your partner problem in a minute.”
“What are you talking about?”
Francis pulled her into his huge arms. “You’ll see. Just give it a few minutes.”
She and Francis became friends when Pete gave Francis an ultimatum—work at the bar to pay off the stiches Logan had to get due to the beating Francis inflicted on him or Pete would call the cops. Pete’s influence had ultimately helped Francis turn his life around.
Dancing with Francis was not new to her. Hell, he’d taken her to her senior prom; of course, he’d spent most of the night mooning over Patrice. It hadn’t bothered her—Francis had always been a good friend and nothing more. It took Patrice a while to figure out that under that cocky, muscled, rebel-without-a-cause exterior beat the heart of a gentle soul.
“I remember you crying on my shoulder after Storm left. I didn’t know it then, but you were in love with him.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I’m not talking about it. I’m just stating the facts. Was he in love with you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. The only one Storm has ever loved is himself.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure if I were you.”
“Yeah, and why is that?”
“Because even though he’s dancing with my wife, he looks about ready to kill me. Look for yourself.”
Francis turned, and sure enough, Storm was scowling.“Maybe Patrice is raking him over the coals. She’s not much for respecting a person’s privacy. She’ll dig and dig and dig to get what she wants out of someone.”
“Either way, I’m going to solve the problem.”
Before Bree knew it, she was in Storm’s arms, staring into angry eyes. She didn’t know how to disengage herself without making a scene. “Someone piss in your beer or something?”
“Or something.”
Rocki and Jake were singing about it being a quarter after one, which it was; about being a little drunk, which she was; and feeling all alone—she wasn’t even going there. Bree got sucked into Storm’s fathomless eyes just as Rocki belted out the words, “I need you now,” and the tension in his body became palpable.
“We’re leaving.”
“Why?” Bree pulled her gaze away from Storm and realized he’d danced her right to the door to the back stairway.
“You and I have things to settle before tomorrow if we’re going to make this work.”
“Make what work?”
“Upstairs.”
“We haven’t said good-bye to Francis, Patrice, and Dan—”
“Now.”
“But—” Bree’s feet left the floor; she let out a squeal and wrapped her arms and legs around Storm. He took the stairs two at a time. Bree held on; she was afraid of falling. “I’m not a piece of furniture you can put anywhere you want.”
“Don’t I know it.”
He set her down to open the door, and she sluggedhim. The jerk didn’t even grunt. His stomach was as hard as his head.
The door yawned open. “Get inside.”
Bree crossed her arms. “No.”
* * *
Storm had spent the entire night on a slow burn. The damn woman was driving him insane. “Move it, or I’ll move you myself.”
“You wouldn’t—”
He picked her up, carried her inside, kicked the door shut with the heel of his boot, and tossed her on the couch instead of where he wanted her—his bed. He scrubbed his hand over his face as she scrambled up and shoved him.
“I’m not going to take this crap from you, Daniel, or anyone else for that matter. Don’t ever pick me up again.”
“I never treated you like Daniel—don’t go there if you know what’s good for you. We need to talk. Alone. So stop arguing with me.” She looked about ready to blow. “I asked nicely—”
“You did not. You demanded. I don’t work for you. You work for me. And nobody manhandles me. Nobody kisses me—” Bree looked as if she shocked herself by admitting it. Tonight alone he’d counted no fewer than a dozen guys trying to pick her up—not including Dan. If no one but he was kissing her, it wasn’t for lack of interest
“What are you talking about?”
Francis pulled her into his huge arms. “You’ll see. Just give it a few minutes.”
She and Francis became friends when Pete gave Francis an ultimatum—work at the bar to pay off the stiches Logan had to get due to the beating Francis inflicted on him or Pete would call the cops. Pete’s influence had ultimately helped Francis turn his life around.
Dancing with Francis was not new to her. Hell, he’d taken her to her senior prom; of course, he’d spent most of the night mooning over Patrice. It hadn’t bothered her—Francis had always been a good friend and nothing more. It took Patrice a while to figure out that under that cocky, muscled, rebel-without-a-cause exterior beat the heart of a gentle soul.
“I remember you crying on my shoulder after Storm left. I didn’t know it then, but you were in love with him.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I’m not talking about it. I’m just stating the facts. Was he in love with you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. The only one Storm has ever loved is himself.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure if I were you.”
“Yeah, and why is that?”
“Because even though he’s dancing with my wife, he looks about ready to kill me. Look for yourself.”
Francis turned, and sure enough, Storm was scowling.“Maybe Patrice is raking him over the coals. She’s not much for respecting a person’s privacy. She’ll dig and dig and dig to get what she wants out of someone.”
“Either way, I’m going to solve the problem.”
Before Bree knew it, she was in Storm’s arms, staring into angry eyes. She didn’t know how to disengage herself without making a scene. “Someone piss in your beer or something?”
“Or something.”
Rocki and Jake were singing about it being a quarter after one, which it was; about being a little drunk, which she was; and feeling all alone—she wasn’t even going there. Bree got sucked into Storm’s fathomless eyes just as Rocki belted out the words, “I need you now,” and the tension in his body became palpable.
“We’re leaving.”
“Why?” Bree pulled her gaze away from Storm and realized he’d danced her right to the door to the back stairway.
“You and I have things to settle before tomorrow if we’re going to make this work.”
“Make what work?”
“Upstairs.”
“We haven’t said good-bye to Francis, Patrice, and Dan—”
“Now.”
“But—” Bree’s feet left the floor; she let out a squeal and wrapped her arms and legs around Storm. He took the stairs two at a time. Bree held on; she was afraid of falling. “I’m not a piece of furniture you can put anywhere you want.”
“Don’t I know it.”
He set her down to open the door, and she sluggedhim. The jerk didn’t even grunt. His stomach was as hard as his head.
The door yawned open. “Get inside.”
Bree crossed her arms. “No.”
* * *
Storm had spent the entire night on a slow burn. The damn woman was driving him insane. “Move it, or I’ll move you myself.”
“You wouldn’t—”
He picked her up, carried her inside, kicked the door shut with the heel of his boot, and tossed her on the couch instead of where he wanted her—his bed. He scrubbed his hand over his face as she scrambled up and shoved him.
“I’m not going to take this crap from you, Daniel, or anyone else for that matter. Don’t ever pick me up again.”
“I never treated you like Daniel—don’t go there if you know what’s good for you. We need to talk. Alone. So stop arguing with me.” She looked about ready to blow. “I asked nicely—”
“You did not. You demanded. I don’t work for you. You work for me. And nobody manhandles me. Nobody kisses me—” Bree looked as if she shocked herself by admitting it. Tonight alone he’d counted no fewer than a dozen guys trying to pick her up—not including Dan. If no one but he was kissing her, it wasn’t for lack of interest
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