Read Online Hell for Leather: Black Knights Inc. by Julie Ann Walker - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Julie Ann Walker
Ads: Link
do it.
How pathetic was she by comparison?
Pretty damned pathetic , a little voice whispered at the back of her head, to which she immediately replied, Oh, fuck off .
Because, seriously? If a gal couldn’t rely on her own subconscious to have her back, then she couldn’t rely on anyone. Hmph. Her inner twelve-year-old crossed her arms and scowled.
Okay, now anger… Anger is good. Anger could fuel the fire that burned inside her. You know, as opposed to the fear that had left her weak and spent and falling apart in the circle of Mac’s strong arms. And, yeah, so she could admit the strong arms thing was the bright spot in an otherwise humiliating little display. But, seriously, even they weren’t enough to overcome all her embarrassment. Some , certainly. A girl would have to be dead from the waist down not to be comforted by the feel of Mac’s embrace—not to mention the warmth of his firm lips on her brow. But not all of it.
And, hey, since she was on the topic, what was with him and the forehead kisses, anyway? He’d broken—more like smashed through—his four-year moratorium on touching her only to grant her the lowliest form of affection? Because, come on, the forehead kiss, while sweet, was sort of like the kiss of death when it came to romance, placing the recipient of said kiss firmly in the friend zone. So was all Mac’s touchy, feely, forehead-kissy stuff an indication that he suddenly wanted to be friends? Was it an indication that—
“…warm up?” Ali, Ghost’s wife, dragged Delilah away from her spinning thoughts.
She looked up from her seat at the long, rectangular conference table to find the heavily pregnant blonde holding a carafe of coffee. At least Delilah assumed the black sludge sloshing around inside the glass container was coffee. Truth was, after having taken a sip of the foul stuff, she couldn’t be quite sure. It smelled like burned rubber and tasted about the same.
“What did you say?” she asked. Eighties music filled the cavernous space that was the Black Knights’ second floor…uh…what exactly would one call this area? The command center?
“I asked if you wanted a warm up,” Ali repeated.
“Uhhhh…” She shook her head, covering the top of her mostly full Styrofoam cup. “No, thanks.”
“You sure?” Ali asked, hoisting the carafe higher, looking very cute in a flowered maternity sundress studded with rhinestones around the collar and hem. But no matter how well Ali played the part of Vanna White, there was nothing that could force Delilah to take one more drink of that sludge .
“Yeah.” She nodded vehemently, then narrowed her eyes when a little smile tugged at one corner of Ali’s lips. “Hey, are you screwing around with me? What is this stuff?”
Ali’s tawny eyes flashed. But before she could answer, her husband whisked the pot from her hands.
“What d’ya think you’re doin’?” Nate “Ghost” Weller demanded in that strange mashed-up way he had of speaking. It was almost like he talked in cursive. “The doctor said you’re not s’posed to lift heavy things.” Pulling out a chair, he gently, as if Ali were a fragile piece of antique china, maneuvered her into it despite her repeated swatting of his hands.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Nate,” the blonde groused, scowling up at her handsome, black-eyed husband. “I don’t think a coffee pot constitutes a heavy thing .” She made the quote marks with her fingers, fingers Delilah noticed were pudgy with retained fluid. She’d been around enough pregnant women in her day to know Ali Weller was about to burst. Or as Uncle Theo liked to say, primed to pop .
Uncle Theo … And just like that, she felt the blood drain from her face.
Oh, for heaven’s sake, were those tears burning up the back of her nose?
“A coffee pot doesn’t constitute a heavy thing?” Ghost asked, his expression dubious. “Mmmph,” he finished, shaking his head until his black hair brushed against the
How pathetic was she by comparison?
Pretty damned pathetic , a little voice whispered at the back of her head, to which she immediately replied, Oh, fuck off .
Because, seriously? If a gal couldn’t rely on her own subconscious to have her back, then she couldn’t rely on anyone. Hmph. Her inner twelve-year-old crossed her arms and scowled.
Okay, now anger… Anger is good. Anger could fuel the fire that burned inside her. You know, as opposed to the fear that had left her weak and spent and falling apart in the circle of Mac’s strong arms. And, yeah, so she could admit the strong arms thing was the bright spot in an otherwise humiliating little display. But, seriously, even they weren’t enough to overcome all her embarrassment. Some , certainly. A girl would have to be dead from the waist down not to be comforted by the feel of Mac’s embrace—not to mention the warmth of his firm lips on her brow. But not all of it.
And, hey, since she was on the topic, what was with him and the forehead kisses, anyway? He’d broken—more like smashed through—his four-year moratorium on touching her only to grant her the lowliest form of affection? Because, come on, the forehead kiss, while sweet, was sort of like the kiss of death when it came to romance, placing the recipient of said kiss firmly in the friend zone. So was all Mac’s touchy, feely, forehead-kissy stuff an indication that he suddenly wanted to be friends? Was it an indication that—
“…warm up?” Ali, Ghost’s wife, dragged Delilah away from her spinning thoughts.
She looked up from her seat at the long, rectangular conference table to find the heavily pregnant blonde holding a carafe of coffee. At least Delilah assumed the black sludge sloshing around inside the glass container was coffee. Truth was, after having taken a sip of the foul stuff, she couldn’t be quite sure. It smelled like burned rubber and tasted about the same.
“What did you say?” she asked. Eighties music filled the cavernous space that was the Black Knights’ second floor…uh…what exactly would one call this area? The command center?
“I asked if you wanted a warm up,” Ali repeated.
“Uhhhh…” She shook her head, covering the top of her mostly full Styrofoam cup. “No, thanks.”
“You sure?” Ali asked, hoisting the carafe higher, looking very cute in a flowered maternity sundress studded with rhinestones around the collar and hem. But no matter how well Ali played the part of Vanna White, there was nothing that could force Delilah to take one more drink of that sludge .
“Yeah.” She nodded vehemently, then narrowed her eyes when a little smile tugged at one corner of Ali’s lips. “Hey, are you screwing around with me? What is this stuff?”
Ali’s tawny eyes flashed. But before she could answer, her husband whisked the pot from her hands.
“What d’ya think you’re doin’?” Nate “Ghost” Weller demanded in that strange mashed-up way he had of speaking. It was almost like he talked in cursive. “The doctor said you’re not s’posed to lift heavy things.” Pulling out a chair, he gently, as if Ali were a fragile piece of antique china, maneuvered her into it despite her repeated swatting of his hands.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Nate,” the blonde groused, scowling up at her handsome, black-eyed husband. “I don’t think a coffee pot constitutes a heavy thing .” She made the quote marks with her fingers, fingers Delilah noticed were pudgy with retained fluid. She’d been around enough pregnant women in her day to know Ali Weller was about to burst. Or as Uncle Theo liked to say, primed to pop .
Uncle Theo … And just like that, she felt the blood drain from her face.
Oh, for heaven’s sake, were those tears burning up the back of her nose?
“A coffee pot doesn’t constitute a heavy thing?” Ghost asked, his expression dubious. “Mmmph,” he finished, shaking his head until his black hair brushed against the
Similar Books
