Page 15 of Leather & Lark
“Lachlan,” Sloane says.
I swallow and replace my shock with a forced smirk as I tear my attention away from the unfamiliar woman and focus on Sloane. “Spider Lady. How are your crafting hobbies going these days? Made any new projects?”
Her eyes narrow. Even though she could pry my eyeballs out of my head, she’s still so fun to antagonize.
“What about sketches? Leave any more bird drawings behind for my lovesick little brother?”
Sloane’s cheeks flame crimson and my smile spreads as I hold the bottle of whiskey out for her to take, but before she can grabit, Fionn whips it from my hand as he passes between us. She doesn’t so much as glance at Fionn, her attention locked on me as though she’s trying to communicate a warning in her lightless glare. “Lachlan, this is my friend Lark.”
I shift my focus to Lark and hold out a hand. When she takes a step closer, the details of her face blur and I curse myself for leaving my glasses in the car. I might not be able to see the finest features of her smile at this distance, but I canfeelit, her energy a lick of warmth on my skin. My gaze drops to our hands. An electric hum zings through my flesh at her touch.
“Lark Montague. Pleased to meet you,” she says. There’s a devious edge in her, like a vibration that slips between our palms. “So, you’re the notorious Lachlan Kane.”
“Notorious?” I say, raising my eyebrows.
“Indeed. I’ve heard … things.”
“Oh, you’ve heardthings, have you? What kinds of … things?”
She giggles and slips her hand free of mine as she says, “Well, I think the word ‘broody’ might have been tossed around.”
“Now, now,” Fionn chides as he brings me a glass of whiskey on ice. “Don’t mischaracterize my poor brother. I said he’s a broodyasshole.”
“Asshat,” Rose pipes up. “You said he’s a ‘broody asshat whose only hobby is scowling.’”
Sloane snorts. “Accurate.”
“Hey, I do more than just scowl.” I lean closer to Lark and give her a lopsided, rakish smile. “I havehobbies.”
She laughs when I give her a wink. “Oh yeah? Like what, crochet? I could see you being a big crochet guy. I bet you make a mean doily.”
Rose cackles, her eyes dancing from one person to the next. “Nah, that’s doc’s forte—”
My brother chokes on a sip of whiskey. “Rose—”
“He’s in a club, actually—”
“Fucksakes,Rose—”
“They meet every Sunday. It’s called the Suture Sisters, and he’s the—” Rose’s next words are lost to the palm my brother clamps over her mouth, her diabolical laugh replacing whatever would have come next. The look that Fionn gives me is both horrified and pleading.
“Don’t tell Rowan,” he begs. “I finally got the upper hand by resurrecting his Shitflicker nickname when he came to Nebraska.”
I bellow a laugh and shake my head. “My sweet, adorable, naive baby brother.Of courseI’m going to tell Rowan. It’s my job to promote the maximum amount of conflict between you two. That’s the only way I can get any peace.” I clap a hand to his shoulder and slip past him to take a seat on one of the leather armchairs. “Hate to break it to you, kid, but you’re still in your peak Sadman Cinderwhatever era with this doily shit. Rowan is going to love this.”
Fionn tosses out some nonsensical explanation, something about a flyer and a simple misunderstanding, but I don’t really pay much attention. Not when Lark follows to sit across from me on the end of the couch. Sloane’s psycho cat curls in her lap the moment she’s settled.
I can see her much clearer at this distance, from the mole on the edge of her upper lip to the ripple in the skin near her hairline, a cut that must have been left unmended and healed with jagged edges. But even though I couldn’t see her clearly, she’dbe impossible to miss. All the energy in the room seems to siphon through her and concentrate before it radiates through her bright blue eyes and her glowing skin and her easy smile. It pours through her laugh and warms the notes of her voice. And even though I’m not listening to the good-natured argument between Fionn and Rose, she is. She interjects just frequently enough to bolster the person she seems to think is losing in a given moment, which is mostly Fionn.Do you take commissions?Or,I bet you could make a killing on Etsy.She focuses every ounce of her attention on the person talking while her hand trails through Winston’s fur, his purr rumbling beneath the conversation. It’s as though nothing and no one else in the world exists, even me. If she can feel the weight of my gaze on her face, she never lets on.
Lark Montague isbeautiful.
And I have to stop staring like a feckin’ creep.
I look down at the drink in my hands. Scars hidden beneath ink. The missing tip of my index finger. Tattoos on my knuckles. Silver rings. I tap one against the glass before I raise it to my lips. My hands would look so good on her perfect skin. Folded around her soft thighs. The image of my tattooed fingers gripped around her smooth flesh has me shifting in my seat in a failed attempt to alleviate the strain of my hard cock against my zipper. Someone like me with someone likeher? Even imagining it feels wrong.
Yet so deliciouslyright.
When I look up again, the doily argument is still going, but Lark’s eyes connect with mine, her smile conspiratorial. It’s just a flash of camaraderie before she turns her attention back to Fionnand Rose, but there’s something in that brief grin that sticks with me. A silent conversation. A familiarity I can’t explain.
