“Got it.”
“Thanks, Jack.” And I’m off.
My mystery lady dropped my gaze when she got busy mixing drinks again, so I use the time it takes me to skirt around the room, to search and scroll my phone for her details.
Name—Saylor Santini.
Beautiful name for a beautiful girl. It sounds Italian, but that doesn’t bother me any. I may be Irish myself, but part of the greatness of American is the melting pot of people from all over the world. I wonder if she has deep Italian roots or it’s just a family name that’s passed from many generations up her family tree. I guess I can ask her myself, maybe tomorrow morning when we’re lying in bed . . . after I wake her up with my head between her thighs.
Age—27.
Address—right here in Houston.
Date of hire—December fourth. That was just last week. No wonder I’d never seen her here before. She’s still a newbie.
Her phone number has an area code I don't recognize—262. She must not be originally from the area. I make a mental note to look that up later.
Saylor and waitress that I recognize but can’t remember her name are finishing serving a table full of rowdy bachelors, when one of them decides to do something absolutely stupid. Just as Saylor sets his beer down on the table in front of him, the spineless twit reaches his arm around and grabs a handful of her ass cheek. Then my world spins before my eyes.
The crowd seems to part like Moses and the Red Sea, so I take off full speed and rush toward her. But before I can reach her, and kill this idiot for touching what is mine, Saylor handles it like today is just another Tuesday at the Okay Corral.
The guy’s chair goes skidding out from underneath his butt and Saylor does some crazy ninja kick move with her right foot. This sends him off balance and has him spinning, landing on his knees facing away from her. Her final move is to stand behind him with her feet bracketing his knees, him in a headlock, and a butterfly knife flipped open against his throat.
I’m not sure how my brain is still functioning since all my blood has rushed down to my dick, but seeing her like this has me thinking three things.
Holy fuck that was hot.
Who the hell is this chick?
And last but certainly most important—I really need to make her mine.
A couple of the club’s security guys swoop in, along with Declan, Tadhg’s head of security, and they take the asswipe out of Saylor’s hands.
“Find out everything there is to know about the idiot and get him out of here.” I’m not sure when Tadhg got here, but I’m glad he is. This will free my hands from getting bloody so I can introduce myself to my girl. “I want him blacklisted from all club owned businesses.”
The music never stopped, so everyone around us gets back to enjoying their evening around us, while Saylor and I seem to gravitate closer to each other.
Once she’s close enough that I can smell the vanilla from her shampoo, I lean down to whisper in her ear. “You wanna tell me where you learned how to do that, álainn?”
She leans back just enough to look me in the eyes. “I’ll show you my moves if you show me yours.”
When she adds a small smile and a wink, it’s on.
CHAPTER FIVE
SAYLOR
Brown eyes. He has dark brown eyes that remind me of another one of my weaknesses, besides him it seems—dark chocolate.
Dark brown eyes and a deep voice with just the hint of a twang in it, I just might melt faster than a chocolate bar on a smore on the fourth of July. If what Darcie said is true, and this man is really part of the Irish Mafia, he must have either been born here in Texas or moved to town when he was young, because an accent like that isn’t something you can fake. One line out of that fine looking mouth and my knees are as week as jello in an earthquake.
As soon as I teased him with a line I have no idea how I spit out so smoothly, he grabbed my hand and started shuffling across the floor in the sexiest pair of cowboy boots I’ve ever seen on a man. We quickly make it behind the bar, then back to the employees only hallway where the break room, storage rooms, walk-in coolers, and offices are. My feet don’t stop moving until we disappear behind a door I’d never really noticed before at the very end of the hall. It has no sign, so I guess I hadn’t paid it much mind until now.
It's a very boring and pretty nondescript room. There is a metal table, four metal straight back chairs—two on each side—but nothing else other than the recessed lights in the ceiling. The walls, ceiling, and floor are all black, and if I were watching a police procedural show on television, I would wonder if this room was used for lawful investigations or unlawful interrogations.
Shit . . . is this what I think it is? The dominos are starting to fall and I’m wondering if this is my worst nightmare or my favorite dream?
What is this room for and why is it in the back hall of a dance club?
