Page 16 of Luck of the Draw

“Of course. That’s why I use it.”

She laughed a little louder.

“So, look here, honey.” Brennan held the drink next to his face. “Do you believe in fate?”

Skye pursed her lips, and her eyebrows flattened. “No.”

“Well, you should.”

Brennan didn’t believe in fate either. He believed in the luck of the draw, especially when it played to his favor.

And on this particular night, Brennan had drawn a straight flush.

He set down the drink and pulled out his wallet, then retrieved a business card and tossed it down next to the stem of her glass. She picked up the glass and peered at the card, and her crystalline blue eyes stretched wide.

She cast him a totally gobsmacked look. “You work for his record label?”

Brennan picked up his drink, swirled the scotch, and then clinked it against the side of her glass. “Fate.”

He eyed her over the rim as he took a sip. An expression he couldn’t quite place draped her features. It fell at the intersection of disbelief, amusement, 100-proof lust, and something else he couldn’t identify, but that part was so subtle it didn’t matter. Brennan was a seasoned pro at reading women, and this one was exactly where he wanted her because it was clear she wantedhim.

“Holy moly,” she murmured, picking up the card and holding it close to her face as she sipped her drink.

He smiled. Who even saidholy moly? This woman was an enticing combination of adorable, classy, and naughty. Exactly his type.

“Yeah, so you should let me show you the ropes this week,” Brennan added. “Based on everything you told me, and without requesting any invasive information, I’m gathering that you don’t know anyone in town.”

Skye offered a tight-lipped smile. “You gather correctly.”

“Well, now you know me, and you should let me show you around this week.” He paused. “Or however long you’re here.”

Her smile stretched wide again, and she turned to directly face him, dropping her hand to rest on his. “Well, that would be fun, but I really don’t know you, Brennan. You could be anybody. Tell me, have you ever murdered anyone?”

Brennan stared at her blankly for a moment. He knew what she meant. It was a joke. After all, you never know who you’re going to meet in a bar. The question was merely a good-natured jab that communicated she knew he was coming onto her and asserted her need to maintain her safety.

Nevertheless, the disturbing memories of all those unsuspecting men’s heads squarely positioned in the crosshairs of his rifle slithered to the surface of his mind. And of course there was that one summer in Kandahar that Brennan was really good at pretending didn’t happen. A total of fifty-six men had met their maker as a result of his own hands.

There were two hallmarks of Brennan Riley’s life:

Unrequited love.

Andguilt.

Because, as far as he was concerned, he was a murderer.

Brennan forced a nervous laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, uh…”

Skye’s delicate, birdlike features immediately tightened. “Oh my goodness.” She retracted her hand. “I am so sorry. That was horrible question to ask.”

He dismissively waved his hand and offered her a beguiling smile. “Don’t worry about it, honey. I know what you meant.”

“Oh no, that was awful of me.” She clutched her fair cheeks and turned away. “I am so, unbelievably sorry, Brennan.”

He reached for her, placing his hand on her shoulder and sweeping her ponytail to one side. “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s really not a big deal at—”

Pillow-soft lips crushed onto his, silencing him, and something happened.

A coil of energy wound around him and looped her inside with him. It tightened like a boa constrictor wrapped around its prey, and this out-of-nowhere feeling suddenly seemed like it would devour him.

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