On Tanner’s right was a man the rest referred to as Grim, though I doubted his parents had actually named him that. He looked like he’d walked right off the pages of a silver fox motorcycle club romance novel. Tattoos crisscrossed every inch of visible skin. He kept his sunglasses and scowl firmly in place as he lounged in his chair, sticking to club sodas.
Next to Grim was Winona, the only woman at the table. She was tall, built, Black, and wore pink metallic eyeshadow that complemented the accents on her figure-hugging denim romper. Her hair was big and bold, just like her laugh, which she was sharing with the man next to her.
“Lucy, Lucy, Lucy,” she said. “When are you gonna learn not to bluff me?”
Lucian was the kind of handsome that made women wonder if he’d made some pact with the devil. Dark hair. Dark, smoldery eyes. Dark suit. He gave off hints of power, wealth, and secrets like a cologne.
He’d arrived later than everyone else,
shedding his jacket and rolling up his sleeves as if he had all the time in the world. He took his bourbon neat and didn’t try to look down my shirt when I served it.
“Maybe when you stop distracting me with your wit and beauty,” he teased.
“Please,” Winona scoffed, elegantly stacking her winnings with long red fingernails.
I was in the middle of trying to figure out how much one chip was worth and topping off the pitcher of ice water in the corner when the door burst open.
Tanner and I both jumped.
Knox strode into the room, looking annoyingly sexy as always. “You son of a bitch,” he said.
Everyone held their breath. Everyone, that is, except for Lucian, who continued to deal the next hand, unruffled by the interruption. “I was wondering how long it would take word to travel,” he said blandly. He set the deck down and came to his feet.
For a second, I was sure they were going to launch themselves at each other like stags fighting for supremacy in a nature documentary…or, you know, actual nature.
Instead, Knox’s scowl melted and was replaced with the kind of grin that made me feel as warm and gooey inside as a chocolate chip cookie fresh from the oven.
Note to self: Make chocolate chip cookies.
The two men shook hands and exchanged back slaps that would have put me in a chiropractor’s office.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Knox asked, less aggressively this time.
“Currently losing to Winona and thinking about ordering another drink.”
“I’ll get it. Anyone else want another round?” I squeaked.
Knox’s gaze fell on me. His grin vanished so quickly I wondered if he’d sprained a facial muscle. He took a leisurely, scowly tour of my appearance from hair to feet, disapproval snapping off of him like electricity.
“Naomi, outside. Now,” he growled.
“Seriously? What’s your problem this time, Viking?”
“There a problem?” Grim asked, his voice low and dangerous.
“None of your concern.” Knox’s voice had dropped into sub-zero temperatures.
“Go ahead and bring everyone a round, Naomi,” Ian suggested, his eyes on Knox.
I nodded and headed for the door.
Knox was on my heels.
He shut the door behind us and took me by the arm, steering me down the empty hallway away from the bar, past his secret lair office. He didn’t stop until he’d opened the door at the far end of the hall which opened into Whiskey Clipper’s supply room.
“What the hell, Knox?”
“What the fuck are you doing in that room dressed like that?”