Page 177 of Claimed At First Sight

“Antonio was right about her.”

I have the urge to remind him that I’m sitting right here and perfectly capable of being addressed directly. But I hold my tongue. Seems the Irish share Maximo’s antiquated ideas about a woman’s place in the world.

Maximo’s expression doesn’t change. “Careful, Cormac.”

“It was intended as a compliment.”

Shay’s mouth shifts at one corner, although whether he’s amused by his father or Maximo, I can’t tell.

Part of me is furious at being treated like a piece on a board yet again while the two men battle for wife-market supremacy.

The other part, however, is acutely aware of the guards positioned around my chair, marking the boundary so clearly that even Cormac Donnelly hasn’t tried to cross it.

I can’t deny it. Right now, I’m relieved to be under Maximo’s protection.

Cormac studies Maximo for another moment.

“Well, as pleasant as it was to run into you here, we should be on our way before the roads become impassable. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

Maximo gives a single nod, practically dismissing them.

Malachy turns away first. Shay remains where he is for half a second longer, his gaze returning to mine.

This time, there’s something almost challenging in it.

I hold his stare without blinking until he follows his father and brother.

Only when the doors shut behind them does the tension around our table begin to ease. Leon remains beside me for another moment, waiting until Maximo gives him a subtle nod before returning to his seat.

The other guards sit too, although their attention remains fixed on the exit.

I release a slow breath, only then realizing how tightly I’ve been gripping the edge of my chair.

I look across the table at Maximo. “You were staking your claim.”

He settles back in his chair. “Was I?”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t know what you were doing.”

“I rarely do anything without knowing what I’m doing.”

There’s no point arguing with that.

“You both discussed me as though I wasn’t sitting right here.”

Maximo reaches for his wineglass. “Cormac wasn’t interested in your opinion.”

“Neither were you.”

He takes a sip of the wine, his gaze settling on me.

“I’m already aware of your opinion.”

My irritation flickers, although it doesn’t take hold as strongly as it should.

“That doesn’t mean you get to speak for me.”

“No, but you didn’t even try to stop me.”