Read Online This Year's Black by Avery Flynn - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Avery Flynn
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Especially when she wasn’t trying to hide her tracks.
Tea Time was located in a teal blue building that sat on the north corner of the tourist-clogged downtown square. Everywhere he looked, the distinctive ring-tipped Andol cats roamed the streets, free and unafraid of humans, much like the monkeys in India.
Devin parked the hot pink monstrosity of a vehicle in front of the store. The six-feet-high windows showcased shelf after shelf of delicate china teapots painted in island colors.
“I didn’t realize tea was so big here.” Ryder’s seat belt zipped across her high breasts as it rewound into the Jeep’s frame.
Devin fought to make his brain process her words, while his body processed something else entirely. “It’s not, but a majority of the tourists are British, so the teapots make sense.”
“Is there anything your research didn’t turn up?”
Such a smartass.
He grinned despite himself. “Sarah’s exact GPS coordinates.”
They got out of the Jeep and crossed the raised boardwalk to Tea Time’s display windows. Ryder peeked in. There was no way the woman could pass as a tourist. Dressed in head-to-toe, tight-fitting black, she looked one hundred percent badass business and zero percent vacation. What he wouldn’t give to strip her out of those clothes and talk her into making it a naked vacation. His cock certainly liked the idea.
She eyeballed his reflection. “So, if this is such an open-and-shut, grab-and-bag case, why did you need Maltese Security’s help?”
Guilt’s strong fingers squeezed his chest like a stress ball, and he considered taking the chicken’s way out. He could make up an excuse. He opened his mouth, but his tongue refused to form the lie. “You’re here for the same reason that I’ll go down if the merger fails.”
A warm island breeze teased loose a long strand of dark brown hair from her braid. The strand batted against her locked jaw as she thinned her full lips. “Maltese is the scapegoat.”
“If George has taught me anything, it’s always to have a backup plan.”
“Sweet guy.”
Devin grunted. What could he say? It wasn’t like he could deny it. George might look like a slightly slimmer, beardless Santa, but when it came to business, the man was as cold and calculating as Jack Frost—something Devin had learned firsthand as the old man’s protégé.
George had taught Devin everything he knew about surviving in the ultra-competitive fashion merchandising world. He thought he’d seen cut-throat players when he played tight end at Stanford, but Dylan’s Department Store’s pocket-sized head buyer, Betty Webster, would have made the three hundred pound linebackers quake in their cleats. And the number one lesson George had taught him was: always watch his back. Always.
“Come on.” He rested his palm against the small of her back to guide her into the tea shop. Electricity, strong and sure, surged up his arm and straight down to his dick. “Let’s see if anyone inside knows where Sarah is.”
Ignoring the world-weary sigh Ryder let out, he pushed open the door and marched after her. A blast of arctic-level air conditioning and the trill of a bell welcomed him into the Earl Grey-scented store. A pair of elderly women in flower-print dresses puttered around the teapot displays, while the men he assumed were their husbands loitered by the door. Each held four shopping bags in his liver-spotted hands.
Wordlessly, Devin and Ryder split up, taking opposite routes around the crowded shop. He turned down a narrow aisle and came face-to-face with a young woman in an orange Tea Time golf shirt.
Her almond-shaped eyes widened at the sight of him. “Is there anything particular I can help you find?” She swept back her long, straight black hair and revealed the name Dominga embroidered on the shirt.
Bingo .
He plastered on his most charming smile—the same one that had gotten Ann Ackerman to slide off her panties in the back of his Beemer during
Tea Time was located in a teal blue building that sat on the north corner of the tourist-clogged downtown square. Everywhere he looked, the distinctive ring-tipped Andol cats roamed the streets, free and unafraid of humans, much like the monkeys in India.
Devin parked the hot pink monstrosity of a vehicle in front of the store. The six-feet-high windows showcased shelf after shelf of delicate china teapots painted in island colors.
“I didn’t realize tea was so big here.” Ryder’s seat belt zipped across her high breasts as it rewound into the Jeep’s frame.
Devin fought to make his brain process her words, while his body processed something else entirely. “It’s not, but a majority of the tourists are British, so the teapots make sense.”
“Is there anything your research didn’t turn up?”
Such a smartass.
He grinned despite himself. “Sarah’s exact GPS coordinates.”
They got out of the Jeep and crossed the raised boardwalk to Tea Time’s display windows. Ryder peeked in. There was no way the woman could pass as a tourist. Dressed in head-to-toe, tight-fitting black, she looked one hundred percent badass business and zero percent vacation. What he wouldn’t give to strip her out of those clothes and talk her into making it a naked vacation. His cock certainly liked the idea.
She eyeballed his reflection. “So, if this is such an open-and-shut, grab-and-bag case, why did you need Maltese Security’s help?”
Guilt’s strong fingers squeezed his chest like a stress ball, and he considered taking the chicken’s way out. He could make up an excuse. He opened his mouth, but his tongue refused to form the lie. “You’re here for the same reason that I’ll go down if the merger fails.”
A warm island breeze teased loose a long strand of dark brown hair from her braid. The strand batted against her locked jaw as she thinned her full lips. “Maltese is the scapegoat.”
“If George has taught me anything, it’s always to have a backup plan.”
“Sweet guy.”
Devin grunted. What could he say? It wasn’t like he could deny it. George might look like a slightly slimmer, beardless Santa, but when it came to business, the man was as cold and calculating as Jack Frost—something Devin had learned firsthand as the old man’s protégé.
George had taught Devin everything he knew about surviving in the ultra-competitive fashion merchandising world. He thought he’d seen cut-throat players when he played tight end at Stanford, but Dylan’s Department Store’s pocket-sized head buyer, Betty Webster, would have made the three hundred pound linebackers quake in their cleats. And the number one lesson George had taught him was: always watch his back. Always.
“Come on.” He rested his palm against the small of her back to guide her into the tea shop. Electricity, strong and sure, surged up his arm and straight down to his dick. “Let’s see if anyone inside knows where Sarah is.”
Ignoring the world-weary sigh Ryder let out, he pushed open the door and marched after her. A blast of arctic-level air conditioning and the trill of a bell welcomed him into the Earl Grey-scented store. A pair of elderly women in flower-print dresses puttered around the teapot displays, while the men he assumed were their husbands loitered by the door. Each held four shopping bags in his liver-spotted hands.
Wordlessly, Devin and Ryder split up, taking opposite routes around the crowded shop. He turned down a narrow aisle and came face-to-face with a young woman in an orange Tea Time golf shirt.
Her almond-shaped eyes widened at the sight of him. “Is there anything particular I can help you find?” She swept back her long, straight black hair and revealed the name Dominga embroidered on the shirt.
Bingo .
He plastered on his most charming smile—the same one that had gotten Ann Ackerman to slide off her panties in the back of his Beemer during
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