Sawyer (Carolina Reapers 2)

“Someone thinks mighty high of himself,” I play shoved him again.

“Hard not to with you at my side.”

I leaned into him, drinking in his cinnamon scent, and let the sounds of the piano and symbols and sax soothe that traitorous voice in my head. Settled myself in the moment—this rare moment where the team didn’t have practice until the afternoon, so they could let loose tonight. And I’d wanted to bring them here—all of them. Not just Sawyer, but the whole crew. Wanted them to see and experience a place that meant so much to me. A place draped in history and alive with music and food and drinks.

It was a marvel I could choose to do anything else over being with Sawyer alone, at his new place or mine. The time I’d seen him in the past two weeks since we’d become official had been spent tangled with his body. His lips on my skin, his fingers coaxing moans from my mouth, the weight of him a delicious craving I never could slake. And in between? We talked and laughed and simply were.

Sawyer’s knuckles grazed my cheek, his eyes churning as he watched me. “Where is your mind at?” he whispered in my ear, and chills burst along my skin.

“You,” I said, trailing my lips over his in a featherlight touch. “Always you, lately. I think you’ve properly driven me crazy.”

“Oh, Echo,” he said. “You have no idea.”

I grinned at the tease in his voice, at the promise of what was to come. And I couldn’t wait to see what he had in store.

“You have to have a reason,” Logan said an hour later, eyes on Connell who leaned against the balcony railing, switching from watching the band play to conversing with the rest of us. We’d long since rearranged Coraline’s balcony furniture so we could be closer together and mingle. We’d also long since lost count of how many bottles we’d shared.

“What makes ye say that?” Connell asked.

“Because,” Logan said. “No one loves pranking people that much. No one outside of grade school,” he joked.

The Scotsman held his drink up to him, narrowing his gaze. “I resent that,” he said, though his blue eyes were nothing but tease.

“Come on,” Logan urged. “Spill.”

Connell shook his head, his blond hair messy in that perfect way. “There doesn’t have to be a reason,” he said, his accent thick, but surprisingly I was getting better at interpreting him. He pointed to where Cannon sat on the edge of the couch, sipping a dark amber liquid from a glass tumbler, having foregone the champagne. “That’s like saying there has to be a reason for Cannon to be so angry all the time.” Connell held out his arms. “Sometimes things just are.”

Cannon flipped him off, but there was a crackle of something behind his dark eyes—amusement, maybe. I was a hardass when I wanted to be, but even I wasn’t about to cross the line to get Cannon to open up. It had taken me a month of seeing him at Scythe to work up the courage to comment how fond I was of his tattoos, and all I’d gotten was an appreciative grunt and a kind request for another drink. Good luck to the girl who was currently perched on his lap.

“One day,” Lukas chimed in, pointing at the Scotsman. “One day you’re going to pull some shit on the wrong person, and it’s going to bite you right in the ass.”

“Speaking of ass biting,” Connell said. “I quite like a good risk. That’s the fun of it, isn’t it? And the laughs.”

Noble tsked him. “Yeah, we’ll all be laughing, buddy, when that day does come and someone hands your ass to you.”

The laughter drained from Connell’s face, his arms dropping to his sides, his drink clinking near his hip. “You’ll all still have me back, though, right?”

“No question,” Axel said, standing up to clap the Scotsman on his shoulder. “But we’ll still laugh our asses off.”

That was met by laughter from all of us. I set down my empty flute, wiping the tears from the corners of my eyes.

Sawyer grinned at me. “You’re beautiful.”

I rolled my eyes. “Please,” I chided. “I’m sure I’ve laughed off all my eyeliner. I probably look like a raccoon right now.”

He shook his hand and tugged me to standing. “You’re beautiful,” he said again then moved his cheek to mine, his lips at my ear. “And you’re mine,” he whispered, sending a trail of warm chills in his breaths’ wake. He pulled back slightly, his head tilted. “Dance with me?”

I wetted my lips, my mouth suddenly dry, but managed to nod.

Sawyer interlocked our fingers, leading me down the stairs and onto the crowded dance floor, the band switching to another number. This one slow, sultry, and electric.

The music pulsed around us while Sawyer slid his hands over my hips, taking the lead as he moved us in slow dips and swaying steps. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pressing my chest against his as our bodies writhed to the intoxicating music, every inch of me alive with the feel of him against me, the heat from his body, the intensity in his eyes.