Page 11 of Toxic

I soften my tone. "He is. And I love him."

He nods. "I know. I see it." He takes a deep breath. "Is he staying here?"

"Can he?"

"Yes, but if I catch him in your room, he's leaving in a body bag."

I roll my eyes but pat my father's arm. "Okay. I won't let him in my room."

You didn't say I can't go in his...

I practically skip to my suite, throw my hair in a bun, take another shower, then put on fresh makeup. I'm finishing when the doorbell rings.

I run downstairs, but my father already has the door open. Sean steps inside with an overnight bag over his shoulder and shakes my father's hand.

I squeal and jump into his arms. "I can't believe you're here!"

Sean lifts me off the ground, his green eyes lighting up. The smile I'll never get enough of fills his face. He kisses me, not like his usual all-consuming ones, but I know it's because my father is standing next to us. He says, "Couldn't handle not spending New Year's Eve with you."

I hug him tighter. "I missed you so much!"

He murmurs in my ear, "I missed you, too, Bridge. Chicago sucks without you."

My father clears his throat. "Sean, have you eaten?"

Sean spins me, but his hand dips over my ass. "Nope."

Dad nods. "I have a meeting, so I can't join you, but our chefs can make you something. I'll be back before our party tonight."

"Or I can make him something," I say, not wanting Sean to feel intimidated by my father's wealth. My time in Chicago taught me that ordinary people don't live how my father raised my brothers and me. The O'Malleys are down to earth, even though Darragh has money. He doesn't flaunt it the way the crime families in New York do, but I'm not stupid. I know he has it. Yet, I love how Sean and his family work for a living, not trying to impress anyone. It's the exact opposite of my entire upbringing.

My father gives me one of his exasperated looks. He doesn't understand why I don't seem to care about all the luxuries we have.

"See you later," I say and lead Sean through the house.

As soon as we turn the corner, he tugs me into him and kisses me. This time, it's not the sweet boy-next-door kiss he planted on my lips in front of my father.

My butterflies go nuts, and when he pulls back, he grins. "Fuck, I've missed you."

I glide my fingers through his strawberry-blond hair. "You have no idea how much I missed you."

His dimple pops out. "Are you glad I surprised you?"

"Yes!"

He kisses me again. "So, I have a date for New Years?"

I beam. "Of course." His stomach growls, and I laugh. "Come on."

We go into the kitchen, and our chef, Patrick, looks perplexed when I tell him he doesn't need to make anything for us, that I'll do it.

His eyes widen. "Ms. O'Connor, please, it's my job."

"No. I'll—"

Sean puts his finger on my lips. "Let the man do his job."

"Thank you," Patrick says, looking relieved. "What would you like?"

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