Connell (Carolina Reapers 3)

I had every intention of finding out.

14

Annabelle

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen him smile,” I said, motioning to Cannon across the party, leaning not so casually in a darker corner, his dark eyes tracking every movement, but he wasn’t really participating in the party’s festivities. Not since his arrival and that intense exchange, anyway.

“I did once,” Connell said from my side. “His nose was in a book though, and I didn’t dare tell him I saw it.”

I smiled. “Well, that’s adorable.”

Connell cocked a brow at me, squeezing me where his hand rested on my hip. “Cannon Price is not adorable,” he practically growled.

I pinched his side. “I meant that you didn’t give him hell over it. I love books too, and sometimes people can be real jerks about what you choose to read.”

He planted a chaste kiss on my lips. “Have I told you look beautiful tonight?”

A flush swept over my skin. “Several times, thank you.”

And he looked down-right delectable in his suit—the way it shaped his body, the way it made his blue eyes ten times more blue. It should be illegal to look as good as he did.

“How about some champagne?” He asked, motioning toward the bar across from the dancefloor.

“Love some,” I said, my hand easily slipping into his as he led us to the bar. He settled me on the lone available barstool, electing to stand behind me as he ordered our drinks.

“Connell MacDhuibh,” a sultry voice with a British accent called from behind us.

I turned to see, as did Connell, who smiled wide at the woman standing before him. She had gorgeous red hair that hung in waves to her shoulders, green eyes, and a slender figure evident from the slip of a gown she wore. She somehow looked sexy and elegant in the most effortless way.

“Ginger Levenson,” Connell said, his hand slipping from mine to give the woman a generous hug. “What the hell are ye doing here?”

She patted him on the back before they broke apart, Connell’s back still to me. My stomach twisted, unsure if I should stand up and introduce myself or spin my body back toward the bar and pretend like I didn’t exist.

“In the states for a shoot,” she said. “Snagged an invite. Rumor in the social circles is that Persephone Vandoren throws the grandest events.” She glanced around the elaborate party. “Rumors, for once, did not disappoint.”

Connell nodded, but quickly turned around, slipping his arm around my shoulders. “Ginger, this is my lady Annabelle,” he said, and the tension in my chest instantly melted at the way his accent rolled over the titled he’d appointed me. “Annabelle, this is an old friend of mine, Ginger Levenson.”

I reached my hand out, shaking hers briefly. “Nice to meet you,” I said.

A partygoer vacated the barstool next to me, and Ginger instantly sat down. “Thank the stars,” she said. “These heels are treacherous, but I promised my agent I’d wear them.” She pointed to the black pumps she wore.

I laughed, showing her mine. “Completely understand.”

“Connell!” Logan called from where he stood with a few other Reapers near the silent auction tables. “Come here,” he said, waving Connell over.

Connell leaned down and kissed my cheek before hurrying off the see what Logan needed. I scanned the crowd for Blaire, assuming she couldn’t be far away. I spotted her across the room near the facilities, laughing with a drink in her hand as she chatted with one of the NFL players that had been on Persephone’s invite list—a brother of a Reaper...Nathan Noble, if my memory was correct. And Hudson Porter’s brother—an MLB star—chatted with Hudson not four feet from them. The building was packed full of so much celebrity testosterone it was a wonder a fight hadn’t broken out yet. Though, I doubted anyone would dare to cross Persephone, not when she had connections in every major social circle from here to the west coast.

“So, you’re the new lady in Connell’s life, yeah?” Ginger asked, her nails clinking against the glass tumbler the bartender had placed in front of her.

I took a fast sip of my champagne. “Yes,” I said, confident in my answer. We were together, we were exclusive, and I was so over doubting our relationship at every turn.

“That’s nice,” she said, but she pressed her lips into a line. “But, I would feel awful if I didn’t warn you.”

I straightened on the barstool, tilting my head.

“We dated for a bit,” she admitted. “Years ago.” She laughed at something I was completely oblivious to but continued on. “And it was never enough.”

“What do you mean?”

“Me. I was never enough. Despite how we got along,” she said. “He constantly needed more. More laughs. More attention. More exposure for his career.” She sighed. “It was exhausting.” There was nothing malicious in her tone or in the way she looked at me, nothing but sincerity. “I don’t know how deep you’re in yet,” she said after taking a quick drink. “But I couldn’t not say anything. I’d hate for you to end up like I did, not feeling like you’re enough to sustain him.”