My breath caught.
Dwayne paused, his arm still raised as I shifted just enough to see Keltan illuminated in the dim light. The edges of his body were fuzzy but there was no mistaking the muscled form, the shadows of his tattoos dancing in the light.
I stepped around Dwayne, as Keltan’s eyes were no longer on the large biker with the gun pointed at him.
They were on me.
“Lucy. Stay the fuck behind me,” Dwayne bit out.
I glanced to Dwayne, his eyes darting between the two of us. I raised my arm to lightly touch his bicep, noting in a detached way how warm and hard the muscle was.
“It’s okay, Dwayne. We can put down the gun now. Unless you want to face Gwen’s wrath.” I nodded to Keltan, who was still staring at me—or more aptly, my hand on Dwayne’s bicep. “That’s Keltan, Gwen’s friend. Did you not notice the accent? Heck, I’ve had five cocktails, and I noticed it before you. Shouldn’t you strong biker types be a little more aware? You must shoot the wrong people all the time,” I mused. “The hospital bills must be enormous. Or at least the body count.”
The heat from Keltan’s stare was ready to set me aflame as it focused on my hand on Dwayne’s arm, which finally lowered.
I quickly brought my hand back to my side, and Keltan’s eyes lost the glint that had been there moments before.
Dwayne folded his arms, looking between us, then focusing on Keltan. “Instinct, when I see someone lurkin’ in the shadows of one of our women’s houses,” he addressed him with a hard jaw, as close to an apology as Keltan would ever get.
Is it just me or is the testosterone level getting uncomfortably high right now?
“Easy mistake, mate. I’d likely be doin’ the same if I was in your position. Precious one, Snow is. Though I am educated on the fact that she likes to protect her own honor,” he replied, voice light but with an edge as his eyes lingered on me.
Dwayne folded his arms. “Yeah, she’s more than capable of doing so. But I’ve been looking out for her since she was in college, so I’m thinkin’ I know what she likes to do,” he replied, challenge in his gaze. Then he looked between the two of us. “If you’re Gwen’s friend, then can I ask what you’re doin’ on Lucy’s doorstep in the middle of the night?” he asked, voice hard.
I stared at him harder. I would rather like to know that too. Well, sober Lucy did. Drunk Lucy didn’t give two shits. Drunk Lucy was horny.
Keltan’s answer was lost with the loud and unrelenting horn.
Both male heads turned to the curb. I continued to watch the way Keltan’s neck moved under the dim light.
The horn stopped. “Come the fuck on, Bridget!’ Rosie yelled from the car. “I’m getting bored, and that doesn’t mean good things for you,” she called.
I shook my head.
Dwayne gritted his teeth.
Keltan grinned. “Think you might have your hands full with that one, mate. I can take it from here.” His eyes went to me, stepping forward slightly, his intention clear.
Dwayne stayed put, turning so he obscured my view of Keltan’s chest straining against his black tee.
“You okay with this, babe?” he asked, voice low. And not happy.
In fact, as a woman well versed in man grunts, I knew the jealousy in his tone. Which was unfounded since our years of “almosts” didn’t add up to anything but “almost.” And in the realm of sex and romance, “almost” was the same as nothing.
I nodded once, knowing my drunken self might “yippee” with glee if I spoke.
And then my sober self would’ve had to throat-punch my drunk self.
And then either or both of these men would likely commit the girl punching herself in the throat.
Throat preservation was the main reason for silence. And the fact that these men so did not need to hear the gleeful Lucy. Not in any way, shape or form.
He glowered. “Gonna need verbal confirmation.”
I rolled my eyes, swallowing the glee and finding the ice. “It’s fine. Keltan was actually right. I can take care of myself. Rosie, on the other hand, can’t.” My eyes flickered to the car at the curb pointedly. “And you’ll have Cade to answer to if you instill another code red like the time Rosie managed to find Lucky’s fireworks stash.”
He paused for another second, just long enough for the horn to sound once more. Then he leaned in and kissed my cheek. The male fury at that gesture was palpable from the doorstep. Dwayne hovered close to my face. “Call me, and I’ll be here in five,” he offered. “Any time. Any hour. No such thing as too late or too early with you, babe.”
The air was thick, Keltan’s stare along with Dwayne’s somewhat stifling.
“Think there is such a thing as too late,” Keltan cut in, voice still friendly but with an edge. One that could’ve cut steel.
I actually wanted to look down to my new shoes to make sure there was no pee on them from this epic pissing contest.
Dwayne’s body tensed for a split second, and I worried about the gun he’d only just sheathed. But the bloodshed was avoided as he relaxed.
He gave Keltan a stiff nod and me a lingering and pointed look before sauntering down the walk.
I hadn’t been able to take my eyes off Keltan with Dwayne as a buffer, but now I was very fascinated with the journey of the back of his cut, watching the reaper on his back melt into the darkness.
I then heard him ordering Rosie to put the cigarette lighter down, followed by a mutter of curses before doors shut and the car left the curb.
Then silence.
And I was forced to turn to look at Keltan.
My eyes drank him in in the gentle moonlight. The muscled form very annoyingly shielded by clothing, his body still exuding that presence that seemed to steal the air from my lungs. Though this was stupid to think, even drunk, my heart stuttered once, twice, three times when my eyes locked on his.
“You’re back,” I observed.
His eyes glowed. “I’m back.”
“From war,” I clarified, my voice blank and shaking with that slight slur that gave away drunk teenagers to knowing parents everywhere.
He nodded, his eyes dancing with a little amusement, a lot of desire and a sprinkling of that residual anger.
“Early,” I continued, remembering the fact that he was meant to have at least another month.
I had been counting. A month to try and extract myself from the web I’d found myself in. A month to get tangled even deeper.
“Yep. Surprise,” he all but whispered.
But men like him didn’t whisper. Such a soft and feminine word wasn’t exactly right for the way his rough tremor quieted to vibrate through the air in a way that had my stomach and below my stomach doing a jump.
My gaze flickered over his body, the tight tee and the faded black jeans and the boots. All better than I had remembered. Then I traced the clean-shaven jaw, high cheekbones, finishing at the chocolate eyes.
“No holes or shrapnel sticking out of you,” I said on a rough swallow. “I’m glad.”
“Makes two of us, Snow,” he murmured, his eyes lingering on mine before doing a similar once-over of my body. The gaze was physical, a thousand calloused hands running over where his eyes touched my skin.
The distance between us seemed to glow, taunting me. I shifted uncomfortably on my shoes. And not just because they were new and fabulous but rather painful.