Page 16 of Legacy Of Ashes
"Valentin Petrov has been asking about meetings," Mother says, and I force myself to focus.
"The Russian?" I ask.
"He specifically requested you," she continues with false innocence. "Said he'd heard about our family's new... leadership."
Across the table, Conall's fork clenches in his fist. The muscle in his jaw jumps.
"What kind of meeting?" I ask, though I suspect I know.
"Dinner. Somewhere intimate." Mother's smile is sharp. "The Petrovs appreciate beautiful things. And strategic alliances."
The implication is clear. Marriage. A business transaction disguised as romance.
"Over my dead body," Conall says quietly.
The table goes silent. Eamon raises an eyebrow while Cillian looks between us with dawning understanding.
"Excuse me?" I ask.
Conall's eyes burn into mine. "I said over my dead body will you marry that Russian bastard."
"That's not your decision to make."
"Isn't it?"
The challenge hangs between us, loaded with everything we can't say in front of my family. That he's already claimed me. That I belong to him whether we've said the words or not.
"Well," Mother says delicately, "this is interesting."
"What the hell was that?" I demand the moment we're in his car.
"You know exactly what that was." He drives like he's being chased, knuckles white on the steering wheel.
"You don't own me, Conall."
"Don't I?" He pulls over abruptly, throwing the car in park. "Tell me you don't feel it. This thing between us."
"That doesn't give you the right to?—"
He's on me before I can finish, hauling me across the console into his lap. I straddle him in the driver's seat, my dress riding up to my hips.
"Doesn't it?" His hands grip my ass, pulling me down onto the hard ridge of his erection. "Tell me you don't want this. Tell me you don't get wet every time I look at you."
I can't. Because it's true.
"I've wanted you since you were eighteen," he confesses, his voice raw. "Do you know how fucked up that makes me? How wrong it is?"
"You never said anything."
"Because I'm twelve years older than you. Because I work for your father. Because you were supposed to be off-limits." His thumbs stroke over my hipbones. "But I can't pretend anymore. Not when other men want to put their hands on what's mine."
"Yours?"
"Mine." He captures my mouth in a brutal kiss, all teeth and tongue and possession. I moan into it, grinding against him shamelessly.
His hand slides between us, finding the wet heat between my legs. "Christ, you're dripping for me."
"I need you," I gasp against his mouth. "Please, Conall."
