Page 61 of Desperate Measures

But there was no stopping that crush I’d had all those years ago from blossoming inside of me like a flower that had seen its first ray of sunshine after years of icy snow.

The air in the room seemed charged with electricity, and I was suddenly very aware of Liam. He remained standing there in front of me.

Eyes open, he leaned down and pressed his mouth to me. It was a chaste kiss. A mere meeting of lips. But it felt like more.

“Be good, Wife.”

“Always,” I replied automatically.

“Indeed,” he murmured, adjusting himself before he left our office.

Holy. Shit.

I was still standing there when a few moments later, someone knocked.

“Come in,” I said, running my hands over my shirt.

Like I was trying to iron out any signs of my inner turmoil that might have been showing. I cleared my throat and offered the stranger a level stare.

“Good morning, Mrs. O’Doyle, I’m Connor Callahan. Your husband asked me to personally set you up to access the system,” the large man introduced himself, but made no move to shake my hand.

Weird.

His name was vaguely familiar, but I’d never seen him before. I would have remembered someone like him. A tattooed neck peaked out from beneath his black button down and when I looked down, I saw the same dark ink marked his wrists and hands.

He was about the same height as Liam. But his shoulders were wider. He was stockier. Older, too.

Perhaps, if I were anyone else, this man’s appearance would have made me uncomfortable.

Big, strong, but not unattractive. Nothing compared to my husband, of course.

Still, I could not shake the feeling he was familiar. There was something serious about Connor Callahan that bespoke danger.

Then again, my entire family was made of men cut from the same cloth, so maybe it wasn’t so strange that I felt like I knew him.

I nodded my head and indicated he should follow me to my new desk.

“Let’s do it,” I said, and clapped my hands together. That was when I looked down and almost fumbled in my steps.

There on my finger wasn’t the plain old diamond Margaret O’Doyle had bought for my arranged marriage.

My mouth hung open, and my heart started pounding.

“Is something wrong, Mrs. O’Doyle?” Connor Callahan asked.

“Um, no, not at all,” I said.

My gaze lingered on the oversized teardrop ruby. Its deep, blood-red hue seeming to glow as it caught the light.

How did he know?

I licked my lips, admiring the simple platinum band. It was the perfect backdrop for the magnificent gem.

I’d always been a fan of bursts of color in understated things. Like my penchant for wearing neutrals with rich accents.

It was both striking and understated. The band was smooth and simple, a quiet contrast to the boldness of the stone.

The weight of it on my ring finger, the way it seemed to command attention without needing to shout, stirred something in me.