Page 10 of Lawless in Leather

He shrugged. “I grew up in Brooklyn,” he said. “So I moved back here when I got the chance.”

“If you grew up in Brooklyn, why aren’t you a Yankees fan?”

“Ah. My dad grew up on Staten Island,” Mal said. Baseball. That seemed a safe enough subject. “So he was a Saints fan. Got me young.”

“Was?”

“He died about ten years ago,” Mal said.

Her expression turned sad. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Life sucks sometimes. It was lung cancer. He never smoked but there you go. It was a long time ago, though.”

She winced a little. “It’s never a long time ago when you lose someone important,” she murmured. “I guess he would’ve been thrilled that you own the Saints now.”

“Well, he’d be happy if I got them to win a World Series. So maybe in time, he will be.”

“You’re not trying to win the World Series this year? I thought you were meant to be the saviors of the Saints.”

“We might have saved them, but we’re not miracle workers. The team needs building up, and that takes time. Dan Ellis has done pretty well with not enough money for the last two seasons, so right now we’ll take building on that.”

“But you want to win the Series one day, right?”

“Of course.” A World Series. It seemed like a crazy dream. Once upon a time he’d wanted to play in a World Series. He’d never gotten that far, but now he might get to own a winning team.

If they could get the team through this season.

“You like to win, then?”

“Ms. Easton, anyone who says they don’t like to win is lying.”

“There’s a difference between liking to win and having to win.”

“If I had to win, I think I would have spent my money on something other than the worst team in MLB, don’t you?”

“Well, that would be the smart thing,” she agreed, toying with the slice of lime on the edge of her glass.

God knew what she was thinking. He was being sized up, that much was clear. Which told him there was a brain heading up the pretty package. Which he’d kind of figured out earlier but it was good to have confirmation.

“I’m not sure that anyone has ever accused me of always doing the smart thing,” he admitted. And if they had, right now he was proving them very wrong. The smart thing would be to run far, far away from Raina of the sleek curves and the plump lips and the goddamned endless legs. How did a woman so short manage to have such long legs? But instead he stayed put, halfway to mesmerized as she shifted on the stool and her sequins sparked little flecks of light everywhere. Including all over the acres of skin she had on display. She was pale to begin with. With the light flickering over her she was close to being moonlight personified.

And if the sight of her wasn’t bad enough, he’d now noticed the smell of her as well. Her perfume was something deep and spicy with a hint of leather and something salty amid warmth. It smelled kind of like sex.

It made him want to lean in and press his nose into the curve of her neck and inhale her before he pulled her onto his lap and found out if she smelled good all over.

Really not smart.

Truly dumb, in fact.

“You don’t seem to be doing too badly,” she said with another one of those assessing looks. “So if you’re prone to doing dumb things, you’ve survived your impulses so far.”

“So far,” he agreed. “Dumb luck maybe.”

“Or skill,” she said. “I’m not sure you survive in the special forces for as long as you did with just luck.”

Right. She’d read about him. “Actually dumb luck has a lot more to do with that than you might imagine. I know plenty of guys far smarter than me who didn’t make it back.”

She winced again and he was forced to wonder exactly why he was telling her all this. Somehow she was getting past his guard. Or maybe that was just exhaustion and the beer finally getting to him.

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