared with the check. She started to reach for it, but froze when Teague shot her a sharp look. He plucked the book from the man’s hands. “Don’t insult me by suggesting we split the check.”

Since she’d been about to do just that, she kept her mouth shut and watched as he pulled out his wallet and left a stack of bills on the table. He pushed to his feet and moved behind her chair to pull it out for her. It was such an old-world gentlemanly thing to do, she found herself letting down her guard a little as she stood. Teague offered her his arm, and she wasted no time resting her hand on his forearm, acutely aware of the strength she felt beneath the thin fabric of his dress shirt.

They drew stares as they made their way to the entrance, but she kept her eyes forward. Most people had heard the names of their families in passing—one was hard pressed to live in Boston and
not
know such things—but she’d always made an effort to stay out of the news. Being known as a Mafia princess was enough to put a bad taste in her mouth, and that was before Ronan had died. Now? Now, she had bigger things to worry about.

The chill in the night did nothing to cool her heated skin, not when she knew where this was headed. He’d been explicitly clear when it came to his intentions, something she still wasn’t sure if she was grateful for or not. It took the uncertainty out of how this would end, but it left her unable to think of anything other than how it would feel to have his mouth on hers again.

Normally, she made an effort to be aware of her surroundings, protection in place or not, but the Saint Paddy’s parade could have been marching down the street and she still would have had her eyes glued to his face. The shadows of the parking garage seemed to deepen as they walked past, reaching out to flicker across his jaw, as if unable to resist touching him.

He stopped walking, turning to her with a raised brow. “What did you drive here?”

Of course. He was waiting for her to chime in with the information and she was too busy mooning over him to realize it. She gave herself a mental shake. “Ah, the Escalade.” She dug the keys out of her purse and hit the unlock button, making the SUV chirp a few spots away. Behind them. A flush spread across her cheeks as he grinned, the expression of a man who knew he had a heady effect on her.

They walked over to the vehicle, her heels clicking in the silence. She barely had time to wonder if she should open the door when he pulled her into his arms. “I’m not going to lie—I’ve been waiting for this moment all damn night.”