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“She used to have white-blond hair and the palest gray eyes I’ve ever seen on a person,” Jack murmured. “I busted a few faces when y’all were kids, for laughing at her. They always made her cry.”
Yes, they did, Poppy recalled.
“From which store did Hank buy her present?” she asked, curious, as Lilith seemed to be protecting the bag beneath her chair.
“Erotic toy store.” There was a heavy sigh in his voice. “She needs to be careful of him. Hank isn’t a forever kind of guy. He’ll break her tender heart.”
“That’s what everyone keeps telling me about you,” she said softly.
He was quiet as she turned back to him, watching him, seeing the cool, expressionless mask he wore and the way the gray and blue darkened in his eyes and seemed to rage.
“I will,” he finally agreed, his hand lifting, his fingers brushing over her cheek. “I’ll hate it. I’ll hate myself for it. But that, baby girl, is inevitable.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
She was beautiful.
The blouse she wore was soft and dark green. Its short sleeves covered the marks he knew still marred her shoulders, not to mention the tops of her breasts, which the blouse concealed while daringly conforming to them. Green enamel buttons held the blouse closed, then ended at the band of the skirt, with a flirty little hint of bare skin showing at the bottom where it slanted away from the last button.
The skirt was making him crazy. Ending halfway to her knees, it looked like it was put together with unevenly cut and hemmed panels of materials that layered over each other and threatened to play peekaboo with her flesh.
The subtle piecing of the material ensured it showed nothing it shouldn’t, but watching her walk, seeing the shift of the material, the illusion of the panels sliding over each other, almost had him sweating.
Dark green, creamy white, with hints of pale blue, the material whispered over her pertly rounded ass and drew male gazes, much to Jack’s dismay.
Two-inch, dark green heels covered her delicate feet and gave her a sexy-as-hell feminine strut that he loved to watch himself, but almost growled seeing that others were watching as well.
She was charming and playful with her friends, posing for selfies with them, making silly faces, laughing at their antics. And though she’d moved away from him to help her friends celebrate, her gaze touched him often, as did her smile.
She hadn’t said anything at his promise to break her heart; she’d simply given a small, short nod as she lowered her head, watching as she smoothed a finger over a nail.
She was preparing herself to accept the pain, he thought with an edge of regret.
What the fuck did a man do about a woman like that? One willing to step into those flames to have him while she could?
It made no sense.
Her self-preservation instincts should have been better than that.
Standing at the bar with his men, he watched her have her fun while he kept an eye on the men who came around her. And he waited.
He ignored Lucas and Hayes as they poked at Hank over what he could have bought Poppy’s friend, not that Hank was saying. He’d just give them that flat, hard stare that could mean nothing or be a warning of violence.
As he sipped on a beer, Jack was aware of River Dawson moving toward the bar. He stopped here and there to talk with friends for a minute, but there was no doubt he was heading Jack’s way.
“Lucas, you and the others give us some space if he makes it over here,” Jack murmured.
River was going to make it there. Jack could see the determination in the set of his jaw, the way his gaze kept track of Jack as though to ensure he was still there.
As River came closer, Jack was aware of Lucas and the others moving down the bar and talking to several of the women from the party who were ordering drinks. One of whom was the birthday girl. And Hank made a beeline for her.
What the fuck was up with that?
Dawson eased up and caught the bartender’s attention. “Hey, Mike, bourbon,” he ordered, then glanced at Jack’s nearly empty beer. “Let me buy you a drink, Bridger,” he offered. “Bourbon, right?”
Jack didn’t betray his surprise. “Does a man ever stop drinking it?” he drawled, as though certain they didn’t.
“Not the smart ones.” Dawson sighed. “Two bourbons, Mike,” he ordered.
