Every Little Thing (Hart's Boardwalk 2)

“I know.” She preened, making us laugh.

“Miss,” a masculine voice called, and then a guy appeared at the bottom of the stairs. He walked up them, holding the hand of a short, pretty blonde. He looked to Emery. “We’d like to purchase a couple of books if that’s okay.” He smiled apologetically at me and then his gaze flicked to Dahlia, presumably to offer her the same.

Yet his smile froze, replaced by shock. “Dahlia?”

Dahlia was staring at him as if he were a ghost.

And a ghost she was terrified of. “Michael.”

Michael? This was Michael! No wonder she’d gone chalk white.

Michael stared at her like a man who’d been lost in the desert for weeks and had finally found a watering hole. Having apparently forgotten anyone else existed he took a step toward her and stopped when the woman at his side tugged on his hand.

She scowled up at him.

Michael seemed too stunned to care about the blonde’s glowering.

His beautiful brown eyes returned to Dahlia. “What are you doing here?”

Dahlia tucked her trembling hands under the table where he couldn’t see. “What are you doing here?” she evaded.

“We’re on vacation.” The blonde spoke up, curling into Michael’s side. “Mike, who is this?”

The plaintive tone seemed to cut through his daze. “Uh, Kierston, this is Dahlia. She’s Dermot’s little sister.”

“I thought she died.”

I reached out for Dahlia, grasping her hand under the table at this woman’s way too casual mention of a dark time in Dahlia’s life.

Michael turned his sad eyes to Dahlia. “That was Dillon.”

“I need to go.” Dahlia stood up, jerking her hand out of mine, and refusing to meet anyone’s gaze. She stormed by, moving quicker than I’d ever seen her move.

“Dahlia!” Michael yanked out of Kierston’s grip and moved to follow her.

But I was quick, too, and I rounded him, putting my hands up between us. “You’re going to let her go.”

He glared at me. “Move.”

I wasn’t going to lie, he was kind of scary, but I held my ground. “Nope.”

“Mike . . .” his girl whined. “What is going on?”

The bell tinkled, signaling Dahlia’s departure.

Frustrated, he ran a hand through his thick hair. His T-shirt sleeve rose, and his bicep bulged as he moved. He wasn’t the tallest guy, but he was tall enough at about five ten, five eleven. He was very broad-shouldered and built. I studied him, seeing the appeal. Although not the most handsome guy I’d ever met, he had beautiful eyes and what I tended to call Indiana Jones lips. Very kissable lips. A short, scruffy beard currently surrounded those lips and I had to say the beard was hot.

I could definitely see the appeal in Michael Sullivan. Yes, I knew his full name. I knew a lot about this guy. Which was exactly why I wasn’t letting him anywhere near Dahlia if she didn’t want him near her.

“What is Dahlia doing here?” he demanded.

“She’s on vacation,” I lied. “Just like you. Small world, huh? But she leaves tomorrow.”

“Where is she staying?”

“None of your business and I think your girlfriend”—I nodded to Kierston—“would agree.”

“Wife,” she corrected. “His wife.”