Page 55 of Sangre
“Nick Jeffers, ma’am.”
She ran her eyes over Sangre, her gaze stopping on the tattoos coloring his arms. A look of concern spread across her face as she crossed her arms and stood closer to her daughters.
Mark came over and the girls giggled. “Didya want another one, mister?” one of them asked. Smiling, he nodded. “This is his fifth one,” the girl whispered loudly to her mother.
“Carly, that’s impolite,” her mother said, giving a small smile to the security guard.
“No worries,” he said as he took the cup from Carly. He dropped four quarters into the jar. “It’s real hot today.”
“Sangre!” Isla yelled from the porch.
He looked over and smiled as she stood on the threshold, holding the screen door open. Her shoulders in her lavender blouse turned slightly while the sun caught her hair and spun through it, threading it with golden honey and making the blue sheen sparkle like stars in the midnight sky. Suddenly, he couldn’t move—he was mesmerized by her. Then his whole body shuddered as he sucked a big breath into his lungs.
“How are the girls doing?” she asked.
“Great. Everyone loves your lemonade,” Faith said.
He locked eyes with Isla and everyone drifted to the background. In the silence surrounding them, he could hear the hum of voices, thewhirrof a lawn mower, and the call of a magpie somewhere behind him.
“You taking over the watch?” Mark’s gruff voice broke through the spell Isla had cast over him.
Tearing his gaze away, he nodded. “Yeah. You can relieve Kevin over at the train depot. He’s pulled a twelve-hour shift, so I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.” Mark nodded then headed to his car.
Sangre threw his plastic cup in a small trashcan next to the stand and headed up the sidewalk to Isla’s house. She’d stepped inside and when he entered, the scent of coconut and pineapple wafted around him. He heard some rustling in the living room. “It smells like the tropics or something,” he said as he walked in. Sitting on the built-in shelves, the flames of brightly-colored candles danced.
“When I light these candles, it makes me feel like I’m in the Caribbean, lying on a white sandy beach, looking at the pristine blue water, and drinking a sweet, fancy drink,” she said from the kitchen.
He glanced at the wet bar in the corner of the room. It had a large glass filled with small paper umbrellas, another glass brimming with maraschino cherries, and a platter of pineapple, lemon, orange, and lime slices. “Looks like you’ve taken the steps to having that fancy drink.”
She laughed, and it sounded like chimes from a collection of small bells. “I have. I bought some shooters—white and dark rum, cherry brandy, and gin. I’ll be there in a sec.”
He sank down on the couch and glanced around the room. It was bright with the sunlight streaming in through the sheer curtains on the picture window. White, built-in shelves surrounded a sleek chrome fireplace. Books filled up the majority of the shelves, the rest had various music-inspired knickknacks, and the burning candles.
Isla walked in carrying a silver tray that had a couple of short and tall glasses on it along with an ice bucket. Throwing him a small, sly smile, she walked over to the wet bar, her hips swaying as he drank her in. She had the kind of ass made to wear a thong… or better yet, nothing at all. And then she bent over, her short skirt taut around her delectable butt.
“Whiskey, right?” she asked in a low, throaty voice.
“Yeah,” he growled, growing tighter in his jeans, his eyes never leaving her backside.The things I can do to that tempting ass.
She stood up and pivoted slowly, glancing at him through half-lidded eyes. The swell of her breasts peeked out from her low-cut top and when she raised her arm up, running her hand through her hair, her top crept up, revealing a glimpse of color riding up the side of her toned body. He inhaled sharply, his gaze rolling over her narrow waist and breasts. Against the thin fabric of her top, her nipples pebbled as if waiting for his hands… his mouth.Fuck.He clasped his hands together to stop himself from grabbing her and tossing her on the couch.What the hell am I thinking? She’s my friend. I can’t blow this just ’cause I’m hornier than shit.
“Here you go,” she said, handing him a glass and shooter of Jack. Her dark, sensual scent wrapped around him, making his dick jerk against his zipper. He groaned inwardly and took the glass and plastic bottle.
She sashayed back to the bar and poured some liquids in a glass as his gaze bored into her. Turning around, she held up the tall drink full of orange-y liquid, ice cubes, and a garnishment of pineapples, limes, and strawberries. A multi-colored paper umbrella floated next to the side of the glass. “Mai Tai. Paradise in a glass.” She winked at him, and he thought he’d lose it right then and there; she was so damn cute and sexy.
Isla joined him on the couch and pushed a small bowl of bright red cherries toward him. “I know these are like total chemicals, but I love them. You want one?”
Chuckling, he shook his head. “We should use those in the club to get back at our rivals.”
She smacked his thigh gently then popped one in her mouth. He brought the glass of whiskey to his lips, acutely aware of her sidelong glances at him as she munched on her corrupted cherries. That static was there again, that crackling in the air whenever they came within a foot of each other. He wondered if she felt it too.
“I’m guessing you’re not mad at me anymore,” he said, turning toward her.
“Not really. If you’d been here last night, I would’ve let you have it good, and then you’d probably never talk to me again.”
He chuckled and brushed his hand against hers. “That would never happen.”
“It did once,” she whispered, curling one of her fingers around his.
