by Howes, Ann
“Say it again,” he says softly still staring into my eyes.
“What?”
He moves a hand over my thigh, down behind my knee, then hitches my leg over his hip.
“Say it again.”
My brows come together because I don’t understand. Then as it registers, a blush moves up my neck and a slow smile spreads my lips.
“I love you, Gianni Cadora,” I whisper.
The next instant his lips crash onto mine. They’re a little bit ferocious, full of hunger and need as we inhale and devour each other. Those strong arms pull me closer, then he rolls me onto my back and positions himself between my thighs. When he finally pulls away he touches his forehead to mine and cups my face in those big, warm hands.
“I love you more than my life, De Luca. There’s nothing on this planet I want more than you.” He touches his lips again to mine and I’m still reeling from his words when he says, “I wanna ask you something.”
“Mm?”
“Take a deep breath.”
“Okay?”
“I don’t wanna waste any more time. How do you feel about moving in with me? We can bring the dog.”
Oh.
My.
God.
Then I show him exactly how I feel about that.
The end.
You stuck with me!
I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it and creating these characters. I can’t tell you how honored or grateful I am you read to the end and would be even more so if you tell your friends about it and leave a review on Amazon (even a short one) telling me what you thought.
This is my first novel but definitely not the last. I hope to release the second of this series (known as the Bridge series) in the summer of 2018 so stay tuned.
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I hope to hear from you soon.
And now, for your further reading pleasure, I have included the first chapter of the next book in the series, The Debt.
The Debt
Chapter One
You got some splaining to do
* * *
PAPOW!
Zander Milan ducked when he heard the gunshot. His heart skyrocketed into his throat and he credited his survival instincts, still sharp from years growing up in the surly Tenderloin district of San Francisco. Probably saved his life.
Figures.
His end came not when he deserved it in his hellish youth, trolling the streets and surviving shit he had no business surviving. But at thirty-two, after he’d made something of himself. Into the owner of one of the busiest bars in the city.
He used the dumpster for cover when brake lights glowed red as a vehicle at the entrance to his ally reversed. Then white headlights traced an arc and pointed at him.
PAPOW.
Fuck.
He chuckled, feeling like a chump. Not a gunshot after all. An ancient Volkswagen bus backfired as it hitched over a water-logged pot hole. Only then did the muscle behind his ribcage start back up into a rhythm that couldn’t be defined as normal or even healthy.
Apparently, he wasn’t going to die today.
Zander shook his head in amazement at the dinosaur heading towards him in a slow crawl and wondered if it was roadworthy. Did they even still make the parts that kept them running? Surely no one in their right mind would willingly drive such a hideous piece of shit.
The van veered left then pulled up directly outside the back doors of his club before spluttering to a silent death.
“The fuck?” Zander muttered as the head lamps dimmed, leaving his pupils dilated and him temporarily night blind.
Before confronting whoever was illegally parked in front of his back-alley doors, he had to get rid of his load.
He lifted the black plastic lid of the dumpster and tossed the two garbage bags with a single swing. They landed with a heavy thunk on the metal bottom.
He sighed and dusted his hands off on his jeans before turning back to face what was obviously some loser, overzealous fan trying to skirt the cover charge at the main door.
Except what he saw when he got closer, made his chest squeeze tight, leaving him breathless. Like all the air had been sucked out of the unusually balmy fall night.
It had to be a delayed reaction to the backfire. At least that was what he told himself. Nothing at all to do with the woman climbing out of the bus, one long-ass leg tipped in a motorcycle boot at a time. Flipping shiny, reddish blonde hair over an exposed shoulder decorated with a skinny bra strap.
She stared at the open metal club doors, with her hands planted on her hips as if contemplating entering.
An electric buzz vibrated though his body like he’d stuck his finger into a socket. He put it down to the adrenaline coursing through his veins.
The first attempt at addressing her failed. His mouth formed the word, yet nothing but a croak emitted.
“Babe,” he tried again. This too came out scratchy, forcing him to clear his throat. Then with a little more vigor he said, “You need to move your van. You can’t park there.”
“I know.” The woman responded without turning around. She sounded distracted or…indifferent.
Huh.
“I need to unload my stuff, then I’ll move it.”
Zander examined her profile under the weak alley lights, trying to figure out what about her left him so rattled. Pretty for sure with curves and bumps in the right proportions and places. He had to admit he liked what he saw a lot. But still.
“Stuff for what?” He asked.
“I’m with the band.”
His jaw tightened. “No, you’re not. The main entrance is around the corner. You have to pay the cover charge, just like everyone else.”
“Look buddy,” she cocked her head then turned to face him for the first time. “I’m not a groupie trying to sneak in for free.”
He was not a vain man and he would have to be blind not to notice that when it came to women, he got a certain reaction. Especially when they met him for the first time. Most notable; the widening of their eyes. The shyer ones blushed. Some even stuttered.
But none came from this woman.
He did a little head cock of his own, uncertain what to make of her lack of reaction. Had he grown warts since he last shaved?
“Do I have to go up those to get to the stage?” she asked, using her chin to point at the flight of concrete stairs that led up to his office.
“Stage is to the left of the stairs, but that’s not where you’re going.”
She arched a brow, smirked, then pulled the lever on the dented van door. When it slid opened she reached in bending at the waist. All that filled his vision were two rounded butt cheeks molded by a pair of tight skinny jeans. They were perfect and he wasn’t sure he didn’t lose a small piece of his mind. The corresponding jerk in his groin confirmed his suspicion.
He positioned himself at a respectable distance to her side, trying to keep his eyes on what she was doing inside the car and not completely succeeding.
“Maybe instead of staring at my ass,” she shot a look over her shoulder as she pulled on something black, square and heavy, “you can help me with my monitor? The damn thing doesn’t have any wheels. It’s gotta weigh about fifty pounds.”
Zander heard her voice but was having trouble focusing on the words. He was beginning to sincerely hope she was a horny groupie, set out to bang her way into his club. He’d be happy to oblige before he sent her back to the main entrance.
“Who are you?” he managed at last, his voice still not sounding like his own.
“I’m Terra,” she answered slowly, like she was talking to someone whose IQ was well below the triple digit mark. “I’m with the band.”
Zander straightened at her tone. Finding his balls at last, he parted his l
egs and folded his arms across his chest in his best don’t fuck with me stance.
“You must have the wrong night, babe. Because I know the members of the band and you’re not one of them.”
She stared at him for a moment. “Fine!” She made a hand movement that could only be construed as dismissive. “Don’t help. It’ll just take me longer to unload.”
“Nope.” Who the hell did this woman think she was and when was the last time a hot one dismissed him?
“You need to stop what you’re doing, babe. Get back in your van and move this piece of shit.” It always amazed him the tricks people went to get in for free. He was sick of it, no matter how hot they were. And this one was off the charts spicy.
But rules were rules.
He couldn’t expect his bouncers to follow them if he broke them himself.
Terra tensed, then moved that delectable ass, careful to avoid bumping her head on the bus ceiling. She angled and straightened herself into her full height, which was average and a whole lot less than his. Then eyed him like he was a hunk of brainless muscle or a bug worthy only of meeting the sole of her boot. He couldn’t decide which.
“First,” she swept a graceful hand indicating the van, which he now noticed was painted purple and sported a line of ugly ass orange poppies, “this is not a piece of shit. This is Iris. Second, and pay attention because I’m only going to say this once more. I’m with the band.”
“Bullshit.”
“Bullshit?”
“Yeah. Bullshit.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” She rolled her long-lashed eyes and dug into her bra. Zander’s widened, and for a second he thought she was going to pull out her tits and flash him. Given he was a man who got laid more often than he ate breakfast, he was far more disappointed than he ought to be when she produced a phone instead. Fascinated, he watched her jab a few buttons then while it was ringing, put it on speakerphone.
“Yo.”
“Dannie,” she said. Those clear blue eyes locked with his golden-brown ones. He had the strange sensation he was being pulled through a tunnel into a vortex and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
“Where the hell are you?” Dannie’s voice smacking of panic was higher pitched than normal. “You’re late.”
“Calm down. I’m at the back door. The bouncer’s being an asshole and won’t let me in. He thinks I’m a groupie.”
Asshole?
That shouldn’t be funny, but Zander’s mouth crooked into almost undetectable smile as he held out his hand, still holding her gaze. “Let me talk to him.”
Terra took it off speaker, then slapped the phone into his palm, a satisfied smirk spreading across her face. It was warm from her body heat and made his fingers tingle.
“Dannie, this is Zander.”
“Oh, shit.” Dannie responded with a groan. “Damn! Sorry, man. Terra’s a little mouthy but she really is with us. She’s covering for Rube.”
“What do you mean covering for Rube? Where’s Ruby?”
“She bailed on me. On us.”
Typical.
He knew he shouldn’t have trusted her and now was going to have to have words with her. “You should have told me. I could’ve replaced you.”
“I know that, but we didn’t want to get replaced. That’s why Terra’s here.”
“If you fuck this up, you’re not coming back.”
“Trust me, dude, we won’t fuck this up.”
“Hmm,” Zander grunted, narrowing his eyes as Terra had resumed her earlier position with her tempting ass back on display. She fiddled with the zip on a leather kitbag in the van.
“Can you tell Dannie I need some help since you’re not willing?” She tossed at him with a bucket full of attitude. Then hooked both hands into the handle of her monitor and hefted it to the edge of the van floor.
Clearly, she was completely unaware she’d called him, the owner of this establishment, an asshole. The man who would pay her for her performance tonight.
Normally he wouldn’t stand for that kind of shit. He hadn’t earned his chops by sitting back and allowing anyone to disrespect him. Even if he was hoping to get his hands on the little spitfire doing the disrespecting. Somehow it amused him more than it disturbed him.
Probably because he was fixated on the way her top slipped further off her shoulder, exposing a red and black lacy bra covering mouthwatering tits. The same tits that cradled the phone he still had in his hand. He was reluctant to give it back.
“Give me that,” he said, shoving her phone in his back pocket to free up his hand. “I’ll carry it to the stage. You can park in the lot behind the bar with the rest of the band.”
Zander would be the first to admit he was mostly a detached prick when it came to woman. He loved fucking them but never got involved. Which is why he was unprepared for the jolt in his chest when she smiled. A slow, lazy parting of those juicy lips flashing a hint of even, white teeth.
Shit.
He looped his hand around the handle of the monitor and carried it to the new stage he’d built, ignoring the looks he got from the rest of the band.
They’d stopped unrolling guitar cords and arranging mic stands to stare. Jeff, the scrawny runt of a bass player did a double take, like he was seeing things.
Zander empathized.
“Where do I put this?” he asked. The man’s mouth hung open a little and Zander was tempted to snap it shut. With his fist. Probably ruin years worth of Invisalign. Orthodontic bills were not something he needed to add as a line item in his budget.
“Uhh…” Jeff pointed at a gap between a mic stand and an amp.
Zander placed the monitor in the designated spot and without looking back, vaulted off the four-foot-high stage. He sauntered across the scuffed up wooden floors towards the bar. Because it wasn’t like he had anything else to do other than help a woman who’d mind fucked him into helping her.
He suspected all she had to do was crook a pretty little index finger at the nearest man, who’d gladly drop what he was doing in the hopes of a reward. Even if it was just a smile. In his case, she hadn’t even crooked a finger.
He’d volunteered.
Several of his regulars were already seated at the bar even though it was still early in the evening, nursing half full beers. Friday nights were usually packed and the last two times this band had played, they’d killed it. Hopefully they would tonight as well.
When he’d bought the bar two years ago from Chuck, a grizzled hard-ass biker and longtime lover of his grandmother, it was a dive. Trolled by hookers, die-hards and ill-informed tourists looking for the real San Francisco experience. They usually got more than they bargained for.
Chuck owned it outright and gave him a deal. He financed the mortgage and two weeks before he died of pancreatic cancer, forgave the loan and signed over the deed. There was one condition. In tribute to his grandmother he had to restore it and turn the bar into a haven for musicians. Ginny Milan in her day had killer keyboard skills and toured the music circuit with reasonably well-known bands. Then cervical cancer, that nasty, spiteful bitch, took her too.
God, he missed her.
She was the only real parent he’d known. And along with his mother the only woman he’d had any kind of love for. But he didn’t want to plunder that particular compartment of his mind right now.
What he wanted was to observe.
He needed to know more about this woman whose ass he couldn’t seem to exorcise from his imagination. And what better place to do it from than behind the bar.
He greeted the silver-haired bartender he inherited from Chuck with a chin nod. Barney carried a tray of clean glasses that needed putting away and Zander sidestepped to allow him to pass.
Not that he enjoyed dabbling in band politics, but there was something he wasn’t getting. When it came to his bar and his bottom line, band politics became his business.
When they played here, they’d always been fronted by the missing Ruby. A ski
nny waif with short platinum hair and scars on her forearms he knew came from a needle. Zander had seen them up close and doubted she’d suddenly become diabetic. Their history went way back. He wasn’t overly fond of her and certainly didn’t trust her, but he knew she sang. The only reason he booked them in the first place was because she asked. Offered to sweeten the deal by blowing him which he declined.
Ruby promised she was clean but junkies were notorious liars. There were other places to stick a needle. That he knew from personal experience. The thought uncurled a memory from long ago and sent a tremor through his psyche.
Christ, he hated needles.
Figured what people did with their bodies was none of his concern, unless it directly affected him. Up until now it hadn’t. Which begged the questions, where the fuck was Ruby, who was Terra, and why was she filling in?
While he unloaded a case of German beer into the fridge, he caught a glimpse of her. Everything in him locked up tight. Not one damn muscle in his body moved except the ones in his eye sockets as they followed her movements.
The woman claimed the stage like her mother popped her out on one, swinging her ass just enough to make him wonder what else she could with it. Or rather, what he wanted her to do with it and no doubt would fantasize about later.
Fuck, he was fantasizing now.
Zander blew out a puff of air and shook his head. She was just another woman. So why was he so fascinated?
It was clear the band knew her well. Each member greeted her with big-ass goofy smiles splitting their faces while they hugged her. Lucas, the drummer put his shoulder to her stomach and lifted her in a fireman hold. She squealed and laughed like a little girl on Christmas morning, no trace of that earlier sass.
Dannie stood off to the side.
