Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 62972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
“Ember’s … concerned.” She’s clearly being diplomatic, and I decide that charm will be the best approach, especially if the sister’s a fan.
There’s a rap on the door as we approach, and I open it to find Jack and another security guard there along with a petite blonde woman surrounded by three big dudes. The guys have more ink among them than my brothers and me, which is to say, a lot. One of them looks familiar, but I can’t place him.
Hazel’s sister rushes in and hugs her for several seconds before pulling back to look her over. “Nice dress,” she says with a smirk.
Hazel’s cheeks turn rosy as she looks down at the wedding dress. It’s wrinkled in places, but still looks great on her.
Her sister picks up Hazel’s hand and checks out the jeweled band, but doesn’t say anything about it. Her focus shifts to me then, and her eyes widen with surprise. “You!”
Didn’t Hazel tell her sister who she married?
“Ember, this is Conal. Conal, this is my sister Ember,” Hazel says.
“Oh, we’ve met.” The sister’s tone is dripping with accusation of misdeeds.
Fuck! Don’t tell me I partied with Hazel’s sister at some point in the past. That would be an unfortunate but not unlikely coincidence. She does look vaguely familiar, but I can’t place her.
Hoping to brush past any reminiscences of wild nights, I spread my arms in a welcoming gesture. “Why don’t you all come in? Have you had breakfast? I can send for more food.”
But Hazel’s rooted in place. “Wait. You two have met?”
It’s then that I catch the death glare one of the guys is giving me. Now I remember him. He got all up in my face about … fuck, right, it was this tiny woman. Hazel’s sister. In a tattoo shop here in Vegas.
“You’re Conal Curran?” the sister asks.
I guess she’s not a fan.
“What’re you doing with Hazel?” the goon asks, pushing forward with clenched fists. Jack immediately gets in his face, and Hazel’s sister—what did Hazel say her name was? Ember?—gets his attention with a hand on his arm.
“Let’s go in and talk this out,” she says.
Arching a brow, I give the guy a look to let him know I see how this tiny woman has him wrapped around her finger, and he scowls in return. This is going to be fun.
I nod at Jack to dismiss him, but he follows us inside and takes up a post beside the door. I offer drinks all around as Hazel’s sister and two of the guys settle onto a sofa, while the goon remains standing. Both of the men flanking the sister put their hands on her, one on her knee, the other on her thigh. Interesting.
Meanwhile, Rafe and Bron are nowhere to be seen, and I can’t decide if they’re little punks, or just smarter than I am.
Hazel’s sister recognized me, but she didn’t know who I was, so it must be a coincidence that I met Hazel. I have to be careful about the people I let into my life, but there’s nothing about the way I encountered Hazel or the way she’s been with me that sends up any red flags. Hazel knew who I was when we met last night, but she’s not acting like a groupie or a parasite.
What the goon is fired up about, I remember now, is that I hit on Hazel’s sister several months back, when we were in town and I stopped in at a tattoo shop where they work. So that’s a relief. Just an innocent come-on, nothing that has to make future family dinners uncomfortable.
I chuckle inside at that last bit, because I can’t picture us making it that far. Meanwhile, time to smooth things over.
“Ember, right?” When she nods once, I continue. “Ember, I apologize for the unfortunate way we met.” Turning to Hazel, who’s sitting on a loveseat across from her sister, I say, “In a wild coincidence, I once met your sister when I was looking to get a tattoo. Absolutely nothing happened—”
“Damn straight,” the goon growls.
I hold out a hand to him. “Conal. It’s nice to meet you again, and under better circumstances.”
My hand hangs there, until Ember gives the guy a look and he reluctantly shakes it. Damn, he’s whipped. Ember’s pretty enough, with her blonde hair and blue eyes, but she’s no Hazel. Just as well she was already taken when I flirted with her.
“No hard feelings,” I say, to which the goon grunts and begrudgingly tells me his name is Frank.
Ember’s other two guys, who introduce themselves as Zeb and Griffin, are wary but decent, and shake my hands only slightly more firmly than necessary.
Ember gets right down to business. “So, you two are married?”
When Hazel doesn’t immediately answer, I sit down next to her and take her hand. “It was impulsive, sure, but we fell hard for each other last night … and this is Vegas, after all.” I add a laugh, hoping to get a smile out of at least one of them, but no dice.