The Schemer (Harbor City 3)

“You made the sauce?” Everly asked, too shocked to think much about the proprietary way he had rooted through her groceries. “No way. He had to have helped.”

“Only if you count yelling as helping.”

“Welcome to my world, buddy,” Heath said. “If you can’t take a little heat, get out of the kitchen.”

And for the next two hours, they didn’t. The three of them laughed and told bullshit stories and watched as Tyler finally boiled the perfect pasta—on his fourth try—before eating the best dinner she’d ever had in her life. By the time Heath left, they were down two bottles of red and she was more than ready to work off some of those delicious carbs in the best way possible.

She set her half-empty wineglass down on the island and started on the buttons of her black blouse. Tyler didn’t say a word, his wineglass in a holding pattern halfway to his lips as he watched her fingers with rapt attention. Good. That was just how she wanted him—enthralled.

“That is the kind of meal that deserves a thank-you.”

He set his glass down with a thunk on the island. “Any way in particular that you’re thinking of?”

Forearms pressed against the island countertop, she leaned forward enough that her blouse gaped open, giving him an excellent view of her lace-covered breasts. “I’ve got this thing I can do with my tongue.”

Now that jerked his gaze up to her face.

“God yes.” It came out like a slow prayer, but he moved fast.

His mouth came down on hers, both of their clothes magically disappeared, and a few hours, days, weeks—who in the hell knew—later they both had pasta sauce splattered on places it normally would never touch and were too sated and exhausted to care.

She swiped her finger through a line of red sauce smeared on his shoulder and sucked it off. “I’ll never look at pasta the same again.”

“Makes two of us, sugar.” Tyler stood up and tossed her over his shoulder like a caveman claiming his woman and headed down the hallway leading to his bedroom. “Now let me soap you off before I drag you to bed with me for round two.”

“Whatever the chef wants,” she responded, and smacked him on his perfect, round ass, laughing all the way to the shower.

…

Tyler hadn’t ever brought anyone—let alone a woman—to Frankie Hartigan’s poker night. Then again, he’d never had someone like Everly to bring. The other women he dated would have taken one look at the one-story bungalow across the harbor from their penthouses and asked to go back home. Everly had made herself at home the second Frankie’s twin brother, Finian, had opened the door and asked her to marry him. She’d told the hulking firefighter that she’d had a wedding dress in cold storage for years just waiting for him. He’d immediately broken out into a cold sweat, which was the only thing that kept Tyler from coldcocking one of his oldest friends. Sure, he would have felt bad afterward, but even the idea of the other guy touching Everly had his Waterbury up.

“You’re not really here with this idiot, are you?” Finian asked, busting Tyler’s balls as usual.

“It’s totally a pity date,” Everly said with a wink.

The other man threw back his head and laughed, curled an arm around Everly, and pulled her into the house he shared with Frankie, calling out to everyone assembled that Tyler had finally found himself a keeper.

He hadn’t, but the idea didn’t scare him nearly as much as it should have. They’d agreed on the island that they were just keeping it casual. They knew exactly where they stood—a little fun, some good times, and no strings attached. That was all it could be, and they both knew it.

So why is the fact that Finian is touching her getting your hackles up?

Tyler shoved the unnerving thought to the back of his brain and put on his game face. Poker night with the Hartigans was a serious affair. They didn’t play for money. Nope. It was all pride and bragging rights.

“Everyone, this is Everly Ribinski,” Finian said, addressing the assembled bunch of Hartigans. “That big carrottop is my twin and fellow firefighter, Frankie; obviously we’re not identical because I’m so much prettier. That card shark over there is Fallon. She’s an emergency room nurse, but don’t let the Florence Nightingale thing fool ya, she’s been known to bluff on a total bust of a hand. And over in the corner on his phone as if he were saving the world instead of ordering six pizzas is our baby brother, Ford. He’s a cop, but we try not to hold the fact that he didn’t grow up to be a firefighter against him.”

Ford flipped off his brother.

Fallon rolled her eyes. “Oh my God, Finian, don’t scare the girl.”

“I’m not scaring her,” Finian said. “I’m welcoming her to the crazy.”

“Well, if she came with Tyler, she’s already used to that,” Fallon said with a laugh. “You wanna beer? You’re gonna need it to deal with all the testosterone.”

Everly smiled. “I’d love one, thanks.”

And just like that, the Hartigans welcomed her into the monthly cutthroat family poker night. After she’d won the third hand in the row, they were asking him if he’d brought a hustler. She took the ribbing in stride. That was the thing with Everly—she always did. The woman did not get fazed. She had a comeback for every teasing insult and a laugh for every joke. If he wasn’t already fucking her every chance he got, he’d be damn jealous as hell of the guy who got to.

That was probably why he’d folded on a full house and again on a flush. His attention sidetracked every time she twirled a silky strand of dark hair around her finger and he got mesmerized by her mouth every time she took a sip of beer. He’d never wanted to be a beer bottle in his life, but the was before he’d seen her drink from one.