All banter stopped as she stepped up to our circle in a green bikini, a metal bucket cradled in her arms. Her pale skin was flushed, wild auburn hair down to her ass blowing in the wind, green eyes sparkling above a pert, freckled nose.
“Well, hello there,” Milo said, making a show of eyeing her colt-like legs.
“Don’t be a prick,” I barked. “You lost, sweetheart?”
I’d heard my uncles call women that and they seemed to like it. I was rewarded when the flush deepened like a sunburn on her cheeks.She met my gaze and we both froze. Something caught in my chest, and I lost sight of everything around me but her. Dangerous.
Finn Murphy, a seventeen-year-old Irish soldier from Chicago (the one responsible for my throbbing bloody lip) said, “Cat got your tongue, lass?”
Then something extraordinary happened. I watched as the little flame in front of me threw a hand on her hip and whirled around to glare at Finn. “My tongue is none of your business, mobster.”
There was a round of shocked ooooo’s as we all glanced at each other. That was something that would’ve gotten her bricked and thrown in the ocean if she’d said it to adults. But we found it so fucking funny, we just burst out laughing.
“I like you, Red,” Finn said, wiping his eyes. “Whatcha got for us in that pail?”
Eyeing him warily she said, “Mr. Raines thought you all could use some ice after that game. He… ordered me to bring it down.” She began to hand out the baggies of ice, and the boys dutifully pressed them against their swollen, aching body parts, not giving her any more shit. She’d earned their respect.
When she got to me, I don’t know what possessed me. She held out the baggie of ice, refusing to make eye contact. I just knew I wanted her to see me. I grabbed her wrist instead and gently tugged her into my lap.
As soon as her sun-warmed flesh pressed against my bare chest, her eyes flew up to meet mine. Light green with tiny gold confettiaround the pupil. Her mouth opened in surprise. The scent of cherry ChapStick and coconut sunscreen wafted over me. I could hear the boys laughing in the background, heckling me but I didn’t care. All I cared about was this exotic creature pressed against me, her long hair tickling my thighs, her presence doing something to my breathing.
“Hi,” I whispered.
“Hi,” she whispered back. Then her teeth scraped her bottom lip, and a shy smile formed on her mouth.
I was a goner. I finally released her wrist. “I’m Sandro.”
She lifted the ice and pressed it gently against my left cheek, where I already felt a bruise forming. Then she moved her gaze down to my mouth. Her other hand came up, and with a feathery touch, she pressed her finger to my busted lip. “Lennon. I’m Lennon.”
I almost groaned out loud. I’d never been touched so tenderly. And as I watched a tiny frown pull her brows together, I realized it was so foreign. Watching a complete stranger care if I had a bloody lip. Who was this girl? A fucking angel, that’s who.
She pulled her finger away and held it up between us, her voice sweet and caring. “You’re bleeding.”
Jesus. Yes, I’m bleeding. Because you, strange little red-haired beauty, have stabbed me right in the fuckingheart.
Coming back to the present, I slip the pocket knife from my slacks and hold it to the woman’s throat. “Get the fuck off me while you can still breathe.”
With a gasp, she scrambles from my lap, falling on her ass. Her wide eyes stay locked on me as she scoots back and then scurries to her feet, disappearing.
As I’m shoving the knife back into my pocket, Milo is laughing. “Hey, Sandro, didn’t realize you were going to be so faithful to my sister.”
“Fuck off.” I need to get out of here before I stab someone.
Gunnar pushes a blonde off his lap and stands.
I hold up a hand. “No, you stay. Enjoy yourself. Caelian and I have some stuff to go over tonight anyway.”
Chapter 3
Lennon
I’m tugging at the bustline of the scoop neck top, so my boobs don’t look so indecent but only succeed in exposing my abs.
“Sloane,” I groan. “Don’t you have a bigger uniform?” I try pulling the stretchy black skirt up to cover my stomach, but then I can feel the air conditioning on the top of my thighs. I turn and squeak as I see the skirt is now barely covering my ass.
Sloane snorts as she applies a fresh coat of red lipstick and then lets her expertly lined hazel brown eyes sweep over me. “You have to stop squirming. You’ve got a hot bod, just own it.”
I roll my eyes. We’re in the bathroom at The Vault, a swanky event venue on Bayshore Boulevard in Tampa. Sloane owns Shoreside Catering and called me an hour ago in a panic. One of her servers got into a car accident and couldn’t come to work tonight for this big event.
