of scotch on the table before him. “Is there something I can do for you ladies?”
“We noticed you were talking with Brandee Lawless,” Simone said, leaning forward in a way that offered a sensational glimpse of her ample cleavage. With lush curves, arresting blue eyes and long black hair, she, too, was a striking blend of beauty and brains. “And we wanted to give you some friendly advice about her.”
Had the women picked up on his attraction to Brandee? If so, Shane was losing his touch. He set his hands on the back of the empty fourth chair and leaned in with a conspiratorial wink.
“I’m always happy to listen to advice from beautiful women.”
Cecelia nodded as if approving his wisdom. “She’s only acting interested in you because she wants you to vote against the clubhouse redesign.”
Shane blinked. Brandee was acting interested in him? What had these three women seen that he’d missed?
“Once the vote is done,” Simone continued, “she will dismiss you like that.” She snapped her fingers and settled her full lips into a determined pout.
“Brandee has been acting as if she’s interested in me?” Shane put on a show of surprise and hoped this would entice the women to expound on their theories. “I thought she was just being nice.”
The women exchanged glances and silently selected Naomi to speak next. “She’s not nice. She’s manipulating you. Haven’t you noticed the way she flirts with you? She knows how well liked you are and plans to use your popularity to manipulate the vote.”
Shane considered this. Was Brandee flirting with him? For a second he let himself bask in the pleasure of that idea. Did she fight the same intoxicating attraction that gripped him every time they met? Then he rejected the notion. No. The way she communicated with him was more like a series of verbal jousts all determined to knock him off his white charger and land him ass-first in the dirt.
“Thank you for the warning, ladies.” Unnecessary as it had been. “I’ll make sure I keep my wits about me where Brandee is concerned.”
“Anytime,” Naomi murmured. Her brown eyes, framed by long, lush lashes, had a sharp look of satisfaction.
“We will always have your back,” Cecelia added, and glanced at the other two, garnering agreeing head bobs.
“I’ll remember that.” With a friendly smile and a nod, Shane left the trio and headed to where Gabe waited.
The former Texas Ranger watched him approach, a smirk kicking up one corner of his lips. “What the hell was that about? Were you feeding them canaries?”
“Canaries?” Shane dropped into his seat and gestured to a nearby waiter. He needed a stiff drink after negotiating the gauntlet of strong-willed women.
“That was a trio of very satisfied pussycats.”
Shane resisted the urge to rub at the spot between his shoulder blades that burned from several sets of female eyes boring into him. “I gave them what they wanted.”
“Don’t you always?”
“It’s what I do.”
Shane flashed a cocky grin, but he didn’t feel any satisfaction.
“So what did they want?” Gabe asked.
“To warn me about Brandee Lawless.”
Gabe’s gaze flickered past Shane. Whatever he saw made his eyes narrow. “Do you need to be warned?”
“Oh hell no.” The waiter set a scotch before him and Shane swallowed a healthy dose of the fiery liquid before continuing. “You know how she and I are. If we were kids she’d knock me down and sit on me.”
“And you’d let her because then she’d be close enough to tickle.”
“Tickle?” Shane stared at his best friend in mock outrage. “Do you not know me at all?”
“We’re talking about you and Brandee as little kids. It was the least offensive thing I could think of that you’d do to her.”
Shane snorted in amusement. “You could have said spank.”
Gabe closed his eyes as if in pain. “Can we get back to Cecelia, Simone and Naomi?”
“They’re just frustrated that Brandee has sided against them and has more influence at the club than they do. They want to rule the world. Or at least our little corner of it.”
On the table, Gabe’s phone chimed, signaling a text. “Damn,” he murmured after reading the screen.
“Bad news?”
“My uncle’s tumor isn’t operable.”
Several weeks ago Gabe’s uncle Dusty had been diagnosed with stage-four brain cancer.
“Aw, Gabe, I’m sorry. That really sucks.”
Dale “Dusty” Walsh was a dynamic bear of a man. Like Gabe he was a few inches over six feet and built to intimidate. Founder of Royal’s most private security firm, The Walsh Group, he’d brought Gabe into the fold after he’d left the Texas Rangers.
“Yeah, my dad’s pretty shook up. That was him sending the text.”
Gabe’s close relationship with his father was something Shane had always envied. His dad had died when Shane was in his early twenties, but even before the heart attack took him, there hadn’t been much good about their connection.
“Hopefully, the doctors have a good alternative program to get Dusty through this.”
“Let’s hope.”
The two men shifted gears and talked about the progress on Shane’s latest project, a luxury resort development in the vein of George Vanderbilt’s iconic French Renaissance château in North Carolina, but brimming with cutting-edge technology. As he was expounding on the challenges of introducing the concept of small plates to a state whose motto was “everything’s bigger in Texas,” a hand settled on Shane’s shoulder. The all-too-familiar zap of awareness told him who stood beside him before she spoke.
“Hello, Gabe. How are things at The Walsh Group?”
“Fine.” Gabe’s hazel eyes took on a devilish gleam as he noticed Shane’s gritted teeth. “And how are you doing at Hope Springs?”
“Busy. We’ve got ninety-two calves on the ground and another hundred and ninety-seven to go before April.” Brandee’s hand didn’t move from Shane’s shoulder as she spoke. “Thanks for helping out with the background checks for the latest group of volunteers.”
“Anytime.”
Shane drank in the soft lilt in Brandee’s voice as he endured the warm press of her hand. He shouldn’t be so aware of her, but the rustle of her tulle skirt and the shapely bare legs below the modest hem had his senses all revved up with nowhere to go.
“See you later, boys.”
