Even if Cara looks fucking delectable.
As Cara leads me, movement to my left catches my eye, and a newly familiar face appears in the crowd. I clasp my hand over Cara’s and pull her to a stop in front of a tall, lanky man with shocking orange hair and a petite blonde clad in gold pressed against his side.
“Mr. Malone!”
“Ahh, Mr. Scarano!”
“Cara, this is Séamus Malone, one of Owen’s new men,” I explain, as Cara stops next to me and stares up at the beanpole of a man. “He’ll be handling the main supply lines of beer and alcohol to all of our nightclubs. So the next time you want to take a trip to a club, there will be plenty of Irish beer to, uh… wet your whistle!”
Séamus breaks out into a loud, hearty laugh that seems ill-fitting for his slim stature and he holds out a hand to Cara. She shakes it firmly with a bright smile even as a flair of pink brushes up her neck.
“It’s lovely to meet you,” she smiles warmly, “it’s about time there was something decent to drink in these clubs.”
“Aye, right ye are, lass!” Séamus laughs. Their voices fade for a moment as Séamus introduces his wife. My focus is pulled to the pink flush brushing over Cara’s skin as it strokes over her throat like a lover's caress. The heated desire to touch her rises. I yearn to pull her close and taste that heated skin with my own lips.
If only we weren’t in public.
“We would love to!” Cara exclaims, pulling my attention back to the conversation, and she turns to me with a playful glint in her eye. “Séamus has invited us to an ale tasting to ensure the finest quality of alcohol graces our shelves.”
My stomach clenches faintly at the thought of drinkingmultipleales,but I force a smile anyway.
“Absolutely!” I nod, dipping my shoulders forward briefly before I lead Cara away.
“I didn’t expect you to agree so readily,” Cara chuckles, hooking back onto my left elbow.
“I know my role,” I smirk, echoing her own words.
Her shoulders lift dramatically as she sighs, but that playful glint remains in her eye as we weave through the crowd and meet several more familiar faces. I introduce Cara to Yelena, who is helping tend the bar, and the two hit it off quite nicely. She then introduces me to a distant cousin who is involved in brewing one of the Irish ales we will be serving, a stocky man with a thick beard and the curliest mustache I’ve ever laid eyes on.
Our path around the party eventually takes us to Owen, who claps Cara’s shoulders and pulls her in to kiss her wet on the cheek.
“Cara! You’re lookin’ mighty bonnie tonight,” he grins, and the hint of malt beer tickles my nose as he turns to me and grips my shoulders tightly. “Killian, good t’see you lad!”
“Likewise,” I reply stiffly as he slaps my shoulder once more and steps back. “Dante was telling me we’re all set up along the West Coast now?”
“Aye, aye,” Owen nods vigorously, “with the port and our ale import, no one’s gonna be lookin’ for weapons among the barley!” he rubs his podgy hands together, clearly proud.
“Weapons?” Cara pipes up, and I turn to her with a nod.
“Yes. As we’re investing in all Irish businesses to help them rebuild until the money starts flowing, Owen is giving us access to the smuggling lines within the Irish shipments. It’ll get us weapons faster and give us a leg up on the Russians.”
“Oh, of course,” Cara breathes out softly, and I place my hand over hers on my elbow, squeezing gently. I believe it’s important to keep her informed, but other than bookkeeping, I’ve never had the impression that she was involved all that much under her father.
Easier for him to keep secrets that way, I suppose.
“And the risk is low?” she asks, her attention to Owen.
He nods once again. “Aye, it’s all taken care of, lass.”
“Have you seen my father?” Cara asks and she bobs up slightly onto her tiptoes, scanning the crowd. Owen nods, glancing over each shoulder before he gives a hearty shrug.
“Aye, he’s around here somewhere, lass, but don’t fret! Enjoy yourself! We’re all here because of you and your union, which, if I may, the wedding was fucking fantastic! Aye, I’m sure it won’t be long ‘till there’s a wee bun brewing in that oven, eh!”
Cara’s cheeks flush dark and her grip tightens on my arm.A child?Of course, now that we’re married, it’s heavily expected for us to provide an Irish heir as soon as possible.
“No rush though, aye?” Owen chuckles heartily. “I quite like a seat at the big table!”
“Don’t fret,” Cara reaches for Owen and takes his forearm, squeezing gently, “even with a child, you still have to keep that seat warm for at least sixteen years.”