He bent and brushed a kiss on top of her head. Just that gesture, coupled with the intensity in his blue eyes, set her heart pounding.
“Would you care to introduce me to your friend, Seychelle?” Doris said, her voice a little faint. She fanned herself with her hand. “I can get a chair from the kitchen so he can join us.”
“I’m Savage, ma’am.”
He introduced himself because Seychelle couldn’t find her voice. She pressed her fingers to her lips and stared at him, shocked that he could do that to her, just short-circuit her brain with that look on his face.
“Doris Fendris.”
Savage threaded his fingers through Seychelle’s left hand. “I’m her fiancé.” There was a trace of amusement in his voice, although his expression didn’t change. He looked as scary as ever. “Been missing her, and she forgot to check in with me again, so I came looking.”
Doris’s gaze dropped to Seychelle’s bare finger. One eyebrow arched.
Seychelle tugged at her hand, finally managing to find her voice. “He’s full of it. He’s my fake fiancé.”
“She says that because Ice hasn’t finished the ring yet.” The pad of his thumb slid over her ring finger once. “Looks like you’re working on repairing the stairs?” He made it a question. “Have you checked the supports under them, baby?” He was already reaching for the toolbox. He drew his hand back and turned slowly to level his glacier-cold eyes on Seychelle. “What is this supposed to be?”
She did her best to glare. It was difficult when Doris giggled like a schoolgirl and fanned herself again. Savage’s hand did look ludicrous hovering above her pink toolbox. Nevertheless, she refused to smile, sticking her chin in the air. “I presume you are speaking of my toolbox in that derogatory tone.”
“Is that what you call this thing?”
“It is a perfectly good toolbox.” She gave him her snippiest look.
“Seychelle.” His tone said it all. “It’s pink.”
She raised her eyebrow. “I’m really becoming concerned over your lack of imagination when it comes to color. I’ve noticed your motorcycle is an unrelenting black. And then there’s your clothes. All black again. There’s a theme here. Black. You need color in your life, Savage.”
Doris giggled again, drawing Savage’s attention. “Miss Doris,” he said, “Czar and Blythe’s girls have jars and collect money when any member of Torpedo Ink swears. They have enough to go to college, I think, and then some. It’s a good idea that you get yourself a jar about now.”
Savage turned his complete focus back on Seychelle. “My motorcycle is unrelenting black? You’re attacking my bike? My ride happens to be a 2015 Night Rod Special, not all black—it has gunmetal-gray trim, not to mention the gray skull.”
There was a dark promise of retaliation in his voice. On his face. In his eyes. She liked sparring with him, but he could be intense. His Harley was his baby.
“You’re attacking my toolbox.”
“Babe. Really?”
“And you’ve never once suggested I get a jar for your foul mouth.”
“You don’t get a jar because you cause the swearing. Miss Doris makes cookies and she can use the money for bingo. Hand me one, babe, the chocolate chip. They smell great.” He held out his hand.
Seychelle gave an exaggerated sigh, snagged the smallest chocolate chip cookie on the plate and gave it to him.
“Who’s to say I don’t love my toolbox just as much as you love your Harley?”
Instantly, Savage’s expression softened. “Did someone special give you the tools, baby?”
She was teasing him. She didn’t want him to feel bad. Immediately, she shook her head. “No, I purposely bought pink so I could easily identify my tools when I took them to other people’s homes. I didn’t want to mix them up.” In other words, she’d had tools taken multiple times and she didn’t want to keep having to buy more, but she wasn’t saying that in front of Doris. It would be repeated to every single one of the men and women who played bingo on Thursday nights. Doris would take it upon herself to reprimand anyone who came near Seychelle’s tools.
“I bought the tools myself and I taught myself to use them. I’m fixing Doris’s stairs before she falls through,” she informed him, lifting her chin at him.
Savage took his time eating the cookie, all the while focusing on her face. “I think we’ll continue this conversation at home, along with the one about letting me know where you are so I don’t worry so much.”