LITMIR.BIZ

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unofficially adopted as a rebellious preteen, and he’d been with them since.

      But damn it, Braden didn’t want blood on his hands. He wanted to concentrate on retrieving the heirlooms and relics their auction house was officially known for. They had an elite list of clients, and word of mouth always brought more on board. The timeless pieces the O’Sheas uncovered all over the world kept their business thriving. Several pieces were “discovered” by less-than-legal means, but they were paid hefty sums to be discreet. Smuggling in items with legal loads for big auctions was easy to do.

      “I think your approach to Zara isn’t the smartest.” Mac sipped his bourbon. “You’re coming on too strong and not focusing.”

      Braden narrowed his gaze. “That’s a pretty bold statement coming from the man who has a woman in every major city.”

      Mac eyed him over the glass. “We’re not talking about me. Unless you’d like me to seduce the beautiful party planner.”

      “Keep your damn hands off her.”

      Why was he suddenly so territorial? Braden had no claims on Zara.

      But he’d held her, felt her against him and seen a thread of vulnerability when Zara had been looking at Shane. He refused to see any woman harassed or mistreated.

      His sister, Laney, was currently dating some schmuck, who could be demeaning at times. Yet another issue Braden would deal with now that he was in charge. No way in hell would he allow his baby sister to be belittled by anyone. Ever.

      “Leave Zara to me, and you concentrate on your new locations,” Braden told his brother. “Is that all you needed?”

      Mac finished off his drink, setting his tumbler down on the desk. “For now. I’ll keep an eye on Shane. Ryker will be a last resort. I know you want to move in a different direction, but Shane can’t interfere. We’re too close to finding those scrolls.”

      Braden nodded and headed back out to the party. Those scrolls, all nine of them, were centuries old and held immense power over Braden’s family. He wanted them back, and at one time, during the Great Depression, they’d been in the home Zara currently lived in. Supposedly they’d been stored in a trunk that had been sold decades ago. Unfortunately, the trunk had been recently tracked down but as the scrolls hadn’t been inside, they were back to square one with Zara’s house as the last known location.

      Just as Braden cleared the wide opening leading to the ballroom, he spotted Shane standing over Zara. She shook her head and started to turn when Shane’s hand whipped out and gripped her bicep, jerking her back to his chest.

      Braden didn’t care about moving stealthily through the crowd. He felt Mac right behind him as he charged forward. His brother always had his back.

      “Remove your hand from Miss Perkins’s arm.” Braden didn’t try to mask the rage in his tone. He waited a beat, but Shane still held tight and kept his back to Braden. “Remove your hand or I won’t need to get my security team. I’ll throw your ass out myself.”

      Over his shoulder, Braden heard Mac telling someone, most likely one of their employees, to have security on standby. Braden knew Mac was only looking out for everyone’s best interest, but Braden could only see red right now. Thankfully, Shane had backed Zara into a corner, and the guests were still milling about, oblivious to the action.

      Shane threw a glance over his shoulder. “This doesn’t concern you. Zara and I have a little unfinished business. Just a lover’s spat.”

      The look on her face told Braden there wasn’t anything unfinished here and this sure as hell wasn’t a lover’s spat—she’d told him as much earlier.

      Zara’s wide, dark eyes held his. Even though she had her chin tipped up in defiance, her lips thinned in anger, there was a spark of fear in those eyes, and Braden wouldn’t tolerate Shane one more second.

      Braden grabbed on to Shane’s wrist, applying pressure in the exact spot to cause maximum pain. “Take your damn hand off her. Now.”

      Shane gave Zara’s arm a shove. “You can’t keep avoiding me,” he told her, rubbing his wrist where Braden had squeezed. “Next time I call, you better answer or I’ll come by your office. I doubt you want that.”

      Just as Shane turned, Braden blocked his exit. “If you ever touch her or any woman that way again and I hear of it, you’ll wish for death. Feel me?”

      Shane hesitated a second before he laughed, slapping Braden on the shoulder. “You’re Patrick O’Shea’s son, right down to the threats. And here I thought you were too good to get your hands dirty.”

      Even though the bastard had touched Braden, he wasn’t about to take the bait Shane dangled in front of him. Flexing his fists, Braden was more than ready to hit Shane, but he knew deep down he wasn’t like his father.

      Braden had never ordered anyone to be killed, had always said he wouldn’t. Right now, though, he was reconsidering that promise he’d made to himself.

      “There’s a first time for everything,” he promised just as two security men in black suits came to show Shane the door.

      They didn’t put their hands on him, as that would’ve caused even more of a scene, but they did flank either side of the nuisance and walk him toward the closest exit. People around him stared for only a moment before going back to their conversations. Nearly everyone knew to mind their business if they wanted to remain in the O’Sheas’ tight circle.

      As soon as Shane was gone, Braden went back in with Zara.

      “You okay here?” Mac whispered behind him.

      With a nod, Braden wrapped his arm around Zara’s waist. “We’re fine. Cover for me.” He silently led her to the small sitting room off the ballroom and closed the door behind him before turning to face Zara. She rubbed her arm, and it took all of Braden’s willpower not to rush back out and follow through on his need to punch Shane.

      Braden gently took Zara’s other arm, trying to ignore the brush of his knuckles against the side of her breast, and guided her toward one of the leather club chairs.

      Flicking on the light on the accent table by the chair, Braden squatted down in front of her.

      “Braden—”

      He held up his hand, cutting her off. “Let me see your arm.”

      “I’m fine. I really need to get back to work. I’m sorry I caused a scene.”

      “Either pull your sleeve up or pull the shoulder down so I can see.”

      Zara hesitated a moment, then pulled the material off her shoulder, exposing creamy white skin and a royal blue strap from her bra. She shrugged enough to pull her arm up a bit.

      Rage bubbled within Braden at the sight of blue fingerprint-shaped bruises already forming on her flawless skin. “I should’ve knocked him out.”

      Slowly, Braden eased the material back over her arm and shoulder. Her eyes held his and her body trembled as she placed her hand over his, halting his movement.

      “I’m fine,” she assured him again. “I really need to get back to work. I appreciate what you did, though.”

      He hadn’t realized how close he’d gotten until he felt her soft breath on his cheek. He glanced up to her, his eyes darting down to her lips.

      “My motives aren’t always so selfless.”

      The corner of her mouth quirked. “Whatever your motives are, they were effective.”

      He leaned in closer, close enough that barely a breath could pass between their lips. “I’m always effective.”

Two

      Effective. Thorough. Protective. So many adjectives could be used to describe Braden O’Shea.

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