Undeniable (Undeniable, #1)(31)
“Busy, Eva, baby,” he sighed. “Can we do this later?”
“NO!”
Fucking hell. She was beautiful. Hair, dark and long, falling in soft waves over her shoulders and past her breasts. She was wearing makeup, more than he ever saw her wear; it looked good, made her appear polished, but he didn’t like it. He couldn’t see the freckles on her nose or the natural pink of her cheeks. Her dress was thin cotton, off the shoulder and shapeless, showing off a lot of leg, giving her a casual and sexy appearance. She looked hot as f*ck, but he liked her better in baggy jeans, hanging low on her hips, and tiny T-shirts that showed her belly. His gaze traveled to her neck, to the gold chain still on it, and his old man’s tag that he knew was hanging in between her breasts underneath her dress.
She was so mad, so focused on Frankie, that she hadn’t even noticed him. He was staring at her, boring holes through her head, and still nothing.
“Frankie, tell Eva where her shit is ’fore I kick the f*ckin’ shit outta you!”
Preacher’s body jerked and a shout came from under the table. Frankie crawled out, holding his side, and glaring at Preacher.
“Franklin Salvatore Deluva,” Eva snapped. “I am waiting.”
Jumping to his feet, Frankie pulled a cell phone out of his back pocket and tossed it to her. She caught it one-handed.
“Where’s the rest?” she demanded, not quite as angry as she’d been a moment ago.
“Chucks are in the freezer, babe,” Frankie said, grinning.
“You put her Chucks in the freezer? With our food?” Dog asked.
“Yup.”
“Huh.”
Eva started tapping her bare foot. “Purse, Frankie. Where’s my purse?”
“Purse?” Joe snorted. “Don’t cha mean that f*ckin’ potato sack you could fit a family of midgets in?”
Preacher, Dog, Joe, Tiny, and Frankie all burst out laughing.
Pissed off, Eva spun around, ready to march out of the room. Her eyes found his, and she froze in midspin and lost her footing. He shot out of his seat, but Cox was closer and grabbed her waist, hoisting her up from midfall and what would have been a nasty spill.
“Hey, Foxy,” Cox whispered, grinning. She blinked up at him.
He helped her straighten up, and she quickly stepped away, glancing warily back at Frankie.
Frankie’s face was bright red, his hands were clenched into fists, and his veins were bulging out of his neck and arms. He looked like the madman everyone thought he was.
Preacher rolled his eyes. “Frankie, he was just helpin’ her. You bury your bullshit right f*ckin’ now.”
He didn’t. His crazy eyes stayed focused on Cox. Cox, who had never backed down from a challenge in his life, held Frankie’s stare and didn’t back down.
“FRANKLIN!” Preacher roared.
Pouting like a five-year-old, Frankie sat down hard in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.
Swallowing hard and avoiding any eye contact with him, Eva turned back to Frankie. “Purse, baby,” she said softly. “I need it.”
Some of the crazy faded from Frankie’s eyes, and he smiled at her. “Microwave, babe.”
Tiny guffawed loudly, and Preacher shook his head.
“Sorry I interrupted,” she said, turning to Preacher. “Love you, Daddy; love you, Uncle Joe; love you, Uncle Dog; and love you, too, Tiny, with extra sugar.”
Every single one of those men went liquid. She wasn’t just another biker brat; she was the biker brat. The glue that held these men together. Eva Fox was the princess of the Silver Demons MC.
Even Charlie looked affected. Girl was sweet and bright. She blinded every man in the room.
“Love you, baby,” she whispered to Frankie.
His heart seized.
“Fuck yeah, baby,” Frankie whispered back. “Always.”
Preacher looked back and forth between them and smiled proudly.
Since Deuce was pretty sure he was five seconds from pulling his piece, he excused himself.
? ? ?
“Is Mrs. Henderson expecting you?”
I glared at the snotty woman. “Yes.”
“You’re not on her list for the day, Ms. Fox, and I’m afraid I can’t let you go up. The Hendersons do not like being disturbed on the weekends.”
I slammed my fists down on the desk. “CALL HER!”
Scowling, the woman turned away and dialed Kami’s apartment. Or rather, her two-story sky-rise penthouse with a bird’s-eye view of Manhattan.
“Mrs. Henderson, I have a Ms. Fox here to—”
The woman’s jaw went slack, and I knew Kami was laying into her. I could hear her screaming through the phone from where I stood.
The woman hung up. “Go on up,” she said crisply, avoiding eye contact.
“Thanks,” I sneered.
I burst into Kami’s cathedral foyer complete with Romanesque pillars, shoved past a bewildered Chase—who was surprisingly wearing flannel pajamas—and ran through a series of white rooms, furnished with either white or gray furniture and colorless abstract art that didn’t resemble anything I’d ever seen before in my life—except maybe an ink stain after a pen explodes—and burst into Kami’s bedroom.
She was lying in her king-sized canopy princess bed in a pale pink teddy and a pale pink silk robe, her long blonde hair fanned out around her head, flipping through a fashion magazine.