Tempted & Taken (Men of Haven #4)(111)
The mood killer worked even better than she expected, dousing the naughty gleam in both men’s eyes faster than the people at the table behind them downed their shots. The big guy stepped back and waved her through without another word.
Viv half laughed and half scoffed, leaning into her first few steps to get some extra forward momentum.
Callie staggered closer and nuzzled next to Viv, her words coming out in a drunken, sleepy slur. “Thanks for coming to get me, Vivie.” The scent of tequila and other things Viv didn’t want to contemplate blasted across her nose and riled what little was left of the snack she’d pilfered at the New Year’s Eve party. “You’re a good sister. I can always count on you.”
An uncomfortable pang rattled in her chest, memories of coming home to an empty apartment when Mom and Dad should’ve been there clanging together all at once. Family was supposed to be there for one another. To love each other and have their backs, not leave them to grapple with life all alone. “Yeah, Callie. I’m here. Always.”
The bouncer who’d let her in took one look at her sister and stepped out of hurling range. “See you found your girl.”
“I did, thanks.” She shouldered the main door open and braced when Callie stumble-stepped down to the sidewalk. A little farther and she’d be home free, or at least in a place where she could battle the rest of the night barefoot in a comfy pair of sweats.
Behind her, the bar door chunked open, and a few of the people crowded in front of the bar called out goodnights and wishes for a happy new year to whoever had come out.
Viv stepped out onto Elm Street, Callie pinned to her hip.
Midstride, Callie lurched and waved to someone across the street. “Stephanie!” The unexpected happy dance knocked them both off center. Callie fisted Viv’s hair in a last-ditch grasp to stay upright, but wrenched Viv’s neck before she went sideways.
Viv stumbled, heels teetering on the blacktop and arms flailing for purchase.
Callie smacked her head on the curb.
Viv braced for her own impact, but strong arms caught her, her back connecting with a warm solid chest instead of the painful concrete she’d expected.
A deep, rumbling voice rang out behind her. “Get Zeke and Trevor out here. See if Danny’s still around, too.”
She clenched the leather-clad arms around her waist and fought to catch a steady breath.
The bouncer hurried into the street and kneeled beside Callie, gently lifting her so her head rested on his lap.
This fucking night. This horrid, embarrassing, fucking night. Behind her, murmurs and giggles from bystanders grew by the second. Her mind pushed for her to get up, deal with Callie, and get home where it was safe, but her body wouldn’t move, mortification and the flood of adrenaline rooting her in place.
The man behind her tightened his hold as though he sensed her self-consciousness. “We got this, sugar.” The tiny movement made the leather of his jacket groan. His scent permeated her haze, a sea-meets-sun combination that made her think of Mediterranean islands and lazy days on the beach, not at all what she’d expect from a man coming out of the dive behind her. He sifted his fingers through her freed hair, moving it to one side of her neck, and a stray bobby pin clattered to the asphalt. “Your neck all right? Your sister gave it a hell of a snap.”
That voice. Every word radiated through her, grated and deep like the rumbling bass of a stereo cranked up too loud.
He stroked her nape, the touch confident and not the least bit platonic.
Her senses leaped to attention, eager for more of the delicious contact. It was all she could do to hold back the moan lodged in the back of her throat. She swallowed and blew out a slow breath instead. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
He lifted her upright, and the muscles in his arms and chest flexed around her, tangling what was left of her reasonable thoughts into a hopeless knot.
A man jogged up, hunkered down beside her sister, and opened up a leather duffel. Not just any man, the guy who’d stitched up the hottie in the office.
She surged forward to intervene, but firm hands gripped her shoulders and pulled her back. “Give Zeke a minute to check her out.”
Viv twisted, ready to shout at whoever dared to hold her back—and froze. Her breath whooshed out of her like she’d hit the pavement after all.
Fantasy Man grinned down at her, a toothpick anchored at the corner of his mouth. His tan spoke of far more hours in the sun than the surgeon general recommended, and his almost black eyes burned with a wicked gleam that promised loads of trouble. And not necessarily the good kind, judging by the vicious scar marking the corner of one eye.
“Zeke’s a trauma doc,” he said. “Perks up like a bloodhound if anyone so much as stubs a toe.”
Callie moaned, and Viv spun back around to find the doc prodding the back of her sister’s neck.
“I know it hurts,” Zeke said. “Can you tell me your name?”
“I don’t feel so good,” Callie said.
Zeke carefully moved Callie’s head back and forth and side to side. “I imagine you don’t. Still want to know your name, though.”
“Callie.”
“That’s a pretty name.” Zeke dug into his duffel and pulled out a penlight. “You know what day it is, Callie?”
Callie’s eyes stayed shut, but she smiled like a kid at Christmas and threw her arms out to the side, damn near whacking Trevor as he sat on the curb beside her. “Happy New Year!”