style="font-size:15px;"> “Coming,” Bobby said for lack of a better plan.
He shoved the gun into the back of his waistband. This could be Cass, the receptionist at Crazy Horse Choppers. She checked on him from time to time. Maybe she was stopping by to nag him about something.
Bobby opened the door. The light spilled out into the night, illuminating a...leprechaun? He blinked, but the image stayed the same. Short guy wearing a green vest over a plaid shirt underneath an overcoat, reddish hair sticking out from under one of those caps old men wore.
“Ah, there ye are,” the leprechaun said in a distinctly Irish voice, giving Bobby a cocky grin. “Yer a tough feller to track down, laddie.”
“Excuse me?” Bobby peered around the little man and saw a black sedan, the kind with windows tinted so dark they weren’t legal in most states.
Suddenly, Bobby realized he’d seen that car—a Jaguar—around all week long, coasting past the construction site at odd times, the sleekness of the vehicle sticking out like a sore thumb.
He reached around his back, trying to be inconspicuous, trying to get a handle on the Glock.
The next thing he knew, he was looking down the barrel of a snub-nosed pistol. “Don’t think that’s the best idea, lad.” The leprechaun held out his other hand. “Nice and slow.”
“Who are you?” If Bobby was going to hand over his gun, the leprechaun owed him a name.
“The name’s Mickey.” Once he had Bobby’s Glock in hand, he added, “That’s a good lad. She said you were smart. I do hate to prove ʼer wrong.”
“What? She who?”
That got him another cocky grin. “Anyone else in here?” Mickey leaned in.
“No.” Even though Bobby knew he should be keeping his eye on this Mickey, Bobby found himself staring at the black sedan, thinking she?
“Keep yer cool and we’ll all be just fine.” Mickey winked at him. “Sit tight and remember—” he brandished the pistol in Bobby’s face again “—try anything funny and I’ll ʼave to break my promise to ʼer.”
“What promise was that?”
“Not to hurt ye—at least, until she said so.”
At this cryptic statement, Mickey pocketed both guns and turned back to the sedan. Still whistling, he opened the back door and held out a hand to the passenger.
A long feminine leg exited the vehicle, followed by a second equally impressive leg. Bobby’s pulse began to pound. Maybe he wasn’t about to be robbed. Maybe he was about to get lucky. Why else would legs like that be here at a time like this?
A gloved hand settled in Mickey’s and a woman cloaked in black stood up. Even at a distance, Bobby could see the blunt black bangs and the severe bob that was three inches longer on one side than on the other. Bobby’s pulse went from pounding to a dead standstill in the space between heartbeats.
Only one woman in the world looked like that.
Stella Caine.
Bobby rubbed his eyes, but the vision stayed the same.
Stella.
How was this possible?
She stood for a moment, her eyes taking in the construction site. Mickey offered her his elbow, and arm in arm, they walked up to the trailer.
Enchanting was all he could think as her hips swayed toward him. A long black fur coat almost swallowed her whole, except for the flash of leg that cut through the night with every other step. When she hit the circle of light that spilled out of his trailer, she looked up at him.
Her eyes, the palest of green, flashed at him. For all her edgy style, her eyes were something completely different—soft. Vulnerable, even.
“Hello, Bobby.”
A gust of wind blew between them like a warning. Bobby sensed immediately that, beyond the armed leprechaun, he was in danger. What had been cool and reserved in Stella the last time they’d met was nothing but arctic cold today. If she was happy to see him, she wasn’t letting on.
“Stella.” For a moment, he had no idea what else to say, which was something in and of itself. He always knew what to say, when to say it. It was his gift—the ability to read people and know exactly what they needed to hear. That gift had gotten him this far in life.
Apparently, it was going to fail him now. He didn’t want to say anything. He wanted to pull her into his arms and tell her he wasn’t going to let her out of his sight again.
But he knew that would probably get him shot. So the best he could come up with was, “Come in.” He stepped to the side as she brushed past him, the scent of lavender surrounding him.
Mickey didn’t follow her in. Instead, he leaned against the railing, oblivious to the winter temperature. “Keep yer cool,” he told Bobby with a small salute. “I’d hate to ʼave to bust in, all un-gentleman-like.”
What, did he think Bobby would do something to Stella? They’d already...well, they’d already spent time in each other’s company. He wasn’t the kind of man who’d hurt a woman. Bolton men took care of women.
For him, that usually meant that he made sure a woman was just as satisfied with their encounter as he was. He took care of her sexual needs, and she took care of his. Everyone went home happy.
But this? This wasn’t the same thing. Not even close.
With a final confused look at Mickey, Bobby shut the door and turned his attention back to the woman looking around his construction trailer with obvious disdain. Again, he knew he should say the right thing—New York was a hell of a long way from Sturgis, South Dakota, no matter how one went about it. But again, his mouth failed him.
“Can I...take your coat?”
Stella turned her back to him, but he saw her loosening the belt on her coat. He stepped forward and placed his hands on her shoulders.
The fur slipped off her and into his hands, revealing a sheer maroon lace that covered her arms and back but left nothing to the imagination. He stared at it for a moment before the pattern clicked into place—skulls. The lace formed tiny skulls. It was entirely ladylike and entirely out there—very Stella.
Below that, she’d sewn a leather corset. This continued down into a floor-length knit skirt that, from the back, seemed puritanical. Then she stepped free of him and he saw that the front of the skirt was divided by two long slits that went all the way up to her thighs.
Bobby’s pulse began to pound again. Only Stella Caine could pull off something that left her completely covered while still revealing so damn much. What was she doing here? And why did he still want her so badly?
He was taken with the sudden urge to kiss the back of her neck, right under the precise line of her hair. If he recalled correctly, he’d done the same thing once before, pinning her against a back door as they made their way out to the car.
He fought
