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Authors: Katee Robert
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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.
“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.
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