Page 7 of Protected By the Sinner
“For the miracle to be complete, all that’s missing is Jaxson showing up,” I say, with a touch of false levity.
Reed only knows my surface persona, but that’s already more than most people. My circle of friends—if I can even call them that—is extremely limited.
“He’s on his way,” he replies.
“I heard we’re celebrating two things tonight: the club’s opening and your return to bachelorhood,” I say. “Or not?” I know he finally ditched that crazy woman he’d been with since the dawn of time—and that his new girl is out on the dance floor as we speak. Dominika Wos, the governor’s assistant.
“Yes to both. I’m no longer engaged, but I’m not alone either.”
His eyes drift in Dominika’s direction—instinctively, I think—and I turn to take a better look.
The blonde looks lively on the dance floor, accompanied by the other Gray girl—Rebecca.
“Looks like your taste hasn’t changed. She’s gorgeous, but I’ve always had a thing for brunettes,” I say, teasing, referring to Rebecca. I’m not lying about the brunette part—that’s true. Blondes have never done it for me.
He doesn’t take the bait, probably because he knows the almost childlike sensuality of the other one doesn’t do it for me either.
But right then, Jaxson arrives, and now I know I’ve hit a nerve.
“Don’t even think about looking at her,” Jaxson says.
“She’s yours?” I ask, suddenly curious.
Weren’t they raised as siblings?
Then I remember.
Rebecca is the mysterious Gray, the girl who appeared out of nowhere when she was already a teenager.
I don’t like mysteries, so I make a mental note to have my men look into her.
“Our sister,” Reed says, but it sounds more like a warning to Jaxson. Apparently, I’m not the only one who’s noticed there’s nothing brotherly about the way he acts around Rebecca.
“Alright, got it,” I reply. “Either way, I’m not a fan of Texan girls. I hear they’re usually packing heat. Then again . . . for her, might be worth taking a bullet.” I keep teasing him just for the fun of it. I thought I’d die before I ever saw Jaxson all territorial over a woman.
There must be something in the Grayland water that’s making the brothers latch onto their soulmates one after the other.
Before he can reply, a redhead, one of the hostesses brought in from the New York club to help with the launch,approaches. “Mr. Carmouche-LeBlanc, this young lady says she’s a guest, but I can’t find her name on the list.”
“Then why’d you let her in?” I ask, not understanding why I’m being bothered with this. It’s not the first time someone’s tried to get into one of my clubs without being a member or guest of one, but it is the first time someone’s succeeded, and now I want to know why. This intruder shouldn’t even be in front of me.
“I thought . . . I...” the hostess stammers as I turn to face the supposed guest.
The moment she steps to the side and I see the party crasher, I understand exactly why the hostess let her through.
The intruder is exactly my type—which isn’t much of a secret: golden skin, slim figure, dark hair.
But this one has something more. Nothing in her posture shows she’s intimidated by being face-to-face with the club owner or caught crashing a private high society party.
On the contrary, she looks like an Amazon—ready to take on anyone who crosses her path.
Deliberately, I let my eyes drop to her feet in red stilettos, then work my way up.
She’s wearing a short black mini skirt that shows the gap between her long legs and, at the same time, makes me want to hike that tiny piece of fabric up and see what color her panties are.
The halter top’s neckline is so deep it’s clear she’s not wearing a bra and that she has large, perky breasts.
Her neck is delicate, and her hair, from what I can tell in the club’s lighting, is dark. Long too, long enough for me to wrap around my fist.
