by Avery Flynn
How in the hell was he supposed to do that? He had no idea but he was going to figure it out. Fast.
12
Gillie
Two Weeks Later, Fort Worth
The Back Beat was so packed that if the fire marshal came by, he'd shut the place down before the bank got a chance to do it officially tomorrow morning. Losing her club wasn't the first dream Gillie had been forced to give up on and maybe it was because of that fact that doing so didn't hurt as much as she'd expected. Marko had offered to float her a loan to keep the club's doors open a little longer in her efforts to make a go of it, but she couldn't accept the offer. She'd officially learned the hard way that sometimes the best way to get a check in the win column was to walk away from dreams that couldn't be a reality, especially the ones you wanted more than you wanted to breathe.
Musicians who'd played at The Back Beat were there along with the entirety of the B-Squad and her other friends. It was quite a mix. The musicians with their laid back cool and the B-Squad folks with their barely constrained dangerous vibe, but wasn't that the real heart of jazz—mixing two disparate things and making them work together to make something truly magnificent. The only thing that could make it better is if she'd stop thinking about a certain hockey player. Walking away had been the right choice. They weren't the kind of people who could make it work, but, damn, it had been nice for those few days to pretend otherwise.
"You sure know how to throw a party," B-Squad founder and overall queen bee Bianca Sutherland Hazard said as they both stood near the door and watched the dance floor.
Gillie had to agree. "Music, drinks, and friends, it doesn't get any better than that."
"So have you thought about my proposal?"
After they'd gotten back from Snow Bay, Elisa must have put a bug in Bianca's ear about Gillie's past because Bianca and her husband Taz had made a play for her to join the security and investigations team as an operative. She wouldn't do any of the rescue missions like Marko went on but not every job required that kind of touch. Some required subterfuge and finesse, things she'd perfected during her time with her crew pocketing other people's valuables. She could do it, but her heart wasn't really into it.
She took a drink of whatever fruity concoction the soon-to-be unemployed bartender had dreamed up. "I don't know if I'm the security and investigative type."
"I looked up your resume," Bianca said, an admiring gleam in her eyes.
Translation, police record.
"I never got arrested." Thanks to Flynn.
Ouch. That still hurt to think about. Maybe in a decade or two it would be better.
"I know. But I have friends and believe you me, Gillie, you've got a file. My favorite was the twenty-fifth floor at the Prince Hotel. You got in and out of one of the most heavily guarded floors without detection and pocketed almost a half a million in rubies." Bianca held up her glass in a silent toast. "You were good and you walked away from it all. That tells me you've got heart, the brain, and skills to get into places that others wouldn't even dream about. Wouldn't you like to put all that to work helping people?"
"That all sounds good, but I'm officially retired…for good this time." As soon as she said it, an invisible weight lifted off her shoulders.
Bianca sighed. "Can't blame a woman for trying."
"Never."
They clinked glasses and then Bianca wandered off—no doubt to find her hot husband who was her number two at the B-Squad. Those two were dynamite together, pure explosive chemistry. And the story of how they'd gotten together? Damn. It had made Gillie's cheeks burn and she'd only heard it in bits and pieces secondhand.
Billie Holiday continued to sing about love and heartbreak and survival despite it all. Sure, it was old school jazz but it was her favorite, and since tonight was it she was going to play Billie until the lights went out.
Suddenly the club was plunged into darkness. Like, can't see your hand in front of your face, blackness. Even the emergency lights were AWOL. Okay, she'd paid the electricity bill, the power company had better not be fucking with her. That didn't make sense though because Billie's voice still filtered out of the speaker system singing about what a little moonlight can do. Before Gillie could open her mouth to reassure everybody that she'd figure it out, the lights popped back.
Since she was facing the stage, the first thing she noticed was that the Cup was on stage—along with its keeper, Edwin.
What the hell?
A familiar hand slid across the small of her back, coming to rest curled around her hip. "It didn't seem right not to spend my extra day with the Cup without you."
She whipped around. Flynn. Hot, sexy, he shouldn't be here but he was, Flynn. Her brain jerked to a stop and her body revved up for action.
"They gave you a second day?" Wow, Gillie girl, you really know about this whole art of conversation thing.
"Unofficially." He looked at her like he'd thought he'd never see her again and was damn glad he'd been wrong. "Edwin pulled a few strings as a thank you for rescuing it."
Her chest tightened. "And you brought it here?"
"It's where you are." His lips curled in his signature wicked smile.
There it was, that devastating grin that decimated her panties and her will to do the right thing—which was to walk away now before she couldn't.
"Flynn…" she started, but he stopped her with the lightning fast moves he used on the ice.
He yanked her close, spinning her in his arms so they faced each other. The rest of the club fell away. It was just them. Him, the one man she'd loved more than jazz or her club or her freedom, and her, the crazy girl who almost ruined the one thing in life he loved—hockey.
"I'll warn you now," he said. "I'm an asshole. I'm a little bit crazy. I'm stubborn. I steal the covers. Most of the time I forget to put the toilet seat down. Folding a fitted sheet is beyond me. I talk to a hot pink Gatorade bottle in front of seventeen thousand people whenever I fuck up during a game and you're the only person in the world who knows why. I've made my fair share of bad decisions in my life, but the only one I regret is driving out of Dallas without taking you with me."
Her lungs tightened. "Why are you telling me this?" she managed to squeak out.
"Because I don't want to leave Texas without you again. Anyway," he brushed the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip, "it'll be much easier for you to manage the club if you're in New Orleans."
Untangling that wasn't possible right now. "What are you talking about? Tonight's it. It's over."
"Not The Back Beat." He shook his head. "The new one."
This was making no sense. Like, none. "You bought a jazz club?"
"No," he laughed. "I bought you a jazz club. You admitted it yourself, Marko was right. Fort Worth is not the place for the kind of jazz club you want to run." Keeping ahold of her with one arm, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and swiped it open before opening his photo app. Then, he flipped through picture after picture of a club decorated in blues and silvers with huge black and white photos of some of jazz's most iconic musicians. "But New Orleans? There's not a city in the world that loves jazz more."
Individually, his words made sense. He'd bought a jazz club. For her. In New Orleans. Still, she couldn't wrap her brain around it and so she just stared up at him like she was the one who earned a living getting pelted with pucks.
"I'm fucking this all up." He dipped his head and kissed her even more stupid than she already was at the moment. It was hard, demanding, and more full of promise than a rainbow after a downpour. "What you overheard in Snow Bay when I was talking to Marko. It's the truth. The odds are against us. We shouldn't work. But somehow, we do. When I won the Cup all I could do is wonder what came next because I had no fucking clue. With you in my life, I still don't know what's coming next but I know that whatever it is we'll be together and that's all that matters. I love you, Gillie Pike. I never stopped loving you. I will always love you. I want to be with you. Please come to New Orleans w
ith me."
He stopped talking.
She tried to swallow past the emotion blocking her throat. New Orleans. A life with Flynn. She smashed her lips together and blinked back the tears blurring her vision. It wasn't just a check in the win column. It was the entire fucking thing.
"Sparkles." He brushed a kiss against her forehead. "Say something."
That was it. She'd reached her limit. The tears rolled down her cheeks and she could feel her face getting all red and blotchy. "You didn't have to buy me a club."
"I know that." He wiped away one of her tears. "I did it because I love you."
Taking a deep breath, she looked up at the man who'd nearly broken her when he'd driven out of Dallas and who'd finally come back for her. "I'd love you even without the jazz club."
He grinned that lethal grin. "So you're saying you love me?"
Cocky bastard.
She laughed. "Yes, I love you Flynn Kazakov. I never stopped loving you either."
Everyone and their jazz-loving dog might be watching but she didn't care. She lifted herself up on her tiptoes and kissed the man she loved knowing that they may not always move to the same beat but they'd make beautiful music together anyway.
Marko
Fucking great.
Marko sucked down half his bottle of beer in one long swallow. There was his little sister—the one he was supposed to protect from jerks and idiots even if she was a grown adult—making out in public with an asshole who just happened to be one of his best friends. If she wasn't so obviously in love, he'd have to go pound Flynn's face in.
Movement across the way dragged his attention away from the happy couple. Elisa was sitting at the bar watching him. She blew him a covert kiss and then went back to pretending to listen to whatever the skinny musician sitting next to her was saying.
Yeah. She was rubbing his nose in it. What was new?
She might be into playing games but he wasn't. What they'd started in Idaho was going to get finished—sooner rather than later.
"You may not want to hear it Marko, but your sister is one helluva badass," Isaac Camacho said as they stood next to each other by the stage.
Marko did not want to hear it—especially not from Camacho, the most recent full-time addition to B-Squad Security and Investigations. He hadn't been so sure about the former cocky Marine and proud Texan until a month or so ago when Camacho had torn up half the state of Idaho in his mission to rescue the B-Squad's office manager, Tamara's, niece. Camacho had proven himself and ended up with the former beauty queen turned organizational marvel who had some kickass skills when it came to knocking the shit out of people with batons. That kind of dedication and loyalty meant Marko would cut him some slack—but not much.
"Shut up, Camacho," he grumbled and took another swig of beer.
"From what I hear, you had no idea Gillie had the whole cat burglar, con artist thing going on," Isaac said, obviously enjoying busting Marko's chops. "How in the hell did you miss that?"
"How many sisters do you have, Camacho?"
"Five."
God. That sounded like its own kind of special hell. He almost felt bad for the idiot. "And I suppose they're all perfect angels and you know everything about them."
Camacho shifted his weight. "We're close."
"Uh-huh." He rolled back his shoulders and straightened the slouch in his spine and looked down on the other guy, something the six-four Camacho probably wasn't used to. Sucked to be him. "And even though they are blood-related to you, none of them are trouble?"
That shut him up. Well, that and the fact that his phone rang. Glancing down at the same time as Camacho, he saw the caller ID read Leah Camacho.
"Is that the one who owns the pot store in Colorado?" he asked, not bothering to smother the grin curling up his mouth.
"She's a successful business woman." Camacho shot him the bird.
"Uh-huh." Marko chuckled.
The other man answered his cell. "Hey, sis." He paused, his eyes narrowing. "What do you mean you might need bail money?"
Marko didn't bother trying to contain his laugh as Camacho headed toward the door, no doubt to better hear just what kind of trouble his sister had gotten herself into. With the other man gone, Marko's gaze snapped back to the bar where Elisa had been sitting, but she’d disappeared. Sipping down his beer, he scanned The Back Beat until he found her. She was on the dance floor with a guy from the bar who obviously thought he'd hit the mother lode. The doofus with his skinny tie and hipster glasses better think again.
Elisa Sharp may not admit it yet, but she was Marko’s.
Flynn
Still high off that heady kiss and the fact that Gillie was not only coming to New Orleans but loved him, Flynn led her out onto the dance floor. Someone had given Edwin a drink and a microphone. This had officially become a party. As the keeper of the Cup stood guard—there was no way the damn thing was getting stolen twice under Edwin's watch—he started to sing about how the world was always welcoming lovers with a surprisingly good voice.
"This is my favorite song," Gillie said as she swayed with him. "I just love Billie Holiday."
"I kinda guessed that." Otherwise there was something seriously funky going on with her playlist for the night. "What about calling your new club Billie's?"
"I was thinking Barn Burner."
Remembering the first time they'd discussed the term and the hot sex that had come after, he pulled her closer so there was no way she'd miss the direction of his thoughts. "Really, why that?"
A little swivel hip motion and she'd rubbed up against him. Fuck. How soon could they leave?
"Because," she said. "It's the only phrase I can think of at the moment that both jazz musicians and hockey players use."
"So hot chicks and high scoring games? The place would be a guaranteed success."
And so would they. He'd lost her once. He'd never let that happen again.
As if she somehow knew the direction of his thoughts, she brushed a kiss against his neck and laid her head on his shoulder as they moved to the beat. "Thank you, Flynn, I owe you. Again."
This had to stop. They weren't together because of that and she had to know it. "Oh no, the club is my payback to you."
"Are you crazy?"
He shrugged. "So the hockey writers say."
She rolled her eyes and led him off the dance floor to a quieter spot outside the manager's office. She had her don't fuck with me face on. It was cute. Yes, he was an asshole for thinking it, but it was. Everything about her was cute. And hot. And sexy as hell.
"I owed you for that fake alibi," she said crossing her arms and raising up her chin an inch as if she was taking one for the team.
Time to set things straight. "And you paid me back by coming up to Snow Bay to warn me about the frame up."
"And then you rescued me from Slater."
True. But that wasn't where this story ended. "And then you rescued me right back."
She cocked her head. "How?"
"By saying you loved me too." Unable to keep his hands to himself any longer, he stepped forward, nudging her back until her delectable ass was against the wall and his body was blocking her from any prying eyes that may be watching. "But who's keeping score?"
Then he celebrated their victory by dipping his head down and kissing her just the way she liked it, hard, a little bit rough, and a whole lotta crazy.
Thank you so much for reading Blade! I hope you liked Flynn, Gillie, Marko, and Elisa. If you have a second to leave a review, that would be awesome. Next up in the B-Squad series is Trouble, a little side trip to Catfish Creek, Texas with B-Squad’s own Isaac Camacho’s sister. Then, get ready for Marko’s and Elisa’s story, Bold, in 2017. Both will be full of all the action, hotness and sass you expect from a B-Squad book. Subscribe to my newsletter and you’ll be the first to know when these new B-Squad books are available. Plus you’ll get the latest book news, be able to enter monthly giveaways and more! Please stay in touch (avery@averyfl
ynn.com), I love hearing from readers. Don’t forget to check out my other books for more sexy, sassy romance!
xoxo,
Avery
Award-winning romance author Avery Flynn has three slightly-wild children, loves a hockey-addicted husband and is desperately hoping someone invents the coffee IV drip. Her heroines are feisty, fierce and fantastic. Brainy and brave, these ladies know how to stand on their own two feet and knock the bad guys off theirs. Contact her at [email protected]. She’d love to hear from you!
Also By Avery Flynn
The B-Squad Series:
Bulletproof
Brazen
Bang
Tempt Me Series:
His Undercover Princess
Her Enemy Protector
The Killer Style Series:
Killer Temptation (Killer Style #1)
Killer Attraction (Killer Style #2)
Killer Charm (Killer Style #3)
Killer Seduction (Killer Style #4)
The Laytons Series:
Dangerous Kiss (Laytons #1)
Dangerous Flirt (Laytons #2)
Dangerous Tease (Laytons #3)
The Sweet Salvation Brewery Series:
Enemies on Tap (Sweet Salvation Brewery #1)
Hollywood on Tap (Sweet Salvation Brewery #2)
Trouble on Tap (Sweet Salvation Brewery #3)
Making His Move
by
Susan Scott Shelley
Acknowledgments
Thank you as always to my beta reader/brainstorming crew: Jackie, Beth, Chantel, Kate, and Tina. You guys are creative, funny, smart, and simply amazing.
Thank you to my husband Scott for all the support and encouragement and the countless cups of coffee you made me during the writing of this story.
