Page 17 of Give Me Love

I watched as everyone mingled and sipped on their drinks, and then I sawher.

Her hair was light brown, and her skin looked smooth and cotton soft.

Her curious eyes danced around my club as if assessing it. She’d never been in there—I would have noticed—but just to be sure, I looked down at Ben, my bodyguard, and walked over to the walkie to ask him if he’d seen her before. His answer was the same as mine.

Her friend grabbed her hand, and I mechanically put down my drink and took to the stairs.

I had no idea what came over me. It was as if I was trapped in a current and had no choice but to let it take me or I’d drown from the fight against it.

I stood there leaning against the wall as a drink was placed in her hand. I didn’t even notice anyone else around her or I would have seen that she was with Austin, the boy working on my car.

She smiled, and the drink went to her mouth just as our eyes latched.

My heart accelerated.

Her lips parted.

Her gaze explored and challenged as her brow quirked, but then her attention was pulled away.

My eyes went to her throat as she tossed back the shot, and before she could find me again, I left the stairs.

I didn’t like the feeling she gave me when I looked at her.

It terrified me.

I hoped she’d never come back. But then Jace had to have coffee. What were the odds of her working there?

It pissed me off.

I wondered if I was the reason she dropped her drink? Did I affect her like she did me? I exhale and rake a hand up my face, lifting my hat as I try to rid myself of thoughts of soft skin and steel gray eyes.

Leaning up, I twist the knob on the radio and press the clutch. Shifting into fifth gear, I step on the gas letting “The Touch” by Welshly Arms fill my head, shoving her out of my mind.

___________

It’s dinnertime when dirt and gravel fly as we take the long drive to Grant Ranch. Horses graze to the left and right on our Pop’s vast property, while the sustainable Southern Blue Ridge Mountains cocoon us before the home I spent my teenage years comes into view.

Perfectly planted flowerbeds surround the house and are placed throughout the yard. Pillars hold the enormous porch up, and a screen door wider than my arm span opens as two Great Danes barrel through.

I come to a stop, and Jace reaches over and grabs his smokes from the dash. My boy slides one out with his teeth, resting it between his lips as he opens the car door.

“Calm down,” he says to Doc and Holliday while the dogs struggle for attention.

A loud whistle sounds, and both of our heads snap up, seeing Pops standing tall on his front porch. The dogs take off back to him.

My brother cups his smoke and flicks his Bic. The air fills with the smell of cigarettes and sweet honeysuckle, shooting me back to old time memories when I caught his young ass smoking for the first time.

I slap the bill of his cap. “You know Pops doesn’t like you smoking.”

He grins as a cloud of gray blows from his lips. “Nah, that’s you. Pops smokes himself.”

I roll my eyes as we walk toward the man who chose to raise us. “Lee Grant smokes fine cigars,” I say. “Not that nasty shit you prefer.”

He chuckles as our shoes hit the worn wooden steps.

“Boys,” Pops greets with a smile. I shake his hand before Jace does the same.

“What’s that smell?” Jace grins.

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