Page 112 of Killaney Fire

But he disarmed me completely by slipping a velvet box into my hands.

Inside was a bracelet so beautiful I forgot how to be mad. It was old-school 1920s vintage-styled glamour mixed with sleekmodern edges, delicate platinum links catching the light as it slid around my wrist like it had always belonged there.

I told him how beautiful it looked, and he kissed my temple so gently I felt it all the way down to my toes.

"It's only half as beautiful as you," he'd said against my skin.

I'd melted. Damn him.

So yes, I forgave him. For now.

His hand grips my thigh in the car, warm and possessive, and I let it stay there even though part of me wants to swat it away just to prove I'm still capable of independence.

But if he pulls anything else tonight, I swear I'll?—

"So this is Shadowharbor's gala, huh?" Octavian's voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts.

I glance at him, taking in the sharp lines of his suit, the way his dark eyes scan everything. Even dressed like Boston royalty, he can't turn off that predator awareness.

"Yep," I say, smiling. "Try not to faint if you see a celebrity or two."

His mouth curves, just barely. "I'll do my best."

The car slows, and valets in matching burgundy vests swarm us like ants. One opens my door, hand extended, but Octavian puts a stop to that quickly by pushing his hand out of the way and helps me out instead.

The red carpet stretches before us, velvet and ridiculous, like we're at a movie premiere instead of a charity event. Photographers cluster behind barriers, cameras clicking in rapidsuccession, the flash of bulbs turning the night into artificial daylight.

We pause for photos in front of a Shadowharbor backdrop like we're the celebrities tonight. I keep my smile poised and effortless. Octavian's hand never leaves my lower back.

A chill cuts through my dress, and I shiver slightly. Massachusetts in November doesn't give a damn how beautiful your gown is.

Octavian leans down, his breath warm against my ear. "I still wish you'd let me give you my jacket."

"It would ruin the look," I whisper back, keeping my smile fixed for the cameras. "You can give it to me after the photos."

"Promise me."

"Fine. But only after I've made my rounds."

His jaw tightens, but he doesn't argue.

We finally make it inside, and the hotel lobby opens up like a cathedral. Soaring ceilings, chandeliers, and marble floors so polished I can see my reflection. The air smells like expensive perfume and champagne and is filled with lively chatter.

A woman in a sleek black dress with a headset and an overzealous smile approaches.

"Ms. Killaney," she says warmly, "thank you for joining us. As a valued partner, you have full VIP access tonight. You'll find the VIP lounges down that corridor. Should you need anything, don't hesitate."

She gestures toward a hallway lined with security, then vanishes to greet the next arrival before I can respond.

"VIP. Fancy," Octavian says beside me, and I catch the hint of amusement in his voice.

I glance up at him, unable to stop my smirk. "Stick with me. I've got access all over this town."

It slips out playful, easy, like we've been doing this for years. Like I haven't spent half my adult life keeping people at arm's length and the other half proving I don't need anyone.

I hope I don't scare him off.

Thankfully, he laughs under his breath, and I feel a flicker of something warm settle under my ribs.