Page 143 of Summer Heat
“So you aren’t…” Roman gestured.
“What, Cash and I ran off to Vegas last night? Give me a flippin’ break.”
“Oh.”
Yeah, jumpy asshole.
Rocco threw a handful of biscuit in his mouth like he was at a movie theater munching on popcorn. Winters laughed, looking confused but loving the drama. And I want everyone to mind their own business.
Winters’s cell went off.
Jared smiled. “That’d be my ammo. I can’t wait to get away from you assholes.”
Winters answered his phone, telling the delivery boy how to get through the NASA-like security gate and to his front door. He ended the call with, “—and the door is open.”
Good. Get Jared the hell out of here so they could map out Operation Catch-the-Butler with less of a headache.
Jared’s cell buzzed. “What the fuck? Hold on.” He stomped out of the room and slammed the door.
Clack. Clack. Clack. Heels clicked down the hall. Bright lipstick and fuck-me hair rolled around the corner carrying a big box marked EXPLOSIVE.
Fuck me.
Her trademark Girls Love Guns shirt was pulled over a set of fake tits he knew too well. Painted on leather pants were held up by a belt buckle of dueling silver pistols. Pretty much her uniform of a guy’s wet dream.
Sugar.
Fucking Sugar.
Well, fucking Sugar was the problem. Damn it.
Cash looked at Winters and whispered, “What the fuck, man?”
Winters shrugged, obviously not having a flippin’ clue. “When you guys came up empty-handed, I called Sugar.”
Cash had once tried to set Winters up with Sugar, but not really. He knew the guy wouldn’t take the bait, and Winters was being such an asshole that someone had to show him the only woman in the world he wanted was Mia. Cash did that for him. They should name their first baby Cash—boy or girl—because he pretty much considered their make-up and marriage his doing.
Maybe Sugar would behave, although that wasn’t one of her many talents. She’d never met Jared before and had always wanted to. Of course she’d behave in front of Jared. She wanted more of the man’s business at her gun shop. The woman could build the hell out of a high powered rifle. Titan would be the gold standard of clients, the way they went through guns and rounds.
Winters stood. “Sugar, girl. Thanks much. We owe you.”
Her smile was as sweet and fake as her name. “That you do. Where’s my boy? Why didn’t he call me?”
She pivoted on the heel of a stiletto that might as well have been a pointed dagger. She snagged Cash with a stare, and he stood helpless, not sure what the fuck he should do. Extend a hand? Shake the woman’s hand. It was a plan. He stepped forward with every intention of a proper hi-how-ya-doing, but she snaked a pink painted nail through his belt loop and threw the other arm around his shoulder. Fuck.
“Cash, baby. No call, no show. What’s the deal, babe? Our boy, Mister One-Woman-Man, has to call. Tsk, tsk, baby. Tsk, tsk.”
The first lesson in sniper school was controlling the mind and body. Controlling breaths. Slowing the heartbeat. Acting and reacting perfectly in the worst possible situations. Well, this might be the worst possible, but there was no way his heart was listening to his commands. For every “slow the eff down,” it sped up. Right now, it was going through a bang, bang, bang crescendo.
“Sugar.” He coughed a hello and shrugged out of her perfumed embrace. Nicola slammed them a glare so powerful, he was surprised to find his feet still on the floor.
Sugar took in the room. “I’m not sure that I know everyone.” Who knew Sugar could do anything understated, sarcasm included? “Cash, introduce me please, darh-ling.”
This sucks.
“Sugar, I don’t believe you’ve met Nicola. Nic, Sugar owns a gun club I belong to. Gun range, shop, stuff like that.”
Sugar purred, “Yes, stuff like that. Nicola, was it?”
