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?”
I gestured at my empty tray. “What does it look like? I’m serving drinks.”
“This ain’t tea time at some goddamn country club, sweetheart. And those people aren’t on the PTA.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’m going to need a pie chart or a Venn diagram or a database to catalog all of the many ways I piss you off. Why are you mad that I’m doing my job?”
“You shouldn’t be serving that party.”
“Look, if you’re not going to explain, then I don’t think I’m responsible for listening. I have drinks to deliver.”
“You can’t just wander into dangerous situations like this.”
I threw up my arms. “Oh, for Pete’s sake. I didn’t wander. I showed up for my shift. Fi gave me the table because she knew they’d tip well.”
He stepped close enough that his boots brushed the tips of my shoes. “I want you out of that room.”
“Excuse me! You’re the one who lets them play here and you’re the one who hired me to serve drinks. Ergo, you’re the one with the problem.”
He leaned in until we were almost touching. “Naomi, these aren’t just weekend warriors on bikes or your typical Beltway roadkill. They can be dangerous if they want to be.”
“Yeah? Well, so can I. And if you try to take me off that table, you’re going to find out exactly how dangerous.”
“Fuck me,” he muttered under his breath.
“That’s not happening,” I scoffed.
He closed his eyes, and I knew the big dummy was counting to ten. I let him get to six before stepping around him.
My hand had just closed around the doorknob when he caught me, trapping me between the door and his body. His breath was hot on the back of my neck. I could feel my heart beat in my head.
“Daze,” he said.
Goose bumps prickled on my arms. Warner’s only pet name for me had been “babe.” And for a moment, I was paralyzed with a desire so intense I didn’t recognize it as my own.
“What?” I whispered.
“They’re not your kind of people. If that dickhead Tanner gets too much over-priced scotch in him, he starts hittin’ on anything with a rack and losing hands. That skirt you’re barely wearing is already a distraction. He loses too much, he starts talkin’ shit and startin’ fights. Grim? He runs his own motorcycle club in D.C. Mostly personal protection now, but he still dabbles in less legal ventures. Trouble follows him.”