She stuck out her tongue, hoping none of the adults nearby would notice. That got his attention. His eyes widened—not much—just enough to let her see his reaction. Gotcha, she snickered to herself.
“Thank you!” Penn cried. “You see, Gregory? This is how a proper English gentleman behaves. Jot it down.”
Her delighted pronouncement caused Aziza to tear her gaze away from the odd child and abandon the search for her secret admirer. One quick glance up at the specimen Penn had been referring to—the one holding the door for them—and she was actually concerned she might drool in public for the first time.
Speaking of people-watching…could she ever make up a story about him. A story that would be too X-rated to publish. One she wouldn’t want to let anyone else read anyway because it was her fantasy, damn it, and she’d never liked to share.
If this was an average English gentleman, she should have come here sooner.
Mr. Darcy, eat your heart out. Yes, he had that brooding brow and a strong square jaw, though the latter was covered with a dark, closely trimmed beard that would scrape across her skin in a way that made her shiver. He wasn’t meant for repressed but meaningful eye contact in a sitting room. Not this mountain.
Broader of shoulder and taller than Greg by a head, he seemed too big to fit through the door he held open. Too rough to be this polite. And far too wild to be dressed in such a restrictive, though obviously expensive way, with his button-down white shirt, tailored gray slacks and a silk tie loose around his thick neck. She had a sudden desire to add seeing him naked to her bucket list.
She glanced down quickly, instinctively trying to hide her reaction, and was immediately struck by how massive and muscular his thighs were. Muscle that seemed to strain against the tasteful fabric. Muscle she wanted to test and measure with her now twitching fingertips. Or press against her heating body. It was his fault. He was so warm. It radiated off his skin and reached out, along with his scent, to surround her like a cloak. Had he been here the whole time? On the Ferris wheel with them? Why hadn’t she noticed before now? Why hadn’t some sexual radar gone off during the trip?
That radar was pinging like crazy now. Better late than never, she supposed. “Hello, polite, dark and handsome. Tell me, did you enjoy the ride? Or was it too tame for you?”
Damn, had she just said that out loud? She wouldn’t have cared if he’d smiled or turned his head to study her in return, even if he’d scoffed derisively at her obvious come-on, but he didn’t appear to be reacting to her words at all, other than the tiniest twitch at his temple. Maybe he hadn’t heard her.
“Aziza? Oh Aziza Ja-ane? Did you want a drink or are you going to spend the whole night spinning around in this contraption?” Greg grabbed her hand, seemingly unaware of the fact that the world had just tilted on its axis. That she had the insane impulse to move closer to the man who smelled exactly like sunshine and sex, with a trace of cedar. The man whose eyes she couldn’t see because—she knew instinctively—he was going out of his way not to look at her.
“Thanks, man,” Greg spoke offhandedly, and the silent giant nodded, his lips pressed firmly together in a physical cue it was difficult to ignore. Impatient. Forbidding. Not interested.
“Thank you,” Aziza murmured, her throat tight, allowing her friend to drag her away because she knew she wouldn’t be able to do it on her own.
She was disappointed. For nearly two years she’d prided herself on being a force of nature. She’d said what she thought, however inappropriate, without worrying about rules or other people’s reactions. If she found a man attractive, she told him so. If she wanted to kiss a woman in the middle of the dance floor just to watch jaws drop, she didn’t hesitate.
So why hadn’t she pushed past his intimidating demeanor and invited him to have a drink? What could it have hurt? Just one innocent drink or three, hopefully followed by rough and raw and decidedly unrestrained sex that would last until neither one of them could walk or form a coherent thought. She sighed. God, that sounded good.
She hadn’t seen his eyes, hadn’t even asked his name, and now she probably wouldn’t get another opportunity. She’d found the one man she would now measure every other member of the species against—and she’d never see him again.
“I’m slipping,” she grumbled, turning to look over her shoulder before he completely disappeared from view.
He was standing beside the Ferris wheel, still as a statue. And he was staring at her.
That was it. Her feeling. He was the one she’d felt watching her. Why hadn’t he spoken to her? Why had he seemed the opposite of interested? A man with a body like that, with that sinful scent, couldn’t possibly be shy.
A cold shiver shot up her spine. If he wasn’t shy and he wasn’t interested, why was he watching her every move? More importantly, why did he look so unhappy about it?
“And she‘d been so pissed she hadn’t a clue where she got the thing?” A laughing, beautifully scruffy man in his seventies sat on a stool beside them, looking at her in awe and admiration as she hopped up onto the bar and leaned back to refill her glass of ale.
“Yep,” Greg confirmed, sipping his own dark brew and savoring the tale. “So drunk she didn’t remember getting it at all until she noticed the bandage on her thigh. It was especially troubling since—as a rule—our Aziza Jane here has always been afraid of snakes. I can’t blame her for that, since I’d bet every sidewinder in the state of Texas went out of its way to slither through her backyard when we were growing up. Her brothers and I loved it, wanting to keep one or two of them as pets, but she was a bit of a girl for a while. Luckily, it wasn’t a terminal condition.”
Aziza made a face at Greg, and then winked at the bartender, who’d given up all pretense of working and joined them in a drink. She was officially in love with this pub. Penn had taken them on a walk away from the tourists and younger crowd to find this out-of-the-way slice of heaven. No flashing lights or loud music. No throngs of people pressed against each other and screaming to be heard. Just laughter and stories and the kind of relaxed vibe that only happened in a local hangout filled with friends.
Not that she didn’t love the throngs, because she did. In fact, she usually preferred them. She was a throng addict. This was a change of pace, but she had to admit she was truly enjoying herself. Especially once Greg began sharing stories of their adventures, and the men at the bar started teasing her as if they’d known her all her life. It reminded her of better days.
“Snakes are highly misunderstood creatures,” a new voice spoke above the chortling, and she watched as the man slid onto a stool at the end of the bar. She bit her lip. Maybe it was the beer talking, but though he was fuzzy at the edges he was kind of…pretty around the eyes.
He smiled as if he knew it, and she shrugged. “Yes, so Greg loves to tell me. Symbols of rebirth and protection, et cetera. He was trying to make me feel better about branding myself for life, but I doubt I was sober enough to be philosophical that night.” The men around her laughed at that. “I have a feeling I just wanted to look like a badass.”
Greg raised his glass. “And you did. You do. A big-eyed, freckle-faced badass. Let’s just toast the fact that your proposal predicament was over at that point, and you didn’t wind up married to a gaggle of Elvis impersonators.”
They all raised their glasses, some snorting into their beer and others just shaking their heads.
The older, undeniably charming character beside them leaned forward again in mischievous interest, his elbows on the bar as he cradled his half-empty pint. “Proposal predicament? I hear another story in the offing.”
“No.” Aziza violently shook her head, feeling the room spin slightly and taking another swig of ale to slow it down. “Don’t you dare, Gregory Prophet. There are some things we don’t talk about. Like your Jedi collectibles.”
Penn, who was leaning on her hand and stirring her mixed drink as she enjoyed the show, started to smile. “I don’t know about the dolls but
I’m well aware of this. Your mother had me worried you’d give in and get married before you finished school.”
Greg pushed his empty glass toward Aziza, pointed at the tap while nodding to the others. He didn’t see her glare at his behavior. “We were all worried,” he assured Penn. “If there were a world record for the number of times one woman was proposed to by random strangers, our girl would have beaten it long ago. It was all I could do to get her safely home from high school without some lovesick fool bending his knee. I thought it was a prank at first, but it just kept happening.”
Aziza had thought it was a prank too. Her oldest brother playing a joke on her because she’d said she never wanted to get married. Why would she? Why would any of them? Her parents had been the perfect example of how much pain loving someone could cause. “You’re exaggerating. It wasn’t that bad.”
“Hah!” Greg disagreed a little too vehemently. She had to smile. He was tipsy. The long plane ride had turned them both upside down for a day or so, making them easy drunks. “Here’s my friend,” he continued, pointing to her as if she were exhibit A, “who dressed like a tomboy from Alaska, even in the Texas heat mind you, and wasn’t even allowed to go on a date until she was eighteen, and you would think she was famous the way they followed her around.”
Aziza really hoped everyone in the pub couldn’t hear him. “Greg? I’m not kidding. Jedi dolls…that’s all I’m saying.”
“You were beside her all those years? All that time with her and you were never tempted? Are you blind?” The new guy again. Aziza frowned at him. What kind of question was that?
Greg was glaring too. “I’m not blind, but I was also never that stupid. I knew how much she hated the attention. And she suffered because of it.” He pressed his lips together, realizing—more than a little too late—that he’d said too much. He sent her an apologetic look. “Her friendship is too important to me.”
She suffered? She supposed it was true. She’d never had a female friend for more than a few weeks because, really, the proposal issue got old after a while, even for the most confident members of her sex. And most men had behaved like idiots around her until a few years ago. Not that she could have had that much of a social life, even if she‘d wanted to. Her brothers and Greg had been her only true touchstones.
Her brothers.
She set her glass down harder than she intended. “Wow, okay, we’re getting too serious here. Let’s just say my irresistible charm has thankfully worn away to a dull glow, and leave it at that. And those men got off lucky, because as everyone who knows me will tell you, I’m no picnic.”
The friendly older man beside them batted his eyelashes. “The glow’s not that worn and I’m not a fan of picnics anyway. I also don’t happen to be spoken for, in case you were wondering.”
She groaned while everyone shouted with cheers and laughter. “Don’t start, buddy. Speaking of glow, who wants another round? I’ll tell you all about the day I convinced Greg to bungee jump off the Navajo Bridge in Arizona. Now he turns green anytime someone mentions the Grand Canyon.”
Several people called out their assent and Penn groaned. “Another? I’m knackered. And too old for this. What am I saying? They are too old for this. This place is usually quiet as church. That girl is a bad influence.”
Greg chuckled. “Buck up, sexy. She’s just getting started.”
“Damn straight.” Aziza leaned back to refill their glasses, the bartender backing away with a forgiving smile as she spilled some on the floor. “Oops.”
She slid a few glasses down the bar to the others, jumping when a strong, male hand settled on her thigh. She looked over at Penn and Greg. They didn’t notice that the new arrival was copping a feel. She turned to look at him. He was pretty. Not in any definable way, but it was there. Too bad he was behaving like a real dick. “You’ll have to remove your hand if you want a drink, sir.”
She noticed his eyes change from hazel to a glowing emerald. Just for a moment. Just long enough for her to believe it was a trick of the light or a consequence of her spiked blood-alcohol level. “Don’t worry, Aziza. I don’t plan on proposing marriage.”
He didn’t remove his hand.
She leaned forward, close enough to whisper, “Good thing. If you break my streak, I’ll be grumpy and you won’t get a tasty beverage.”
He licked his lips, but she was drawn to look into his eyes again as he spoke. “I am thirsty. Still, I’d rather you showed me your tattoo. I’m fascinated. I wonder what kind of snake you chose to keep close to you. The harmless garden variety or something more—I believe the term you used was badass?” He paused and licked his lips again, as if savoring the word. “What do you say? We could always move this conversation to the back room if you’re shy. But you aren’t, are you? You don’t strike me as the type.”
She was in jeans or she would have shown everyone by now, she knew. But something about his words made her blush. He was a smooth talker. No accent at all that she could discern, which was strange in this place. But then so was his blatant sexual invitation. As a rule she loved a man who knew what he wanted, but something about this one was making her flutter. She never blushed and she certainly didn’t flutter. Not anymore. It was one of her rules. But she could hear something in his tone that made her forget those rules. A feeling that told her no matter what sexual delights she’d experienced before…he knew more.
Twice in one night, she shook her head at her unusual reaction. It must be the jet lag. First the glorious hunk of man from the Eye who couldn’t seem less interested, and now this one who hadn’t hesitated to come on fast and hard. It was throwing her off her game.
Why was she hesitating again? She imagined the brooding giant and heat pooled instantly between her thighs. She needed to let off some steam, so why not with this guy? With someone who actually wanted her? Here, in the back room of the pub, where anyone could walk in and be scandalized by her behavior.
It would be a new experience.
The outside door slammed open, startling Aziza and tearing her away from the hypnotic green gaze.
A pale, shaken man in a flannel shirt and recently patched-up pants ran a hand through his thin hair as he entered, car horns honking behind him, as if heralding his entrance. “I need a pint. Two nutters went and dove off a building. Landed in front of my truck and right on your bloody doorstep. I called it in, but I could sure use something to calm my nerves while I wait.”
Several pub patrons instantly rose and headed to the door to see for themselves. Aziza‘s stomach twisted into a painful knot, a distinct wave of nausea reflexively tightening her throat. “No.”
She slid down off the bar and moved toward the door instinctively, her heartbeat loud in her ears. She thought Greg might have grabbed her arm to hold her back, but she pulled away from the restraining hand, unable to stop herself from moving forward.
Images flashed in front of her eyes. Her mother, lying on the couch in the living room, her soft blue eyes open but sightless. Her oldest brother’s urn shining silver as the sunlight hit the mantel, along with the second urn that joined it not long after. The flag she’d received instead of Joseph’s body.
Death was following her.
She’d left her coat in the pub, she thought absently, wrapping her arms around herself as the air chilled her. As if she might split apart if she didn’t. She made her way around the men, most of whom had taken their hats off or bowed their heads in a sad, habitual form of respect at the view in front of them. Aziza reached the front of the circle of people and looked down.
She clapped a hand over her mouth to hold in her sound of distress. A man and woman lay dead on the narrow road, their eyes open, blood pooling like halos around their heads.
They were holding hands.
“A bit wonky, this,” a stranger muttered to someone beside her. “I’ve seen jumpers before. Usually make more of a mess. These two look like they just laid down and died.”
She winced at the lack of emoti
on in his voice, but his words made her look closer. Really look. He was right. They weren’t unrecognizable. Just the opposite. And their bodies weren’t bent at odd angles. They seemed…posed. Heads tilted toward each other as if in affection and hands clasped. The dead woman’s hair was the color of a blueberry milkshake, and in between their bodies, not smashed to pieces as it should have been after that kind of fall, was a phone with a picture of the two of them smiling on it. Of the two of them alive.
Aziza stumbled backward, bumping into the growing crowd as she looked at their faces again. “That’s not possible.”
“Aziza?” Greg was there, pulling her into his arms as if he could protect her from what she’d seen. “Oh, Jesus Christ, don’t look, honey. You shouldn’t even be out here.”
She was having a hard time breathing. “They were on the Ferris wheel. I saw them. We just saw them, Greg.”
“What? Are you sure? Everyone got off the ride so fast, maybe you didn’t get a good enough look.”
She shook her head and pulled out of his embrace, noticing a worried Penn standing behind him. “You know I’m sure. They took a picture of themselves with that phone before they got out. They kissed. I saw them. Didn’t you see them, Penn? They were happy. Why would they jump? Why?”
Her aunt shared a look with Greg. “I think we need to get you home, love. It’s been a long night and no one should have to see this, especially not—”
“Me?” Aziza knew she seemed a little hysterical. She felt a little hysterical. What were the odds of something like this? London was a big city. If the couple had some sort of suicide pact, why would they have chosen this spot? And why had they seemed so happy?
Greg must have found her coat because someone lifted her arms and tugged it over her shoulders. She slipped her hands into her pockets and felt it—the strange vial full of sand the color of a moonless night that she hadn’t been able to part with since its arrival.
Big Bad John (Bigger in Texas Series) Page 15