Page 45 of Legacy Of Ashes
Conall goes rigid beside me. "You arranged?—"
"A brilliant young man with no family, desperate for belonging. Perfect for what we needed." Mother's eyes twinkle. "Though I admit, his devotion to you exceeded even my expectations."
Heat floods my cheeks as Conall's fingers tighten against my back. The possessive touch makes my core clench with want.
"You've been manipulating everything," I breathe.
"Guiding everything. Building an empire for you to inherit." Mother slides more papers toward us. "Legitimate businesses. Clean money. Protection from all sides. Everything you need to transform this family."
I scan the documents, but Conall's presence overwhelms my ability to focus. His scent, his warmth, the way his hand never leaves my back—it's driving me wild with need.
"Saoirse," Mother says gently. "Are you listening?"
"Yes, I just—" I look at Conall, whose eyes have darkened with hunger. "This is a lot to process."
"Then let me simplify it." Mother leans forward. "I'm offering you an empire instead of a criminal organization. But you'll need a strong partner to claim it. Someone the contacts respect and trust."
The implication hangs heavy between us. Conall's breath hitches.
"Mother, what are you suggesting?"
"I'm suggesting you stop pretending you don't want each other." Her smile turns wicked. "Do you think I arranged all those late-night meetings by accident? Those business trips where you stayed in adjoining rooms?"
My face burns with embarrassment and arousal. "You've been?—"
"Providing opportunities for what was already inevitable." Mother stands, moving to the window. "Conall, how long have you been in love with my daughter?"
The question hangs in the air like a bomb. Conall's hand stills on my back, his whole body tense.
"Mrs. Kavanagh, I would never?—"
"Answer the question." Mother's voice brooks no argument.
Conall's eyes find mine, vulnerable for the first time since I've known him. "Since she turned eighteen," he admits roughly. "Maybe before."
The confession hits me like lightning. Years of wondering, hoping, denying—and he's felt the same way.
"And you, darling?" Mother turns to me. "How long have you fantasized about your father's right-hand man?"
"Mother!" But my protest lacks conviction because she's right. I have fantasized about him. Constantly.
"Honesty, Saoirse. If you want to inherit what I've built, you need to stop lying to yourself."
I look at Conall, his face tense with waiting. "Since I came back from university. Maybe longer."
His intake of breath is audible. The hand on my back begins moving again, thumb tracing circles that make me shiver.
"Excellent." Mother pours herself more whiskey. "Then we can discuss the real terms of your inheritance."
"Which are?" My voice sounds breathless with Conall touching me.
"Modernize the business with my resources, and you inherit an empire. But you do it with Conall as your true partner." Mother's eyes glitter. "In every sense."
The weight of her words settles between us. Conall's fingers slide higher on my back, finding bare skin above my dress, and I have to bite back a moan.
"What about Petrov?" I manage to ask.
"I'll handle the Russian rejection myself. Tonight." Mother checks her watch. "But first, you two need to finish what you started years ago."
