amorous suitor who was emboldened by beer and dedicated to winning her over with his debatable charms.
She shot Mac another look. Hitched her chin. The significance of the gesture was as clear as any shout-out. Get over here and help me.
Better and better.
Still, he played dumb—not much of a stretch if he read the look on her face right.
Finally, he decided to take a little pity on her. OK, maybe pity was the wrong word. He decided to play hero and wind up in her IOU department. He knew exactly what payment he'd take on that debt. Information. Whatever she'd turned up on Tiff Clayborne so far today would do nicely—and if any other talk of reward came up, hey, he was game.
He lifted his beer for a final deep swallow, then pushed away from the bar and sauntered over, magnanimous as hell, to help her out.
"Hey, babe." He edged a shoulder under the musclehead's armpit and hooked his arm around Eve's neck. "Thought I'd lost you."
He dropped his arm around her waist, hugged her hard— partly because she stiffened the minute he touched her and he knew it would piss her off and partly because he'd been itching to get his hands on her since she'd caught him sneaking into Club Asylum.
Her bare shoulders felt warm beneath his arm. She smelled like summer and subtly of sex—or maybe that was him.
"Who the fuck are you?" Larry demanded, beyond drunk and clearly perturbed that someone was cutting in on his action.
"Tyler McClain," Mac said amiably, and extended a hand. "My friends call me Mac. Hey, thanks for taking care of my girl here."
College boy scowled, weaved on his feet, and batted Mac's hand away. " Your girl? What the fuck you talkin' about?"
Beside him, Eve forced a smile. "I've been trying to tell you I was waiting for someone."
"Fuck that," Larry slurred, cutting a bleary glance Mac's way. "Me and the blonde here, we got a fuckin' thing goin'. So get fuckin' lost, ole man."
Clearly, they were not dealing with a language arts major.
"Happy to oblige," Mac said. "Come on, sweetie. Time for us old codgers to hit the hay."
"Not her, you fuckhead," Larry growled through a belch, and wrapped his beefy fingers around Eve's arm. "She fuckin' stays with me."
Mac saw her wince when the drunken Lothario grabbed her arm. Something he rarely let loose unraveled inside him. Rage. He'd taken the "ole man" crack in stride. But he wouldn't see her hurt.
"You've got about a nanosecond to get your hands off her, pal."
The kid, who was ten or twelve years younger and outweighed Mac by a hundred pounds, laughed. "Or what? You gonna fuckin' talk me to death?"
"Actually, I was thinking something more along this line."
The kid was on his knees, doubled over and moaning in pain, before he knew what hit him.
"How'd that fuckin' feel?" Mac asked cheerily as a shout of, "Fight!" rose like a battle cry through the bar.
"Great," Eve sputtered. "Just what I was trying to avoid. A scene."
Mac couldn't believe it. "You're welcome as hell," he ground out. "You want to avoid a scene, cupcake, you might try covering up some of the goods."
"You fuckin' sumbitch!" Larry roared, and, apparently numbed by alcohol and back in fuckin' business, grabbed Mac around the knees.
Only pride and clenched teeth kept him from screaming like a girl when his bad knee buckled. Pain shot through his leg like a bullet. He hit the floor face-first, tasted blood and excruciating pain as Larry fell on top of him.
Eve left McClain on a park bench in Mallory Square and went in search of ice and chocolate. By the time she returned, a crowd had started to gather in the warm tropical dusk in anticipation of the nightly occurrence of a spectacular Key West sunset.
He didn't see her return. His eyes were closed, his arms stretched out on either side of him on the back of the bench. His head hung back.
And he didn't look one damn bit
She shot Mac another look. Hitched her chin. The significance of the gesture was as clear as any shout-out. Get over here and help me.
Better and better.
Still, he played dumb—not much of a stretch if he read the look on her face right.
Finally, he decided to take a little pity on her. OK, maybe pity was the wrong word. He decided to play hero and wind up in her IOU department. He knew exactly what payment he'd take on that debt. Information. Whatever she'd turned up on Tiff Clayborne so far today would do nicely—and if any other talk of reward came up, hey, he was game.
He lifted his beer for a final deep swallow, then pushed away from the bar and sauntered over, magnanimous as hell, to help her out.
"Hey, babe." He edged a shoulder under the musclehead's armpit and hooked his arm around Eve's neck. "Thought I'd lost you."
He dropped his arm around her waist, hugged her hard— partly because she stiffened the minute he touched her and he knew it would piss her off and partly because he'd been itching to get his hands on her since she'd caught him sneaking into Club Asylum.
Her bare shoulders felt warm beneath his arm. She smelled like summer and subtly of sex—or maybe that was him.
"Who the fuck are you?" Larry demanded, beyond drunk and clearly perturbed that someone was cutting in on his action.
"Tyler McClain," Mac said amiably, and extended a hand. "My friends call me Mac. Hey, thanks for taking care of my girl here."
College boy scowled, weaved on his feet, and batted Mac's hand away. " Your girl? What the fuck you talkin' about?"
Beside him, Eve forced a smile. "I've been trying to tell you I was waiting for someone."
"Fuck that," Larry slurred, cutting a bleary glance Mac's way. "Me and the blonde here, we got a fuckin' thing goin'. So get fuckin' lost, ole man."
Clearly, they were not dealing with a language arts major.
"Happy to oblige," Mac said. "Come on, sweetie. Time for us old codgers to hit the hay."
"Not her, you fuckhead," Larry growled through a belch, and wrapped his beefy fingers around Eve's arm. "She fuckin' stays with me."
Mac saw her wince when the drunken Lothario grabbed her arm. Something he rarely let loose unraveled inside him. Rage. He'd taken the "ole man" crack in stride. But he wouldn't see her hurt.
"You've got about a nanosecond to get your hands off her, pal."
The kid, who was ten or twelve years younger and outweighed Mac by a hundred pounds, laughed. "Or what? You gonna fuckin' talk me to death?"
"Actually, I was thinking something more along this line."
The kid was on his knees, doubled over and moaning in pain, before he knew what hit him.
"How'd that fuckin' feel?" Mac asked cheerily as a shout of, "Fight!" rose like a battle cry through the bar.
"Great," Eve sputtered. "Just what I was trying to avoid. A scene."
Mac couldn't believe it. "You're welcome as hell," he ground out. "You want to avoid a scene, cupcake, you might try covering up some of the goods."
"You fuckin' sumbitch!" Larry roared, and, apparently numbed by alcohol and back in fuckin' business, grabbed Mac around the knees.
Only pride and clenched teeth kept him from screaming like a girl when his bad knee buckled. Pain shot through his leg like a bullet. He hit the floor face-first, tasted blood and excruciating pain as Larry fell on top of him.
Eve left McClain on a park bench in Mallory Square and went in search of ice and chocolate. By the time she returned, a crowd had started to gather in the warm tropical dusk in anticipation of the nightly occurrence of a spectacular Key West sunset.
He didn't see her return. His eyes were closed, his arms stretched out on either side of him on the back of the bench. His head hung back.
And he didn't look one damn bit
Similar Books
