He laughs. “Wow, you’re kind of a badarse.”
“That is the only kind ofarseyou’ll get from me.”
He laughs again, as if this is my version of flirting. As he edges closer to me, I frown, annoyed at the interruption. I was enjoying the company of the ocean. “You’re funny,” he says. “Has anyone ever told you that before?”
“My boyfriend tells me that all the time. Among other things.” The sound of Bronson’s Ducati suddenly hits my ears, growing in volume as it approaches from the side of the house. “In fact, that’s him there.” I stop talking when I see he has a girl sitting behind him, her arms wrapped around his middle,mypurple and grey helmet on her head, her long black hair flowing down her back.
Nina.
She wants him. Reminding myself that she lives next door to him, that this is just a ride to the party, I rein in my irrational thoughts. My jaw still aches as I inadvertently clench it, trying not to show my irritation to the stranger studying me intently.
When Bronson parks the bike, Nina hops off. He leans it on its stand. Swinging his leg over, he dismounts with the gracefulness of a man who is equally agile as he is strong. I frown as he helps her removemyhelmet. Bile rises to the back of my throat when his newly tattooed fingers graze her chin.
Ugh.
But I find myself shuffling and biting my bottom lip at the sight of him.God, he’s gorgeous.Even from this distance, I can see that cool grin. Can identify those broad muscles below his black leather jacket. Thick, strong thighs covered in denim and black boots that stomp when he walks, creating a soundtrack to his every move. Bronson Butcher is every bit a man, already over six foot and growing, with a roguish easy grin and telling green-blue eyes that sing of mischief and indecency. My Bronson Butcher. My nutcase.
Not hers.
“Well, he seems to be pretty cosy with that girl. Are you sure you’re not just trying to avoid talking to me?”
Bronson disappears below the roofline, and I pull out my phone to text him I am out on the balcony when the guy next to me snatches it from my grasp. I whirl to face him, ready to flog him raw. “What the fuck?”
Gazing at me, he chuckles easily. “It’s really rude to use your phone when having a conversation with someone.” His flippant attitude only makes it harder to control the slow simmer in my blood.
“Conversations go two ways, moron,” I snap. “You were having a conversation with yourself. Give me back my fucking phone.”
“Why are you such a rude bitch? I was being nice to you. You’re all alone. I pitied you.”
“Please save your pity. I just don’t conv-” My words are cut off at the sight of Bronson striding towards me, towering over the other people scattered around the balcony, a wide grin etched across his deadly handsome face. I blink at him and he stares at me as though I’m lit from behind like an angel.
It’s his love look.
He gets within a few steps of us, his eyes never leaving mine, and for a moment all I feel is the intense fluttering of my heart. Then he lowers his shoulder and flips the guy I was talking to over the balcony.
The world stills.
My vision spins in front of my eyes. I scream through a hard hit of panic.
Gasps leave the spectators.
As people rush to peer over the side and down the two storeys where the guy lies groaning on the grass, I’m frozen in disbelief.
“Hey, baby,” Bronson says, leaning down to kiss me, but I shove him away.
“Oh my God!” I grip the balustrade as if it’s able to stop me from plummeting, my legs suddenly like jelly. That didn’t just happen. “What the fuck did you do?”
He peers over the edge, inspecting the situation with indifference. “Friend of yours?”
“Why did you do that?”
“Not sure.” He grins at me. “He looks fine. Wanna go check on him?”
Suddenly, the attention of everyone on the balcony shifts to us. Each person appears ashen with shock. No one says anything.
Not a word.
They somehow even breathe quietly, but if it’s possible to scream with your whole body, that is what they are doing right now.