Savage Hearts (Queens & Monsters #3)(6)
Wherever we are, it’s small and exclusive.
It’s also humid as hell. My hair’s up in a ponytail, but I can already feel it curling.
A sleek black Range Rover with tinted windows and shiny rims awaits on the runway. The driver steps out when he sees me at the top of the airstairs.
He’s wearing a black suit so tight around the crotch area, it’s almost pornographic.
Though, I suppose, if I were packing that much heat between my legs, I’d get my suits tailored to show it off, too. Wowzers, this guy is hung.
Smiling, trying to maintain eye contact and not ogle his goodies, I approach this well-endowed specimen of manhood and stick out my hand.
“Hi. I’m Riley.”
The stud shakes my hand with such serious intent, it’s as if we’re two world leaders on a critical UN diplomatic meeting to save humanity.
He’s got dark blond hair, gorgeous hazel eyes, a spiderweb tattoo on the side of his neck, and a jawline so glorious it could make angels weep.
He bears a striking resemblance to the Marvel comic book character, Thor, Norse god of thunder.
“Hullo, Riley. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Okay, the world is totally an unfair place, because not only is Thor an ovulation-inducing stud, he’s got a hot-as-fuck Irish accent to boot.
I bet Sloane’s marrying the O’Donnell guy for the money, but banging this Thor dude on the side.
I hate to admit it, but it’s a good plan.
“Nice to meet you, too. What’s your name?”
“Spider.”
I make a face. “Spider? No. Your mother didn’t name you that. What’s your real name?”
There’s a beat of silence where it looks like he’s trying not to smile. “Homer.”
“Really? That’s cool! I’ve never met anyone named after an ancient Greek poet.”
He lowers his head and examines my expression with such intensity, I’m taken aback.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“No.”
“Then why are you looking at me like that?”
“Your sister said exactly the same thing to me about my name when we met. Verbatim.”
“Oh. Huh. Weird.”
“Aye.”
Oh my god, people from Ireland actually say “aye.” That’s so hot. Stop looking at his crotch.
“If you don’t mind, I’d prefer if you called me Spider, though. Most of the lads don’t know my real name.”
My ears prick at the mention of “lads.”
If there are more Spiders wherever we’re headed, I’m extending this vacation indefinitely.
“Sure. You can count on me not to spill the beans. I’m good at keeping secrets.”
I grin at him. He gives me an indecipherable look, then turns to take my bag from a worker carrying it over from the plane.
Spider throws the bag into the back of the SUV, opens the rear door for me, and waits for me to climb in. Then he slams the door shut behind me and slides behind the wheel.
We peel out with such force, I’m thrown back against the seat.
“Are we in a car chase I don’t know about?”
“No. Why?”
The SUV careens around a corner, tires squealing. Now I’m thrown sideways, nearly banging my head on the window.
“Oh, no reason. It’s just that a skull fracture isn’t on my itinerary.”
Glancing at me in the rearview mirror, he frowns. Then he takes another corner so fast, I have to cling to the door handle so I don’t smash through the rear window and rocket off into space.
“Dude, will you please cool it? I’m getting tossed around back here like a beach ball at the Electric Daisy Carnival!”
I can tell from the look on his face that he doesn’t get the reference. But he does slow down to under a thousand miles per hour, so I guess he understands the general idea that I’m not one for aggressive shows of speed.
“Thank you. Sheesh.”
We drive for a while without exchanging more conversation. I resist the urge to pester him with questions, mostly because I’m afraid his Irish accent will make my panties go up in smoke.
After Spider has glanced curiously at me in the rearview mirror about four hundred times, I sigh heavily and adjust my glasses. “I know. My sister and I don’t look alike.”
“Same cheek, though.”
“Cheek?”
“Sass. Confidence.”
“Ha! Nobody on earth has Sloane’s self-confidence.”
He chuckles. “Aye. Except maybe her man.”
I wasn’t going to ask questions but curiosity gets the better of me. “You mean her fiancé? The rich and elderly Mr. O’Donnell?”
He glowers. “Forty-two is hardly elderly, lass.”
Okay, two things. First: he’s right. Though it’s quite a bit older than Sloane, forty-two isn’t elderly.
More importantly, being called “lass” is my new favorite kink.
I drape myself over the back of the passenger seat and stare at Spider’s beautiful profile.
After a moment, he flashes me a quizzical look.
“Sorry, I’m just trying to imagine what it must be like to walk around looking like that.”
“Like what?”