by Kali Argent
“What are you doing Saturday?” Turner asked before she could formulate a response.
“Well, I’ll likely be working.” She didn’t have much time to finish her presentation, but she found herself looking forward to spending more time with Turner. “Why do you ask?”
“I want to take you somewhere.”
While she maintained a pleasant smile, she cringed on the inside. “Another surprise?”
The mischief that danced in his eyes gave her the answer before he spoke. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
Sadly, she’d never really had one. “I’ll at least need to know what to wear.” He could keep his secrets—for now—but she didn’t want another wardrobe mishap. “Just a hint.”
“Is that a yes?”
Even if she’d wanted to say no, he looked far too happy for her to disappoint him. “Yes. Now, what should I wear?”
His left eyebrow quirked upward, and the grin he gave her spelled all kinds of trouble. “Something sexy…in your favorite color.”
CHAPTER THREE
Wonderland boasted a packed house by the time Turner led Starla through the front doors Saturday evening. Patrons crowded around the bar, shouting their orders to the bartender, while the more adventurous gyrated on the dance floor amidst the rolling fog and pulsing lights.
Entwining their fingers, he pulled her deeper into the club and waved his free hand in a broad, sweeping motion. “So, what do you think?”
“Is that statue…is that a caterpillar smoking a hookah?” She pointed toward the far end of the black, marble bar and pressed closer against his side. “Well, it’s quite lively in here, isn’t it?”
Her black, long-sleeved, off-shoulder dress hugged her curves, drawing Turner’s gaze to her full breasts and the luscious swell of her hips. She hadn’t chosen any accessories, not that she needed them to shine. Starla looked positively radiant, and the added height from her black leather boots with six-inch, red heels placed her forehead at the perfect position for a chaste kiss.
He’d worried La Casa de Locos would be too dull or low-class for a woman like Starla, but he must have done something right if she’d agreed to go out with him a second time. Bringing her to Wonderland had also been a risky decision, and it could very well backfire. Still, he hadn’t been able to resist the opportunity to ruffle those perfect feathers of hers.
“Too much?”
Starla straightened her spine and pulled her shoulders back. “I think it’s brilliant.” Her lie might have been more convincing if she wasn’t gripping his hand hard enough to bend the bones. “Buy me a drink?”
“Of course.” He kept a comforting grip on her hand and used his body to clear a path for her as they navigated their way through the throng of people. Nearing the bar, he spotted a familiar face. Well, technically, he noticed the platinum blond hair first, but he’d know that hulking frame anywhere. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”
“McCord?” The mountainous bouncer unfolded his arms from his chest and reached out to take Turner’s hand when he approached. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Zeke, how’s it going, brother?” Raising his voice over the thump of techno music blaring from the speakers, Turner clasped the guy’s hand and pulled him into a one-armed hug. “How’s Kaylee? Has she had that baby yet?”
“Not yet.” The blood drained from his face at the mention of his wife’s pregnancy and impending fatherhood. “Soon, though. Real soon.”
Turner laughed. “Well, when the little ankle biter makes an appearance, you guys come by Neverland. Whatever you want, it’s on me.”
Zeke thanked him, but his attention remained fixed on Starla. “Miss, are you in trouble? Are you here under duress?” He leaned a little closer, straining the fabric of his too-tight, cotton shirt. “Blink once for yes.”
Rolling his eyes, Turner shoved at Zeke’s shoulder. “Starla, this is Zeke Mathis. You can call him asshole. Asshole, this is Starla Winters, and she’s beyond excited to be here with me.”
Starla looked up at him with a roll of her eyes before settling her gaze on Zeke and extending her right hand. “He exaggerates.” She grasped his hand briefly and then returned to press against Turner’s side. “It’s lovely to meet you, Zeke.”
“Turner?”
The feminine voice drew his attention to the right, and Turner grinned at the petite bartender. “Hey, Ali.” Leaning over the bar, he pressed a light kiss to her cheek and tugged the end of her blonde ponytail. “I thought you’d be working the back bar tonight.”
“I was.” She shrugged as she pressed the lip of a beer bottle against the counter and slammed her hand down to pop the cap off. “There was an incident.”
Zeke snorted. “You punched a guy in the ear. I’d call that more than an incident.”
“You punched someone?” Starla asked, looking both horrified and impressed.
Ali wiggled her fingers dismissively. “It’s not a big deal. Total misunderstanding.” She popped the cap on another beer and placed both bottles on a circular tray. “I’m Alison, by the way.”
“Starla.” She dipped her head. “Is punching men something you do often?”
“Depends on who you ask. So, what can I get you, sugar?”
“Two Sour-Apple Sunrises,” Turner answered as he rubbed his palm up and down Starla’s back. “Unless you want something else?”
Smiling, she shook her head. “I’m being adventurous, remember?”
“You got it.” Ali whipped her head around and glared when a patron rapped his knuckles against the marble and yelled for his drink. “Hey, I gotta run, but it was nice meeting you. I’ll have your drinks out in a minute.” She lifted her hand, flipping off the guy at the bar when he yelled at her again. “Yeah, yeah, don’t get your fucking panties in a knot.”
“Well, she certainly seems…colorful,” Starla offered once Ali had disappeared to the other end of the bar.
Waving Zeke away with the promise to meet up with him soon, Turner drew Starla closer, pressing his lips to her temple with a chuckle. “You get used to it.” He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. God, she smelled good—all soft and feminine—and she fit so perfectly against him. He wasn’t ready to let her go yet. “Would you like to dance?”
“Oh.” Starla’s spine went rigid, and she cast an anxious glance over his shoulder to the dance floor. “What about our drinks?”
“Hey.” Slipping a knuckle under her chin, he coaxed her to look up until she met his gaze. “What is it?” Yes, he wanted to push her slightly out of her comfort zone. He didn’t, however, want to shove her head-long over the edge. “This isn’t really your scene, is it?”
“No, it’s really not.” Sighing, she pulled away from his hand. “Is it that obvious?”
He’d sit and drink coffee with her in some hole-in-the-wall diner until the wee hours of the morning if she wanted. Where they went didn’t matter. Turner just wanted more time with her.
Since the moment they’d met, she’d turned his world upside down. Before she’d walked into his office six months ago, he’d never given much thought to what he wore or how he styled his hair. He still didn’t give a damn about those things, but he did try to put forth a concentrated effort when he knew he’d be seeing her.
Showing up to their first date in the clothes he’d been working in all day hadn’t been the plan. Unfortunately, he’d forgotten Rina’s notice that he’d need to close the store that night. Likely, he would have gone right on not remembering if she hadn’t texted him a reminder around six o’clock. By that time, it had been too late to reschedule with Starla, and he’d had no choice except to leave one of the cashiers in charge until he returned.
He doubted a shower and a change of clothes would have made a difference. Even now, dressed in a hunter green, button-down shirt paired with his nicest pair of dark-wash jeans, Starla was still a million miles out of his league. For some unfathomable reason, though, she kept saying yes to him.
A part of him still felt wrong about letting her pay for dinner. Not because she was a woman, but because he’d been the one to propose the date. She’d been so insistent, and not in the false, passive aggressive way, either, that he’d been forced to make a quick decision. Only time would tell if he’d made the right one.
“Do you want to get out of here?” he asked.
“I…well…” Starla had worn her hair loose, adding a hint of curl to her natural waves, and she toyed with the ends while she worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “Just one drink?”
Turner considered her for a heartbeat—her wide eyes, her stiff posture, the way she still clutched at his hand—and made his decision. “I have a better idea. You wait here while I cancel our drinks. Then we’ll hop a cab to this coffee shop I know about two blocks from here that has the best chocolate chip brownies you’ve ever tasted.” He winked at her. “The coffee is pretty amazing, too.”
“That sounds wonderful.” She sighed, her posture visibly relaxing. “If it’s only two blocks, we could walk. I mean, going to the trouble and expense for a cab seems pointless.”
He glanced down at the dangerously pointed heels on her boots while skimming his fingertips up her arms from elbows to shoulders through the thin material of her dress. When she’d walked through his office door to meet him for their date, he’d nearly swallowed his tongue. While she looked positively delectable, her decision to forego a coat would make even a short, two-block stroll unbearable.
“We’ll take a cab.” He directed her to the end of the bar, a little out of the way of all the commotion. “Wait right here.”
It took maybe a minute, no more than two, for Turner to get Ali’s attention and cancel their order. Still, by the time he returned, Starla had already found herself the recipient of some clearly unwanted attention. Some drunk had cornered her, pressing her back against the wall as he loomed over her. Taking in the blond spikes and painted-on skinny jeans, Turner estimated the kid to be no more than twenty-two or so, and he obviously had a lot to learn about wooing women.
“I bet you’re a Taurus,” he said, swaying on his feet but still managing to block Starla’s exit with his palm pressed to the wall beside her head. “You look like a Taurus. That’s the bull, you know. Stubborn and a little untamed, but full of fire.”
Rolling his eyes, Turner stepped up behind the guy and clapped him on the shoulder. “Not to interrupt what was sure to be a hell of a disaster, but it’s time for you to go, buddy.”
“Fuck off,” the kid slurred, shrugging off Turner’s hand. “Me, I’m a Cancer,” he said, returning his attention to Starla.
“That you are, dear.” Though she spoke with a pleasant lilt, her eyes tightened at the corners, and both hands squeezed into fists at her sides. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Where are you going? Maybe we could get out of here together.”
Starla’s would-be suitor grabbed her around the elbow when she tried to duck under his arm, pulling her back against the wall. Blood roared in Turner’s ears, and his heartbeat accelerated, thumping a hard staccato against his sternum. Taking a step forward, he reached for the asshole’s collar, intending to teach the prick some manners. Before he’d even touched him, though, the kid doubled over and howled in pain, the cartilage of his left ear caught between Starla’s fingers.
“Listen here, you little urchin,” she bit out through clenched teeth as she gave his ear another hard crank. “If you put your hands on me again, I will cut your tongue from your unprepossessing mouth. Are we bloody clear?”
Without waiting for a response, she gave him a hard shove to the chest, sending the kid stumbling away with his hand pressed to the side of his head. Turner had never witnessed anything like it, and the lower half of his body responded quite inappropriately.
“And you gave Ali a hard time,” he commented, opening his arms to her when she approached. “I was just about to be your knight in shining armor. Now, I feel useless.”
Her hands trembled, and color bloomed on the tops of her cheeks, but she went willing into his embrace. In the moment, she’d been brave and fearsome, but Tuner could tell just how much the confrontation had shaken her.
“If I ever need a prince to rescue me,” she muttered with a nervous chuckle, “I promise you’ll be the first one I call.”
Turner cradled her elbow, rubbing it gently. “In all seriousness, you were amazing. He didn’t hurt you, did he?” He’d feed the kid his balls if he had. “You’re okay?”
Tilting her head back, she gave him a wobbly smile before stretching up to kiss his cheek. “You’re very sweet, but I’m okay. I would like that brownie you promised me, though.”
Turner brushed a loose strand of hair back from her face and pressed his lips to her brow. “Chocolate dipped comfort, coming right up.”
It didn’t take them long to flag down a taxi, and even less time to travel the few blocks to The Daily Grind. After passing a twenty to the cabbie, Turner exited the backseat first and held a hand out to help Starla onto the curb as well.
Ducking her head against the wind, she looked up at the wooden sign swinging over the coffeehouse and shook her head. “Where do you find these places?”
True, The Daily Grind wasn’t much to look at. The carved sign had faded until only half the letters remained legible, and the metal chains it swung from had rusted over the years. White dust coated the bottom portion of the front windows, residue left over from the de-icing salt scattered on the sidewalks, and handprints dotted the glass of the door.
“I can’t claim credit.” With a hand on Starla’s hip, he led her into the shop. The white tiles had begun to chip in places, and the battered, brown counter had seen better days, but it was clean, the lights soft and welcoming. “Zeke recommended it to me, and I try to swing by any time I’m in the area.”
“Have you known Zeke and Ali for long? You seem close with them.” Her heels clacked against the ceramic tiles as she followed him to the counter.
“About a year or so. I met Ali when she brought her nephew into Neverland. She invited me to the club, and the rest, as they say, is history.”
Turner loved the music, the electric atmosphere, and the bodies packed together on the dance floor. Nowhere in the city had perfected controlled chaos quite like Wonderland, and he reveled in the constant excitement generated within its walls. If Starla preferred quieter, more intimate settings, however, he could adapt, and likely, his night would be far more enjoyable for it.
“Turner McCord!” An aging Italian woman with silver curls came around the counter with her arms opened wide. “It’s been too long.”
“Hello, Bianca.” Stooping to accommodate her petite size, Turner wrapped her into a hug, lifting her off her feet as he did so. “You look as beautiful as always.”
“Flatterer.” Back on her feet, she reached up to pat the side of his face, her dark eyes sparkling and her cheeks bright pink. Her red apron stood out against her black shirt and slacks, stained with chocolate and smelling of coffee beans. “And who is your lovely date?”
“Bianca, this is Starla. I told her about your chocolate chip brownies, and she just couldn’t resist.”
“How do you do?” Starla offered her right hand, gasping when Bianca ignored it to pull her into a crushing hug.
“Welcome, mia bella.” Bianca backed away, but held Starla’s hands as she inspected her. “I was telling my Vito just last week I wished Turner would find a nice girl and settle down. He’s a good boy,” she added in a stage whisper as she leaned in closer, “just lost.”
“He is a bit unfocused, isn’t he?” Starla’s squeezed the older woman’s hands and winked. “Not to worry. I’ll keep him in line.”
“Where’s Vito?” Turner inquired about her husband, changing the subject before Bianca could propose marriage and two-point-five kids on his behalf.
“He’s supervising while the boys move Gabrielle into her new apartment.” With a shake of her finger, she ushered them
toward one of the round tables with squashy, threadbare chairs. “Now, how many brownies?”
“Two,” Starla answered immediately and shrugged when Turner blinked at her. “Chocolate is not a sharing food.”
“A woman after my own heart.” Laughing, he confirmed the order with Bianca, adding on two caramel mocha lattes. “She likes you,” he said to Starla once the owner had toddled back to the kitchen.
“She’s lovely, and she clearly seems to care about you.” The thin line of her lips and the crinkle of her nose didn’t seem to match her words.
“What is it?” Maybe the comment Bianca had made about him settling down had affected Starla more than he thought. “Hey, don’t pay any mind to what she said. She worries about me, that’s all.”
“It’s not that.” Crossing one leg over the over, Starla leaned back in her chair and folded her hands in her lap. “How is it that you seem to know everyone in this city?”
Turner couldn’t help but laugh. “I hardly know a fraction of the people in this city.” Curious now, he shifted in his seat and angled toward her. “Why do you ask?”
“I’ve been going to the same coffeehouse two or three times a week for almost two years now.” She lifted her left hand, twirling her elegant fingers in a vague motion. “I couldn’t tell you the barista’s name, let alone anything about her family.”
Curiosity morphed into confusion. Frowning, Turner tilted his head and held his hands out, palms up. “Have you asked her?”
“Well, no, and that’s my point.”
Turner could tell she was upset, but he didn’t know why. “I’m sorry. I’m not following.”
“I work with people every day, but I don’t really know them. Not like you.”
Turner still didn’t understand what had her so out of sorts. “Do you want to? Know them, that is.”
With her eyes cast down toward her lap, she lifted one shoulder is a sort of half shrug. “Maybe.”