eye, Daisy gave her a what-the-hell look, and the blonde giggled, her hand to her mouth. Daisy grinned back, shaking her head.
Dack was talking now, his deep voice a pleasant rumble. “Tony, I know, man, but you’ve got to take your time with it. Can’t rush some things.”
Daisy eyed his tight, leather-clad ass, wondering if she should go ahead and give him a smack for being rude. He could have said, Hello, how are you, don’t you look pretty , or something. She’d gone to a lot of trouble and cleaned out her next month’s fun budget to buy this outfit. The other guys certainly liked the way she looked in it.
Dack had something sticking out of the single back pocket of his pants. One of those keys—this one silver-toned. Suddenly, she wanted it, much more than the two others she’d received. Even more than the margarita Mason had promised, and she loved margaritas.
Grasping the ornate head, she tugged on the key. It slid free, but then Daisy realized it had an attachment, a thin, stretchy silver chain of some kind. Oops. She didn’t want to keep pulling if it meant breaking the chain.
Still talking, Dack reached back with one big hand, tugged the chain from his pocket, and offered the key to her in his cupped palm. A giggle bubbling up, Daisy took the key from his hand. She held it up to get a better look at it. It was like the others, but lighter, of delicate make. The chain, now that it was not being stretched, had sprung back into a wide, ornate band about the right size for a choker. Pretty.
Seeing a sharp movement, she focused on the blonde, who was gazing at her with evident consternation and what looked like anger too. The other woman shook her head as if in warning and then sat back, her eyes wide as Dack turned on his perch. He crooked one leg up on the arm of the sofa, reaching behind Daisy to plant his hand on the sofa back, his warm forearm brushing her bare back. She caught a whiff of his delicious scent—that soap, clean man and shaving-cologne scent that was uniquely his, now combined with the faint scent of leather.
He looked down at her, unsmiling. “You sure?” he asked, his voice deep and rough.
Daisy peered up at him. Then she scowled. It wasn’t fair that he could see her eyes, watch every nuance of her expression—not to mention down into the deep vee of her halter—and she couldn’t do the same. She looped the key chain over her wrist to free her hands, rose onto one knee and twisted to face him. The blonde and her silent warning were forgotten.
“Enough with the shades,” she told Dack. She reached up and pulled them off his face, carefully, because it could hurt to have sunglasses yanked off, especially with long hair. “I can’t talk to you if I can’t see you.”
She lowered the sunglasses, forgotten in her hands as she gazed into his eyes. He had beautiful eyes, deep set under his heavy, arching brows, with thick lashes. The white slash of an old scar ran through the outer end of his left eyebrow, down his eyelid, then appeared again on his high cheekbone to disappear into his short beard.
But it was the look in his eyes that held her transfixed. Heat and danger glowed in their depths, a scary-sexy combination that made her heart race, her legs quiver with the urge to run and hide, or maybe just collapse at his feet.
Still holding her gaze, he lifted his hand, his warm, calloused fingertips brushing the back of her neck. What was he doing? Holy crap, he was going to untie her top, right here.
Daisy’s eyes widened in alarm. She grabbed his brawny wrist. “Hey, wait a minute.”
His brows snapped together. “Why?”
She couldn’t believe he needed to ask. Heat flooded her face and throat. “Because, in case you haven’t noticed, we’re in public here.”
That didn’t seem to impress him much. Daisy blushed even harder, her cheeks scalding as she remembered some of the things she’d checked on the Club 3 questionnaire. Sex in public—possibly .
“I—I
Vivian Winslow
Kelly Jameson
Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
Susan Cooper
Zadie Smith
Bree Younger
Allison Lane
Laurent Gounelle
Tim Lahaye, Jerry B. Jenkins
Daniel L. Akin