Hell for Leather (Black Knights Inc. #6)(4)
The three of them fell quiet for one moment. Then two.
“But anyway.” Brendan brushed a hand through the air, as if he could wave off the cloud of discomfort hanging over them. “She’s on a road trip with her uncle. Something about a visit to an old friend of his, and—”
“Oh, I figured she was down there working her woo-woo magic on the budget of some two-bit municipality,” Zoelner said.
Her woo-woo magic…
Zoelner wasn’t talking about Delilah’s ability to hypnotize a man with her cat-eyed stare or the bewitching way her hips swayed when she walked across the room. He wasn’t referring to her talent for whipping up an alcoholic concoction that could taste sweet as candy one minute and knock a man flat on his ass the next or how she could cast a spell over the entire bar simply by tossing her head back and letting loose with that low, throaty laugh of hers. Huh-uh. The guy wasn’t talking about any of that, though it could all certainly count as woo-woo magic, witchcraft, or, in Mac’s not-so-humble opinion, straight-up voodoo sorceress shit. What Zoelner was referring to was the fact that Delilah Fairchild, the sex-pot owner of a down-and-dirty biker bar, happened to spend her free time working as a…wait for it…freakin’ forensic accountant.
Sweet Lord almighty, sometimes Mac still had trouble believing it.
Though, truth be told, he had no trouble whatsoever imagining it. He’d spent more than an hour or two daydreaming about her sitting at a desk somewhere, hair twisted up in a bun, reading glasses perched on the tip of her prim nose. In fact, for the last six months—ever since he’d learned what her second gig was—it’d been his favorite go-to fantasy. Something like the tried-and-true naughty librarian dream set on overdrive, because, you know, that whole one-part-proper-lady-and-two-parts-sex-goddess shtick had been a male spanktrovision standard since the beginning of time and—
The front door burst open, slamming against the inside wall. Mac turned to see who was in such an all-fire hurry to get inside the bar. One look had his lungs playing the part of Michael Jordan. They attempted to leap right out of his throat.
Speak of the devil…
Even if he hadn’t recognized the long auburn hair cascading from beneath a motorcycle helmet and tumbling around a set of leather-clad shoulders, the shouts of gleeful greeting and the lifted mugs of beer would’ve told him the woman of the hour had made her way home.
See… Beautiful and vivacious and able to command the attention of every man in the room…
He swiveled back toward the bar, but the hairs on the back of his neck almost instantly alerted him to the fact that That Woman had marched up behind him.
Slowly, with what he hoped wasn’t a patently false look of unconcern, he turned around. But before he could open his mouth, she whipped off her helmet and shook out her hair. He was accosted by the spicy-sweet scent of her perfume and the earthier aroma of the open road. Inexplicably, and to his utter horror, Little Mac, the idiot in his pants, defied all convention—not to mention the amount of liquor he’d imbibed—and lifted to half-mast.
Well, for God’s sake, he thought with disgust, mentally calling himself and Little Mac ten kinds of fool just as Delilah blurted, “Thank goodness you’re here.”
“Huh?” Okay, and even in his scotch-muddled state, he recognized his response for the gleaming bit of witticism it was not.
Delilah frowned. “Are you drunk?” She placed her hands on her hips. Her round, curvy, delicious hips. Her lovely hips that just begged for a man’s hands and—
Ah, hell…
“Maybe,” he told her, holding his forefinger and thumb an inch apart. “Just a little.”
“Goddamnit!” she growled, then immediately yelled for Brendan to bring over two cups of coffee.
“Hey, now. Don’t do that,” Zoelner objected. “I’ve been working all evening on this buzz and I—”
“Can it,” Delilah cut him off. Mac lifted his eyebrows in surprise. Not that Delilah wasn’t a speak-her-mind, in-your-face kind of broad, because she was. But this was something different. The tone she’d taken with Zoelner bordered on rude.
“I need you.” She pointed a red-tipped finger at Zoelner’s nose, causing the man to go cross-eyed when he attempted to focus on it. Whoa. What? She needed…Zoelner? Then she turned to include him in that stomach-churning statement. “I need both of you.”
Zoelner’s face pulled down in a considering frown. “Just to be clear, I’m not usually the kind of man who likes to share his pleasures.” Okay, and just the thought had a lurid emotion—not jealousy, definitely not jealousy—buzzing at the back of Mac’s head like a swarm of angry Texas yellow jackets. “But if you’ve a mind to—”
“Not like that,” Delilah hissed, color climbing in her already flushed cheeks.
All right. Something…Mac tilted his head, blinking…isn’t right here. Unfortunately, the discombobulating combination of scotch and Delilah’s nearness ensured he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Then she saved him the trouble of trying to figure it out when she blurted, “My uncle is missing. And I need you guys to help me find him.”
Well…hello, sobriety.
Chapter One
Outside Theo Fairchild’s Brownstone