“Still messing around with Almaya and her crazy-assed Choctaw, huh?” Claude groused. “You’re too damn smart for it, is all I’m saying. Those two will get the lot of you killed one day.”
“We all got to go sometime.”
“Ain’t that the ever-loving truth,” Claude said, flexing gnarled fingers that looked a little more arthritic than the last time Big Country was here. Shifting his attention to Stormy—more accurately Stormy’s breasts—Claude smiled. “You know, darlin’, you ever want a job away from this meathead, just call old Claude here. I cain’t pay you as much as he does, but I can surely save you from losing your heart to a man who ain’t interested in finding it.”
Big Country tensed, remembering Stormy’s reaction when he’d mistaken her for a pro. Instead of laying into ol’ Claude, she leaned into the bar, the motion causing her cleavage to bulge from the neck line of her dress, and Claude’s eyes did much the same.
Big Country didn’t blame Claude; he didn’t. Stormy’s breasts were large and magnificent, sculpted by a generous God, a gift to mankind; but even knowing that, Big Country wanted to blacken the eye of every man looking Stormy’s way.
There are bare titties on display all over the place, Big Country thought,andyou sons of bitches better find them or I’ll pluck your eyeballs right out of your worthless skulls and pop them like grapes. He tried to transmit the thoughts through his glare, and sure enough, many heads turned elsewhere.
“…I see all these women looking at him like he is the second coming,” Stormy said. “But our business is just the job—”
The hell…
“—and we part ways the moment it’s done.”
Damn right we do, he thought savagely.
“My name’s Stormy, and I’m what you call anHonorary Brood Mate, in for the job and then back to my life.”
What was she playing at? It was as if she was auditioning for some deadly assassin role in a D-list espionage movie.
“And what’s your specialty, beautiful?” Claude asked, flashing the dimple in his weathered cheek. “Poison, guns, explosives?”
“None of the above,” she said, leaning in more. As if her body were magnetic, Claude leaned toward her. “My job is to simply devour men’s souls.”
Big Country rolled his eyes and spoke in a flat emotionless voice. “Speaking of eating, what do I have to do to get some food around here?”
Claude pulled back from Stormy and waved one of the waitresses over. “All your regulars?” Claude asked.
Big Country nodded.
“And what about you, temptress?”
“Whatever you think will satisfy me,” Stormy said.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Big Country said, pulling Stormy away from the bar and escorting her up to the private booth upstairs, overlooking the small stage and dance floor from a shadowed corner.
They virtually ignored each other, listening to the DJ-delivered music and watching the dancers below until their meal came. The ate in silence, which was just fine by him; the less they said to each other the less chance there was for things going sideways again. The last thing he needed was for her to adventure her way downstairs and slide up to one of those good old boys whose eyes kept straying to her curves, to her lips. He took a deep breath and sat back, wiping his mouth with the linen napkin.
He didn’t need to have an episode in Claude’s place of business, but any one of these motherfuckers try to do more than look, he’d light this bitch up, tear it down to its very foundation…so it was best that they continue to quietly ignore each other, best that—
Stormy scooted out of the booth and stood.
Reflexively, he grabbed her wrist when she came around to his side.
“What you doing, Sienna Red?” he asked, holding on, looking down at the table, trying to stay grounded. He would not lose his shit again because of her…but it felt like he was losing his shit again, because of her.
“Let go of me. Now.” She snatched her arm back and he released it. The fire in Stormy’s eyes was raw and true, no more of that polite-stranger act, no more of that treating-him-like-he-didn’t-exist bullshit. He leaned back, feeling inexplicably at ease.
Stormy saw his reaction and composed herself. “I have to go to the bathroom. Is that okay with you?”
He nodded and watched her leave.
What kind of craziness was it that had him wanting drama from her when it was a quality that he’d steered clear of in women. Those early years with Belle Mère had taught him well and taught him early. He knocked back the last of his whiskey to calm the bile rising in his gut. He hated thinking about the insanity of his parents.
“Hey lover boy, I’ve missed you.”
