Page 14 of Savior
“Yes… Mr. Keegan.” Her tightlipped smile is as disingenuous as my own.
“Please, call me Dean.” I insist, releasing her dead fish of a hand. I shift my attention to Vanna’s father. “Mr. Vettriano.” I meet her father’s glowering dark gaze and offer my hand to him next. Though he accepts, he does so begrudgingly, and I shake his hand firmly. Extra firmly. “Great to meet you both, finally.”
“Yes, well… certainly no thanks to this one.” He says, shoving his hands back in his pockets as he nods his head towards Vanna. She tucks herself a little closer to me, though she’s got her hands behind her back, fidgeting for a moment, before she brings them back around. I immediately notice the nakedness of her ring finger as she folds her arms in front of herself, once again.
Fuck...That bothersme, too.
I clear my throat before I speak. “Well, a lot has certainly happened.” I counter him. “Would you both care for a drink? Top shelf, on the house, of course.”
“No, thank you.” Her mother quickly replies, obviously repulsed by the idea of drinking hard liquor in a biker bar. Heaven forbid… “I just came to see my daughter. That’s all.”
“Perhaps you’d feel more comfortable elsewhere?” I suggest. “It’s late, but, Vanna and I could lead you back to our home? You all could catch up there. Would be quieter, at least.”
“At the very least, I’m sure.” Her father replies. I fight the cock of my brow in his direction, and force another friendly smile, as if that dig went unnoticed. Prick. I feel Vanna go a little rigid against me.
“Why don’t you come by the house tomorrow?” Vanna speaks up. “It is late. We could do brunch?”
“Brunch?” Her mother glances at me as if she’s wondering whether or not I’m civilized enough to be familiar with the custom. Maybe even the fucking word itself. No wonder Vanna’s been avoiding this. She knew they’d take one look at me, and decide I was nothing more than biker white trash.
“Why not?” I smile broadly back at her. “I’ll whip us up some mimosas and blueberry scones. Hell, let’s make it a champagne brunch. I’ll even slap on some fancy white gloves and we can nibble on cucumber sandwiches.”
Vanna’s not so subtle elbow catches me in the rib and I shut the fuck up, clearing my throat again before I attempt to back pedal. “Or, we’ll just do dinner. Throw a few steaks on the grill.”
They’re both staring at me now. Yeah, it was a not so covert mocking of their uppity bullshit, but so what? They cast the first stone.
“Your sister is eager to see you.” Her mother finally says. “Let’s do brunch.” She shoots me another disapproving look.
“Oh, Giuliana’s here, too?” There’s surprise in Vanna’s tone, but it’s inwoven with something else. She almost seems a bit distraught.
“She’s back at the hotel, resting. It was a long drive.” Her father says the words as if he’s subtly scolding my woman in front of me. However, I just caught a rib shot, so I let it slide and follow Vanna’s lead.
“Right.” Vanna says, apologetically. “You’re probably exhausted, too. Let’s just meet up tomorrow morning, at Dean’s house.”
“Our house.” I interject, rubbing her arm as I give her a quick, lovingly possessive squeeze.
“Cucumber sandwiches, Dean?” Vanna finally says to me, once we step inside the front door of our home. At least she’s talking to me. The rest of the night at the bar she seemed determined to keep herself as busy as possible, didn’t say much to me on the way home, either.
I close and lock the door behind me, keeping my mouth shut as I slip out of my leather cut and hang it up on the rack beside the door. Once she’s slipped her boots off, she’s got her hands on her hips, looking at me as if she expects me to respond.
Is she really still mad about that?They started it…
“White gloves?” she persists.
I roll my lips inward attempting to suppress a laugh. Come on, baby… admit it… it was a little funny.
The corners of her pretty mouth start to curl upwards. She purses her lips in a cute attempt to fight her own smile.
Fuckin’ Aces. I knew it. She ain’t that mad at me. I give her a crooked grin to seal the deal.
“Damnit, Dean.” She says on an exaggerated sigh, slipping off her own jacket and placing it, and her purse, over the back of a kitchen island bar stool. “You and that motor mouth of yours.”
“Motor mouth?” Her playful insult takes me by surprise. She giggles at my reaction. “I don’t think I’ve heard that expression since I was a kid.”
“Yes. Motor mouth. It’s going to get you into trouble someday.” She playfully chastises me.
“Or out of it.” I grin at her as I stroke my jaw, letting my gaze rake appraisingly over her body.
She rolls her eyes at me. “A rogue and a scoundrel, as well.”
