Page 42 of Carnal Wagers

You said see you soon.

Miss me already?

I’m wondering where to aim.

Don’t worry. I see you.

That’s enough for both of us, HD.

I frowned at the unknown abbreviation.

HD?

If I told you, I’d have to concede.

Then concede.

What’s the prize?

You.

You shouldn’t play games with those you don’t know.

I know so much about you, it should scare you.

Enjoy the drink.

A demain. Tcha-tchao.

Until tomorrow. The fractured remains of high school French class translated that little nugget of information. So the chemist was French or pretending to be.

On instinct, I glanced at the door, and there she stood, flickering in and out of view behind the ebb and flow of customers, a man’s wet dream in the flesh. A set of heels thin enough to pierce a man’s neck lengthened legs that belonged wrapped around the waist of whoever pounded into her. Preferably me. Her long hair framed pouty lips and baited me as the tips grazed the top of her ample cleavage with each rise and fall of her chest. Her thin, green, off-the-shoulder sweater caressed her curves more softly than the teasing touch of a lover’s hand, and all I wanted was to tear it off and bury my face between the firm mounds of her breasts. I swallowed a hefty gulp of whiskey.

She was a fairy among men, ready to pluck out her prey and drag him to the otherworld. A harbinger of shit to come, yet I willingly snared myself in her trap.

She waved over her head at me and beamed with a mischievousness that struck me like a dart to the chest and addled my sanity as I fought to stay seated when she left. This time, I didn’t send Paulie or Big Charlie after her. Not when I knew she’d be back another day.

A prickle of amusement heckled the steady thrum of my pulse, and I knocked back the last of my whiskey to the memory of her eyes creasing into crescents above her smile. The drink simmered on the back of my tongue, then scorched a slow path down my throat and warmed me inside out. Not so different from the sensation she’d left me with.

“His mouth’s twitching.” I whipped my head up at the sound of Liam’s thick, silvery voice. Huh, she distracted me enough to miss my brothers’ arrival. That was a whole other problem.

“You’re smirking,” Brody commented. “It’s weird.”

Liam and Brody dragged their chairs out. Liam twisted his around, chairback against the table, and they both sat.

“Now that, right there, is a clear sign a púca took our brother.” He elbowed Brody and gestured at my face. “Not sure the look suits him.”

I flipped him off, then scratched at my jaw and waved a server down for two more whiskeys. The buzz in my veins fizzled out as the grind of the routine settled back in.

Since the progression of our father’s Parkinson’s to stage five six months ago, we decided to visit him together at the assisted living facility once a month. That meant subjecting ourselves to his spiteful mood fluctuations as a pack instead of individually, now that he was confined to a bed or wheelchair, with bouts of memory loss and slurred speech. Liam and Brody always downed a good dose of alcohol beforehand. I never nursed more than one. After all the shit he put us through, he wasn’t worth more. I went for my brothers’ sakes, not his.

“We get an umbrella too?” Liam mocked.

“No.” I twirled the yellow decoration between my thumb and index finger, then I folded the garnish up and pocketed it. “Get your drinks in, and we’ll go.”

“Hot date after?” Liam waggled his eyebrows as the server set our drinks down.

Instead of answering, I swiped his glass and swallowed down a hefty gulp. So much for my one-glass regimen. That woman was a Pandora’s box waiting to happen, and fuck if the idea of throwing it wide open didn’t rage through my system.