Apparently the Mallick family had money.
“You gonna let go, baby, or are you planning on clutching me all night? I mean, not that I’m complaining…”
At the teasing humor of his voice, I jolted backward and released him. He moved to stand and I quickly swung my leg to one side so I didn’t flash him when he turned. I sat as he stood, working off my helmet. Once it was off, he reached for it and hung it from one of the handlebars as I fluffed my hair back up.
“Spring break mistake?” he asked oddly and then I felt his finger stroke over the skin of my upper arm, touching the slightly raised pink scar from seven treatments of tattoo removal. That was where the lion’s share of my money had gone when I left. I needed it off. It felt less like a symbol of love and loyalty and more like a cattle brand.
“Spring break? No. Mistake? The scale of which I can’t even begin to explain,” I admitted before I could stop myself.
Shane’s head tilted a little, his gorgeous blue eyes working. In the end, though, he said nothing, just trailed his finger down to my elbow, causing way too much chaos for such a casual touch, before falling away. “You ready to earn your money?”
“Take me to your mother,” I declared, standing.
We had maybe moved two feet before his arm landed across my shoulders, unexpected and heavy, making me sink slightly as I felt myself hauled up against his side, making walking an awkward adventure in balance. “Gotta make it convincing, right, baby?”
“Right,” I agreed as we skirted the front path and made our way toward the back deck where a group of people were already standing.
It was pretty immediately clear the the Mallick genes ran strong in the family because what I saw was one older man with a tall, strong build, chiseled features, black hair that was graying ever so slightly at the temples, and startling blue eyes… and two other guys around Shane’s age who looked just like their father. Then there were two women standing around looking uncomfortable. His brothers’ dates, I figured.
“Dad looks scary, but it’s Mom you should be shitting yourself over,” Shane said quietly as eyes fell on us.
“Gee, aren’t you full of words of encouragement.”
My stomach chose that exact moment to growl… aggressively, screaming in objection to the fact that I hadn’t fed it in over sixteen hours. Shane stopped moving, looking down at me, brows disapproving. “Is this some chick on a diet ‘cause she thinks she’s fat shit?” he asked and I felt my hackles rise, making me blurt out something that I immediately regretted.
“No, it’s a I don’t have anything to eat at home thing.”
And there must have been something telling in my tone because his face softened a little. But, thankfully, he said nothing and kept pulling me up onto the deck.
“Dad, this is Lea. Lea this is Charlie, my dad. Those fucks are my brothers, Ryan and Mark.
Ryan, who I took for the oldest, was every bit as tall as Shane, but slightly less muscled. He kept his hair a little longer and his face was clean-shaved. Silently intimidating, those were the words that came to mind while looking at him. His date was a short, curvy girl with charming reddish-copper hair and a smattering of freckles, looking sweet and completely out of place beside one of the Mallick brothers.
Mark seemed more open, offering me a smile. “Heya honey,” he said, wrapping an arm around the waist of his date, a tall, thin woman with dark hair and what I was pretty sure was a prison tat on her arm.
Apparently Ryan and Mark had just as hard a time finding dates as Shane had.
“Lea, can I get you a drink, hon?” Charlie asked, gesturing to the side bar set up with a selection of top shelf booze and a smattering of glass beer bottles.
“Beer is fine, thanks,” I said as Shane’s fingers brushed some hair out of my face. It was an intimate gesture that I was sure was perfectly timed as I saw his mother step out onto the deck.
And Helen Mallick, well, she was five-foot-nine-inches of badass bitch from her heeled feet to her long black hair, sharp features, and hazel eyes. Eyes that were on me, appraising me, I might add.
“Shane,” she said, nodding her head at him and I knew enough about mothers to know she was silently reminding him to remember his manners and introduce me.
“Mom, this is Lea. Lea, this is my mother, Helen.”
“Lea, that’s…”
“Get your little butt back here Becca! No. No don’t you dare go…” Fiona’s voice called. But it was too late. A pretty black-haired, green-eyed five or six year old came barreling onto the back porch, brandishing a bright yellow stuffed bear with an assortment of mismatched clothes. Following behind her was another little version of her, around three, crying and yelling ‘mine, mine, mine’.