AUTHOR SPOTLIGHT & BOOK TOUR: Maggie Blackbird (Excerpt & Giveaway)
Having finished her ice cream cone, Paulina sipped on a delicious cup of coffee. Not since she’d first met her ex-husband had she shifted and twitched so much. Maybe it was the slant to Tripp’s eyes, or the genuine kindness reflecting in his pupils. Or maybe it was the way his hand relaxed on the mug. Or it could have been the way he sat back in the chair. Or, heck, it was all of them, including his natural friendliness and concern.
“You said you’re a financial administrator for a native health care center?” He rubbed his index finger and thumb along his chin. “I should have guessed counting numbers was your job.”
“What makes you say that?” Paulina asked. Being in security for ten years must have given Tripp a lot of insight into people.
“Most woulda been pretty mad to have their truck conk out on a road trip to the city. I didn’t see you kicking a tire or swearing a blue streak.” Tripp’s lips tugged at the corners. “Trust me, I’ve seen my share.”
“And counting numbers doesn’t mean…” This was interesting.
“You deal with numbers. It means you’re focused. Analytical. Weigh the pros and the cons. It goes back to a few workshops I took. It’s part of my training. How to deal with people, because every day I deal with a lot of people.”
“I guess you do, if you work security. I’m sure you had your share of disputes to…mediate.” She couldn’t help the tiny giggle in her throat. When was the last time she had let out a good laugh?
“Sure have.” Tripp lifted his mug and sipped. His dark eyes kept sparkling. Even his lips remained spread into an inviting smile.
Paulina tightened her grip on the mug. Moistness invaded regions she didn’t want invaded—beneath her breasts, between her legs, and under her arms. She massaged the back of her neck.
From her peripheral vision, she caught a tow truck moving through the parking lot. “That’s…” She wet her lips. “I believe that’s for me. I’d better get outside.”
“Sure.” The sparkle in Tripp’s eyes faded. “I’ll…I’ll stick around.” He cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind.”
No, she didn’t mind at all. “Uh…sure. Thank you.”
The bathroom door opened. Gavin eased into the hallway. He clutched a white napkin. He stood sideways, his sports coat laid over the crook in his arm. His lean muscles filled out his navy-blue shirt. Yep, someone had been hitting the gym. Gavin had probably hired a personal trainer when he’d lived in Winnipeg. His pants, not too tight and not too loose, snuggled his legs that had once been skinny but now filled out the plush gray material.
Gavin swiveled on his black shoe, glancing over his shoulder. No, not a glance. His heavy-lidded eyes burned into Slade. Searing him until his mouth dried.
The napkin fell to the floor.
Reality slapped Slade’s face cold, and fire crackled in his veins. Who did this asshole think he was, blatantly tossing garbage around while he stood watching?
Gavin kept gazing at him while he shifted one leg over the other. The sound of his heels clicking against the floor echoed off the walls.
Slade gritted his teeth. Was Gavin daring him to get mad, going to throw around his newfound power if Slade told the high and mighty chief to bend the hell over and pick that damned napkin off the floor?
Gavin’s dark eyed gaze continued to cut into Slade, as if sharing a secret. There wasn’t a hint of smug satisfaction. Only a potent, seductive invitation.
A man had needs. Slade swallowed. And he wasn’t about to get laid on the rez, no matter if the population clocked in at eight hundred members.
With one final lingering peek, Gavin disappeared inside his office.
Slade’s breathing hitched. The lightness in his chest twisted until his lungs clenched. He ought to leave the napkin on the floor and find out what Gavin had to say about that. Slade set the mop handle aside. If he ignored the trash, the band manager would call him out.
He trounced to the washroom door and leaned down, swiping up the napkin, but the plush material melting into his palm didn’t resemble a napkin. Then what the…? He turned the garment over. His throat clamped shut. Underwear. He was holding Gavin’s underwear. And the hip-cut shorts weren’t the kind a guy bought at Bargain Bob’s for the cost-saving price of five for ten dollars. This wasn’t cotton or silk, either. Something else.
His spine twitched.
He craned his neck to the open door leading to Gavin’s office.
Slade squashed the light fabric in his hand. When he released his grip, the underwear expanded slightly.
The tips of his fingers burned as he pinched the shorts and spread out the briefs from corner to corner. His stomach constricted. A mere few seconds ago, Gavin had removed his pants to slip out of this baby. He’d exposed his cock. Exposed his balls. Exposed his ass.
Slade clenched his eyes shut. He loathed the vision, but it appeared anyway—fingers flirting with a button, the zrup of a zipper being lowered, stiff cock shoved against the flimsy material of the shorts, and long legs easing out of the gray pants.
Had the thought of stripping from his underwear excited Gavin? Had he left his excitement on his underwear?
Slade drew the shorts to his face, burying his nose in the rich material. As the heavy aroma concealed in a man’s pubes claimed his nostrils, his knees shook. Gavin’s scent. Thick with musk. Powerful with sweat.
Having finished her ice cream cone, Paulina sipped on a delicious cup of coffee. Not since she’d first met her ex-husband had she shifted and twitched so much. Maybe it was the slant to Tripp’s eyes, or the genuine kindness reflecting in his pupils. Or maybe it was the way his hand relaxed on the mug. Or it could have been the way he sat back in the chair. Or, heck, it was all of them, including his natural friendliness and concern.
“You said you’re a financial administrator for a native health care center?” He rubbed his index finger and thumb along his chin. “I should have guessed counting numbers was your job.”
“What makes you say that?” Paulina asked. Being in security for ten years must have given Tripp a lot of insight into people.
“Most woulda been pretty mad to have their truck conk out on a road trip to the city. I didn’t see you kicking a tire or swearing a blue streak.” Tripp’s lips tugged at the corners. “Trust me, I’ve seen my share.”
“And counting numbers doesn’t mean…” This was interesting.
“You deal with numbers. It means you’re focused. Analytical. Weigh the pros and the cons. It goes back to a few workshops I took. It’s part of my training. How to deal with people, because every day I deal with a lot of people.”
“I guess you do, if you work security. I’m sure you had your share of disputes to…mediate.” She couldn’t help the tiny giggle in her throat. When was the last time she had let out a good laugh?
“Sure have.” Tripp lifted his mug and sipped. His dark eyes kept sparkling. Even his lips remained spread into an inviting smile.
Paulina tightened her grip on the mug. Moistness invaded regions she didn’t want invaded—beneath her breasts, between her legs, and under her arms. She massaged the back of her neck.
From her peripheral vision, she caught a tow truck moving through the parking lot. “That’s…” She wet her lips. “I believe that’s for me. I’d better get outside.”
“Sure.” The sparkle in Tripp’s eyes faded. “I’ll…I’ll stick around.” He cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind.”
No, she didn’t mind at all. “Uh…sure. Thank you.”
The food Bryan had packed away gurgled in his stomach. He grabbed the napkin and wiped his mouth. His salty tongue and dry throat begged for moisture. He lifted the cola from the cup holder, never leaving Elliot’s intense look.
Something crackled between them—a tinge of tension that had been building from the moment they’d met in gym class during the first semester, both assessing one another up and down, panting after a game of basketball while sweat had glistened on their skins. The same heat from that moment coated Bryan’s flesh.
It didn’t matter the temperature was quickly dropping. Nothing could dispel the warmth flowing through his blood. His beating heart seemed to sit in his throat. “Maybe you should ask.”
The fire in Elliot’s eyes flickered out. “Ask who?”
“Ask whoever you think sent the card.”
“Uh…” Elliot shifted and glanced away. He crumbled up his food containers and stuffed them inside the bag. “I can’t ask. I’d look like a total tool asking everyone at school if they sent me a card.”
“But you have an idea who sent it, don’t you?”
The familiar shade of pink claimed Elliot’s cheeks. “Um…no.” He threw open the door. “I need a dart.”
Bryan also got out since he couldn’t smoke in the car because Dad always did his sniff check. He headed to the wooden railing where Elliot had left his boot prints in the ankle-length snow. Even the spruce trees were weighed down with white.
The sky wasn’t visible because of the storm. The flakes were harsh smacks of ice on Bryan’s face. He reached inside his jacket for his own pack of cigarettes, keeping his head ducked and hood up to ward off the chill of the wind.
“Well?” he asked while sliding the cigarette between his lips. He kept his back to the fierce snowfall.
Elliot moved beside him, also turning his back on the storm. “Well what?”
“Who do you think sent you the cards? Dedicated the song to you?” Bryan was walking on a tightrope, but considering he’d never gotten a sucker punch to the face or heard Elliot sneer at the tokens of admiration, it was apparent he didn’t mind that a dude was digging on him.
“You keep bugging me about this. Never let up.” Elliot’s voice shook. “I…I…”
“I never heard you listen to a ballad before.” To quell his shaking insides, Bryan took a drag off the cigarette. The nicotine did its job and slowed the fierce rapids of angry white water his blood had become thundering through his veins.
“I…I…I think it’s you.” Elliot’s words came out slow and soft.
The blood slowed to a halt. Finally, what Bryan had begged for, wished for, prayed for, was in the open—and it was up to him to respond.
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