Page 89

I needle my brow, the aneurysm brewing. Mentally calculating the logistics of keeping everyone apart.

Warren turns to us all, lifts a big finger. “Stick by the jukebox and stay out of fights.” After a stint in the NHL before he was brought back to Tempest, Warren can fuck anyone up like the best of us, but when it comes to his brothers, he always plays the responsible card.

I nod my agreement. Fights mean we have eyes on us. Unwanted attention we don’t need. Especially with the run coming up at the end of summer.

River meets my gaze but says nothing. Warren hops behind the bar to help his bartenders. Ezra gives me a nod, telling me he’s heading home to Evvie.

My gaze zeros in on Delilah.

Hand in hand, she and Hassie squeeze through the crowd. Jaws drop. Eyes widen.

Christ, she came prepared to put me in the fucking grave with the outfit she’s wearing.

I’ve already forgotten other women. No one in town has Delilah’s face, her body, those brown eyes that burn like whiskey.

She’s everywhere. Delicate and beautiful and fiery. The leather skirt she’s barely wearing is a distraction at best and trouble at worst. With every long-legged stride across the dance floor, it slides up and up, dangerously close to giving it all away. And those high heels? Tempest’s never seen anything like it.

On my way to Delilah, a familiar group of women in a corner booth catch my eye. They’re giggling and nodding at Delilah. Blood boiling, I turn their way. I’m putting a stop to this shit right now.

I’ll protect her name in this town if it’s the last thing I do.

I step up to the booth and hold up a finger, getting their attention. Lisette Craddock’s lip curls when she sees me. “Cole.”

“I want to be very clear.” I harden my voice. “Delilah’s a guest at my ranch. If I hear you speak bad about that girl again, you’re fucking done.”

Gasps sound from the women, but I’m already moving.

For Delilah.

By the time I close the distance, Hassie and Delilah are dancing to a cover of “Neon Moon.”

I anchor my hands on my hips, clear my throat.

Hassie lifts Delilah from a dip. “Cole Weston willingly crossing a dance floor? Never thought I’d see the day.”

My gaze locks on Delilah. “Need to talk to you.”

Delilah stares at me, her expression unreadable, her face flushed. “Please.”

“What?”

Her brow arches. Stubborn. Fierce. Fucking beautiful. “You say please, cowboy.”

Hassie snickers.

Fingers flexing, I take a step closer, aching to be next to her warm softness. “Come with me to the jukebox? Please.” My voice is hoarse. Damn if I don’t sound so fucking desperate. I’ve taken on bulls, but Delilah’s the biggest challenge I’ve ever faced.

She nods, then flicks her gaze to Hassie, who moves deeper into the dance floor.

I take her by the arm, steering her toward the empty jukebox, then changing my mind, I pull her into the hallway, away from the crowded dance floor, from prying eyes. My chest collides with hers as I trap her between the wall and my body and lean in impossibly close.

She gasps. Squirms. “Cole, what—”

“Found your panties,” I grit out against her cheek before pulling back to take in her expression.

A sultry look overtakes her big brown eyes. “And?”

“I fucked the hell out of them. So hard I saw stars, darlin’.”