Fatal Strike (McClouds & Friends #10)(15)

Miles rubbed his temples. “Cigarettes and bourbon on your breath. Pert shampoo. Old Spice aftershave. Arid Extra Dry, the chemicals they used to dry-clean your suit, the plastic they wrapped it in. Christ, if I took a step closer, I’d pass out from the toxic fumes.”

Petrie uncapped his bottle, drank. “Keep your distance, then.”

“I will,” Miles assured him. “Sveti smelled way better than you. Those pheremones pumping out of her, man. Yum.”

“Keep your dirty mind off her pheremones,” Petrie snapped.

That smile twitched across Miles’ face again. Caught out, in his f*cking schoolboy crush. What a dickhead. He held out the flask, in silent invitation.

“Tried that,” Miles said. “Doesn’t help.”

Petrie stoppered the flask, stuck it in his jacket. “That’s sad, man,” he said. “I’m sorry for you. Let’s get on with this.”

They pushed into the church. The organ blared, and lace fluffed, orange flower-scented matrimonial hooplah swelled to greet them.





If managing his disability was like walking a tightrope, managing it at this wedding was like walking a tightrope with an army of screaming maniacs constantly trying shove him off. The kids alone, Jesus. The McCloud Crowd’s brood had pelted straight for him, en masse, shrieking for joy. He could armor himself against the adults, barely, but man, he loved those kids. Even through the shield, he felt it.

He’d gotten through the ceremony without losing his shit, evading Zia Rosa, but he could not evade everybody. And nobody was satisfied with his lame mumblings about camping to “get his head together.”

A few hours of that treatment, and he found himself circling the reception restlessly, like a shark that had to keep swimming or die. Pretending he was going someplace specific with great speed and purpose so he had a reason to avoid eye contact.

“Miles! I was hoping I’d find you here!”

He jerked his head around, nerves jangling. Holy shit.

It was Cindy, looking stunning, in a skin-tight, red cocktail dress like an old-time Hollywood star, her lips painted red to match. He had not expected to see her here. By no means. He had to scramble to keep his shield strong and steady, he was so startled.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded. “Were you invited?”

Cindy rolled her eyes. “Crashed it. Erin and Connor are furious, but everyone else is too polite to say anything.” She threw back the last of her flute of champagne, and exchanged it for a fresh, full one from a passing server’s tray. “I mean, like, what harm could I possibly do?”

That was a question he would not care to debate. He edged back, hoping she wouldn’t try to touch him. The shield, the shield. It was all about the shield.

“Wow, you look different,” she said, her eyes wondering as she circled him. “I’ve never seen you so brown, not even in the summer. And you’re so thin. Your face. You look sort of, I don’t know. Feral.”

He choked off a bark of laughter. “I’m still housetrained.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” she said, batting her eyes. “I think it’s hot. Have you been, like, not eating? Missing me, maybe?”

That he did not want to touch. He shook his head, backing away.

“Wait!” she lunged forward, trying to grab his hand. He whipped it away just in time, and she looked hurt. “You’re still mad?”

He almost laughed, but it was just too miserably sad, that she could be so self-absorbed and dense. That he had endured it for so long.

“No, I’m not mad,” he said. “I’m done. There’s a difference.”

Her brown eyes shimmered with tears. “I broke up with Aengus two months ago,” she confided. “Turns out he had a serious girlfriend back in Ireland. A seven-year-old son, too. He was just playing around.”

“Ah.” He waited. “And this is relevant to me exactly why?”

She snapped her empty glass angrily down on a nearby table, and beckoned to a passing waiter until the girl passed by with another tray of glasses. “Don’t be a prick,” she snapped, taking another swallow. “I’m trying to apologize, and explain, and you’re making it really hard.”

“Don’t waste your breath, Cin,” he told her. “I’m not interested.”

“Oh, come on.” She gave him that look from under her sooty lashes. “You’re furious, and you have a perfect right to be. And I am so ready to make it up to you. I checked the place out when I got here. There’s this administrative office in the back that’s unlocked. No one there. We’ll lock it from the inside, and I’ll do anything you want. And believe me . . . I know just what you want. I know you so well.”

Oh, Jesus. He wished there was a way he could make her understand what was wrong with this picture.

If he were a different kind of guy, without scruples or complicated sensorial brain damage, he might just take her up on her offer. She was gorgeous, skilled. He could just enjoy it, and walk away, vindicated.

Bummer for him, he was not that guy.

Cindy took his hesitation to mean that he was tempted, and started moving in on him, penetrating his danger zone. He tried not to lurch back. God forbid he make a spectacle out of himself. He was sure they were being minutely observed as it was. By everyone.