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Newlywed Shannon taught everyone this funny dance they do back in her hometown in Ireland whenever this song comes on. She made us do it at her wedding reception and everyone loved it. Soon, the women are sitting on the floor in lines—thousands of dollars of designer-labeled gowns be damned—rocking forward and back in one another’s arms like they’re rowing a boat as they perform the dance.
I should join them…
An angry shout from the street grabs my attention. My gaze leaves the cheery ballroom. From where I stand on the terrace, I can see just over the black gate between the brownstone buildings, out onto the street. The cooling effects of the breeze instantly dissipate as a massive, familiar shape steps out of the shadows.
It’shim.
The Beast.
So he is here…
Just the sight of him makes my heart beat faster, heat spreading from my face down through my belly, warming between my thighs. Shame fills me as I shift my weight from foot to foot.
Get yourself together, Charlie.
It was one dance.
One special moment at Kylie’s wedding reception that’s forever encapsulated in my memory.
If I close my eyes, I can still feel the way his huge hand splayed out across my lower back, his other holding mine in such a possessive way I had to lower my gaze. We barely spoke, but there wasn’t a hint of awkwardness between us. Just a burning sexual tension, from my side at least. I can only flatter myself to assume he felt it too.
Beauty dancing with her Beast.
Actually, I know he felt it too because he called me after that event. Every day. And asked me out. Every day. I turned him down. Every day. At the time, this Beauty, though intrigued by the Beast, wasn’t ready for the intensity I knew he would bring.
And, yes, the Beast has a name. Nikolaos Bachman, fresh from Greece. The brothers’ latest recruit. He currently oversees security in our town, the Hamlet, in Connecticut.
He stands with his massive biceps crossed over the wide plane of his chest. Dressed in a short-sleeved, deep-green button-down tucked into black pants, a thick black belt around his waist and heavy black boots on his feet, his clothes evoke an air worthy of his military background. He runs his thick fingers over his full beard as he eyes the street.
On tiptoe, I stretch my neck, straining to see over the gate. What’s he looking at? With extensive military training as an Air Martial in Greece’s military, he sees something that’s invisible to me.
What in the world is going on down there? We’re told to stay out of the brothers’ business. If we see something that gives off even a hint of violence or danger, we are to immediately head in the opposite direction.
But the compass in my belly is pulling me toward the action, toward the street. That naughty streak that keeps rearing its little kitten head pops up, the little pink she-devil whispering to me,Don’t you want to go see what’s happening?
Curiosity killed the cat, I snap back.
Your pussy’s been neglected for so long your cat is already dead,the little she-devil shoots back in return.
Fine. I’ll go.
My belly flip-flops as I make my way down to the street. There’s one emotion I can’t deny — I find the man incredibly intriguing.
2
Beast
What’s this?
Charlie Bachman, the button-nosed Beauty whose wide hazel eyes hold a world of innocence waiting to be corrupted. What’s she doing here, peeking out from behind the unlatched gate? She thinks she’s hidden from my view but she’s not aware of the bubble mirror hanging above her head. One glance and I can see her in her entirety, hiding behind the gate.
Throwing a wrench in my plans. Threatening to expose my cover. Every Bachman other than the top three in the chain of command believes I’m a security guard for the Hamlet. I’m not. For the sake of everyone involved, it’s better that everyone continues to believe that.
I’m not going to let a nosy little girl mess this up.
Not that there’s anything girlish about her tonight. She’s all woman, a beacon of femininity and sex appeal. The way her floor-length silk dress hugs her curves makes my mouth water. The aquamarine color of the material reminds me of the deep teal colors of the Aegean Sea back home in Greece. The shade conjures up an image of her lying on my white sand beaches, my fingers slowly peeling the silk back, exposing her lovely breasts…
“Are we going to do this or what?” The punk’s nasal voice brings me back to my present situation. Everything about him, from his disheveled hair to his imitation leather jacket, screams jackass. He taps his bootheel against the pavement of the sidewalk with impatience. “I haven’t got all night.”
