Undercover Engagement (Private Pleasures 5)

“Could you find out? Please, Dobie. Just ask and see what he says. What’s the harm in asking?”

Dobie thought that through for a minute. “Maybe none,” he conceded.

“Could you do it, then? For me? Your friend.”

Now Dobie stared over her shoulder toward the front of the pub. She had a sudden, burning desire to know who he looked at, because it wasn’t Kenny or Swain, but she didn’t want to shatter the moment by turning away from him. She held her breath and watched his eyes refocus on her.

“Okay,” he said softly. “I’ll ask him tomorrow and let you know.”

She pulled him into a tight hug and offered him a heartfelt thank-you.

“It’s no problem.”

“It’s huge, Dobie. I’ll never forget this. I owe you a favor—a big one—no matter what your guy says.”

Roxy finished a song. Over applause, Dobie said, “Just don’t get your hopes too high, okay?” He backed up to put some space between them. “I’ll try to talk it up, but, like I said, I don’t know if he’s down to take on another dealer.”

“I know. But still…” She leaned in and kissed his cheek. He turned red as an apple. With their faces close, she whispered, “I really appreciate you doing this.”

“Aw, shucks, ma’am. It’s nothin’,” he drawled, then took a step back. “Can you do me a favor, Eden?”

“I’ll try my best. What do you need?”

“Could you go over and make up with Swain now, before he kicks my ass?”

She laughed, then turned to follow Dobie’s line of sight and saw Swain cutting through the crowd toward them, looking ominous as an F5 tornado approaching a mobile-home park. The intensity of his frustration and jealousy felt so real it sent a reckless shiver of excitement through her.

“I’ll get right on that,” she assured Dobie and made a beeline for her partner.

…

He watched Eden approach, searching her face for clues of how the conversation went. For once, her expression gave nothing away, but he was so fucking attuned to her, he read success in the unhurried pace of her black cowboy boots across the boards and the relaxed movement of her body under her short, red sundress. Or maybe what he picked up on came directly from her brainwaves, like some unique ESP they shared between them. Whatever the source, he knew the answer without her uttering a word. When she got within arm’s reach, he simply reeled her in, sank his hand into her hair, and kissed her. Not a kiss of triumph, although he did share the flush of her success. He felt other things, too—desperation, unwarranted jealousy—and those came out in full force, turning the kiss into the fierce, conflicted gesture of a man trying to stake his claim and bend her will while also pushing for make-up sex.

When he relinquished her lips, she clung to him and snuggled her face against his neck. “Take me home now,” she whispered.

His body reacted to the brush of her lips against his skin with a quick shiver. “Ah, choux, I would like nothing better, but I can’t drive yet.”

She eased away and blinked up at him. He detected a little tipsy in her heavy-lidded eyes. “Yeah. Two shots plus whatever the last drink amounted to pretty much hit my limit.”

He turned her, wrapped an arm around her waist, and steered them toward the front entrance. “One and a half shots for me—I didn’t finish the second,” he explained at her confused look. “After the toast, we headed to the table. I left it half empty on the bar.”

“Sneaky.” She elbowed his side. “Wish I’d thought to do that.”

“You’re not driving, and you needed to stay loose. Our third drinks were two fingers of water and a splash of bourbon for color.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Told the waitress I wanted to get laid tonight so we had to go easy. Anyway”—he held the door for her and followed her out onto the covered porch that stretched along the front of the pub—“give me a half hour more, and then I’m good to go.”

A few groups of people loitered here and there in the parking lot, but they had the porch to themselves. He backed up to lean against a corner of the railing, away from the neon glare of the front windows, and pulled Eden into his arms. “How’re you feeling?”

“I don’t know. Half happy. Half guilty. Half drunk.”

He laughed and tucked her head under his chin. “Better check your math, choux. That’s three halves. Lemme see if I can get rid of one for you. The guilt needs to go.” A cluster of women came up the steps. He recognized Ginny Buchanan, Lou Ann, Dr. Ellie Longfoot, her office manager, Melody, and the polished strawberry blonde who ran DeShay’s diner in town. Eagle-eyed Ginny spotted them in their shadowy corner.

“Hey, Swain. Hey, Eden,” she called. “How’re you doin’, girl?”

Eden turned to face the ladies, extended her splinted wrist, and gave them a thumbs-up. “Good. Thanks for asking.”

The doc came closer. Eden met her halfway. Light from a window cast their shadows long across the porch. “No swelling? No sharp pain?”

“None.” Eden held her wrist out and submitted to a brief exam. “It feels like it’s healing fine.”