Back to You: Bad Boys of Red Hook Read online

  Her blush brought out the emerald green of her eyes as they raked over him. Damn, the woman could get him half hard with just a look.

  Bree bit her lip, which was still slightly swollen from their earlier escapades. “You can leave, Storm. Simon and I will handle it from here.”

  “No, thanks. But you’re welcome to take off if you want some time.”

  “It’s my shift.” She came around the bar with eyes flashing, and he had the urge to pick her up and carry her to her office for round two.

  “I’ll take that end of the bar,” Simon said as he turned away. “Storm, let me know if you have any questions.”

  Storm couldn’t help but smile at Bree as she fumed. There was nothing he liked more than taking Breezy down a peg or two, well, except for kissing her.

  “Fine. Do what you want.” Her phone announced a text message, and she checked it, making sure to keep the screen pointed away from him. Whatever.

  * * *

  Bree answered Daniel Knickerbocker’s text asking about the Harbor Pier fund-raiser. She’d put him off before, even though her presence was expected, because she didn’t know if Pete would be home. Since she was suddenly free and her easy-escape allies—Rocki and Patrice—were already settled at the bar for the night, she jumped at Daniel’s offer to get out of the uncomfortable situation Storm had put her in.

  She stepped aside and tried to avoid the bucket of ice swinging from the bar back’s gangly arm and ran right into Storm. “Excuse me.” She waited for him to move—he didn’t. “With the three of us and Cory running around, it’s too crowded behind the bar.”

  “I’m making margaritas. I need the blender. Where do you suggest I go?”

  “New Zealand would be good.”

  She was being hard on him, she knew it, but when it came to Storm, she had no filter. She just couldn’t control it. He had no right to come here and stir up old feelings and emotions. He had no right to crowd her. He had no right to make her want him.

  Storm expertly salted the glasses and poured, shooting a look toward the door. “There are a few people waiting to be seated; maybe you should give the hostess a hand. Simon and I can handle the bar.”

  As she turned to glare at him, the too-high heel of her shoe stuck in one of the small holes peppering the floor mat, sending her reeling right into Storm.

  He caught her.

  Bree wasn’t sure if she was thankful or not. It would be a lot safer to fall on the floor than to fall for Storm Decker—something she swore she’d never do again.

  In heels, Bree was almost eye to eye with him. His eyes turned an amazing shade of blue shot with green. She sucked in a breath and got a lungful of Storm-flavored air, which didn’t help matters.

  “Hi, Bree.”

  Patrice. Bree closed her eyes and willed Storm’s hands off her body.

  “Storm. It’s nice the two of you are getting along so well. Picking up where you left off, I see.”

  Of course Storm hadn’t let Bree go; if anything, he held her closer. When she opened her eyes, Storm had his good-time-guy grin aimed at Patrice.

  “You’re as beautiful as ever, Patrice.” Storm’s hold tightened on Bree, and he lifted her off the offending mat as if she were an inanimate object. He tugged her closer, wedging her between him and the corner of the bar—leaving her no escape. “It’s great to see you.” He nodded toward Francis. “Glad you could make it.”

  Simon came closer. “Cory and I have the bar under control. Why don’t you two take a break with Patrice and Francis before the rush?”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Storm’s hand lowered, and he brought his mouth to her ear. “After you, Breezy.”

  “Remove your hand from my ass,” she said, speaking through a smile so Patrice wouldn’t be able to read her lips, “or you’ll need a surgeon to reattach it.”

  Storm let out an annoying, sexy chuckle, ushered her to an empty booth, and then squeezed in beside her.

  Bree had always thought the booths were roomy until she sat in one with Storm Decker. His thigh pressed against hers, heat searing through her thin crepe pants, his broad shoulders straightened and crowded her. She pressed against the wall until his arm came around and pulled her to his side. He grunted when her elbow dug into his ribs.

  Patrice settled on the bench across from them and leaned into Francis with a contented sigh. “How’s Pete doing? I haven’t been able to get to the hospital for a visit in a few days.”

  “Great,” Bree said.

  “He looks like crap,” Storm said at the same time. He glanced at Bree. “I can’t believe the change in him.”

  They looked at each other, and Patrice raised an eyebrow.

  Bree cleared her throat. “He looks a lot better than he did before you got here. You should have seen him last week.”

  “I would have had I known he was in the damn hospital.” Exasperation either at himself or at her filled the small booth.

  “Yeah, so you say. He’s been in the hospital for over a week; where were you? Oh right, you were yachting in New Zealand.”

  “You knew how to reach me.” He turned his shoulders and leaned into her until they were nose to nose.

  Bree pushed against his chest. “I did not, and why would I bother?” He didn’t back off, so she kept her hand hard against him, afraid he’d come closer. “I called Logan when I needed help. I thought he was more dependable. I guess I was wrong. After all, he sent you.”

  “I didn’t hear any complaints.” His deep voice rumbled against her palm.

  “Oh, you mean when I knocked you out? I doubt you heard much of anything.”

  “What was your excuse earlier, Breezy?”

  “Temporary insanity.”

  “Yeah, we seem to have that effect on each other.” His hand covered hers, and she realized she’d curled his shirt in her fist. His lips drew into a half smile. “I’m not complaining.”

  “You’re impossible—”

  “To forget, or so I’ve been told.”

  “In your dreams.” God, she sounded like Nicki. She felt her phone vibrate at her hip—and from the way Storm jumped, so had he. “Excuse me.” She slid her hand into her pocket and down Storm’s thigh since his was pressed against hers, grabbed her phone, and smiled at Daniel’s text, “Pick u up in 15.”

  Bree felt Storm tense beside her. She didn’t think he could see the message, but then with Storm, she never knew. He had a way of seeing way too much.

  Bree realized the menus were already on the table. When had they been delivered? She opened hers and studied it as if she’d never seen the damn thing before. Forget the fact that she designed it.

  “What’s everyone having?”

  Bree wanted to kiss her favorite server, Wanda, who stood with her pad at the ready. She always had perfect timing.

  Bree gave her a grateful smile. “Why don’t we just start with an appetizer?” That was all she had time for. They could order dinner after she left with Daniel. “Does everyone want to split the artichoke dip?” She kicked Francis under the table.

  “Sure. Sounds good,” Francis answered as Bree pocketed her phone. She ended up sliding her hand over Storm’s side again.

  Bree took a gulp of water, ignoring Patrice’s pointed stare. What Bree wanted was scotch, preferably a full bottle, but with Storm around, she’d be better off sticking to water.

  * * *

  Storm wanted to kick his own ass for offering to take over the shift for her—especially with her dressed like a walking wet dream and sending and receiving texts from God knew who. He didn’t know what Breezy was up to, but he’d bet a year’s commissions that she was up to no good.

  He took a deep breath and tried to calm his hammering heart. He had planned to crowd Breezy, hoping to upset her equilibrium, but hadn’t considered what her closeness would do to his. Damn, she smelled amazing and looked even better. He definitely had to get his mind off the woman pressing against his side. “Patrice, tell me what you’ve been up to since
I left. You graduated the same year Bree did, right?”

  “Yes. I went to nursing school and got my RN. I work in the ER at Methodist part-time, three days a week. Francis and I got married right after I graduated from college, and we had Cassidy a year and a half later. She’s five and Callie is three. They’re a handful, but I love being a mom. What about you? What are you up to?”

  Storm leaned back, and Bree’s hair tickled his arm. “I design yachts, both sailing and motor. I do everything from coastal cruisers to full-out racing yachts, and I race every chance I get.”

  “It’s been years since we’ve seen you, and that’s all you’re going to tell us? Come on, Storm.”

  “There’s not much else to tell.” And wasn’t that the truth? He’d built his company and nothing else. “I’ve been busy working, building my business.”

  “And your social life?”

  “That’s pretty much business related too. You know how it is.”

  Patrice raised an eyebrow. “No, but I can imagine. I hear boat people are very friendly.”

  Storm felt more than saw Bree’s spine stiffen.

  “How were the girls at the park today, Patrice?” Bree rolled her napkin in her lap—it was going to be a mangled knot before their food was delivered. “Was Nicki good for you?”

  “Oh, you know Nicki; she’s always great. Now, Storm, how long are you staying? Any chance of your coming back home for good?”

  Home? Red Hook? No, Red Hook couldn’t be home. When he left, he’d sworn he’d never come back—not for more than a visit. Shit. Cell doors slammed shut in his mind; the sound echoed in his ears. His throat tightened and his scalp tingled. He’d been in jail only once, but that was enough to know what being good and trapped felt like. He never wanted to relive the experience.

  Bree continued to roll her napkin in her lap. He didn’t miss the tremor in her fingers.

  “I’ll stay as long as it takes for Pop to get back on his feet or until Logan or Slater can pull himself away from what each of them is doing. Then I’ll go back to Auckland.”

  “But until then, you’re staying with Bree?”

  “No, I’m staying at Pop’s.”

  “And so is Bree, so you’re staying with Bree.”

  Francis put his hand on Patrice’s and gave it a squeeze. “Patty, behave.”

  Storm had the urge to run; he checked the bar, hoping Simon needed help. But no, everything was under control. Simon was a damn good bartender—much to Storm’s dismay.

  “I’m just trying to get the facts straight from the horse’s mouth.” Patrice gave Bree a strange look, almost as if daring her to say something, and then ran a hand over Francis’s chest before nuzzling his ear. “Besides, you like me better when I’m naughty.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t think Storm and Bree appreciate it.”

  “No, but Bree appreciates it when Storm is—like this afternoon, right, Bree?”

  “He wasn’t…I didn’t…”

  Francis shrugged and gave Bree his what-can-I-do-she’s-your-friend-too look.

  Relieved to be out of the line of Patrice’s fire, Storm laughed and pulled Bree closer to whisper in her ear. “Oh yeah, I was, and you certainly did.”

  The server delivered the artichoke dip and saved Breezy from making a fool of him. And he was a fool. What the hell had he been thinking kissing Bree like he had?

  Bree took a chip and ran it through the steaming, cheesy, creamy dip.

  Hadn’t he learned anything from when he’d made that mistake the first time?

  Bree slipped the cheese-covered chip between her lips, and his dick twitched. Apparently not. Fuck.

  * * *

  Storm’s words reverberated in Bree’s head, making her panties moist and her bra feel a cup too small. He was impossible, and she could only imagine what he would do if he knew what his words alone did to her.

  Stuffing a chip in her mouth, she wondered if Patrice and Francis would notice if she smashed her spiked heel through Storm’s foot. She wished she had more room under the table to really put some weight behind it. At least Daniel had been only a few blocks away when he texted her. He should be here any moment. She kept one eye on the door and the other on Storm.

  As if she’d conjured him, Daniel Knickerbocker stepped into the bar and scanned the room. A little kernel of guilt skittered through her. She wouldn’t have thought to accept Daniel’s offer if she wasn’t just a little bit desperate. She’d gone out on one date with him—which was a mistake. Not only was it a bad first date; it was the last date she’d been on. It had been a while…. Okay, so it was six months ago—February, if she remembered correctly. Right after yet another depressing Valentine’s Day. In Bree’s book, there was nothing worse than watching a bar full of couples make eyes at each other for sixteen hours straight. Valentine’s Day made single women everywhere a little desperate and was the sole reason a woman would go out with someone she would never ordinarily date and do things she’d just as soon forget.

  Daniel stood taller than most men and wore his summer-weight suit the way James Bond wore tuxedos. As a matter of fact, now that she thought about it, he even looked a little bit like the new James Bond. He might not blow her skirt up, but from the way other women followed his progress through the bar, it didn’t look as if Daniel ran into that problem often.

  “Oh good, Daniel’s here. You guys have a good time catching up. Maybe I’ll see you later if you’re still here when I get back.” Bree waited for Storm to release her from the booth. “Excuse me.”

  Storm didn’t move.

  “Storm, I need to leave.”

  “And go where?”

  “None of your business. Now move.”

  He stiffened as she raised her arm and waved at Daniel. And when Daniel’s gaze zeroed in on her, she heard Storm curse under his breath. Storm and Daniel were both hunters but in different ways. Daniel was the more refined, gentlemanly type—always far above it all, like a highly skilled sniper, whereas Storm was the lone wolf. He was wild, untamed, and had instinctive skills honed by survival in a kill-or-be-killed world. He slid out of the bench seat.

  Patrice put her hand over Bree’s. “You’d rather go out with Daniel Knickerbocker than stay here with us?”

  Bree raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at Storm. “Definitely.” She ran her hand through her hair and cursed all the mousse and paste and hair spray she’d used. “I haven’t had a night off in weeks. Besides, we’re going to a benefit for the Harbor Pier, and since Daniel and I are spearheading the project, it’s important for us to show a united front.”

  Daniel stopped in front of the booth, ignoring the death glare from Storm. Maybe next time he’d think twice before he told her to go help out the hostess.

  Bree stepped between the posturing males and pasted on a now-boys-behave smile. They gave her quite a show. Her gaze flitted from one to the other. If they’d been peacocks, she was sure their tail feathers would be fanned out, showing off their goods. If she was honest with herself, if it were a competition, Storm would win.

  Daniel was a nice-enough guy, and working closely with him on the Red Hook Revitalization Committee had been productive, if nothing else; he definitely was not her type—too bad he was missing that special something. It wasn’t as if there was anything wrong with him. He was good-looking, successful, and charming. Unfortunately, Bree had never met a man who measured up to Storm Decker on her Richter Scale of Hotness, but Storm didn’t need to know that.

  “Daniel Knickerbocker, this is Storm Decker, my boss’s son. Storm’s here to help out while Pete’s recovering. Storm, this is Daniel.” The guys nodded to each other. “Well, I’m sorry to break this up, but we’re going to be late if we don’t leave. I’m just going to grab my purse. Storm, Simon has my number if there are any problems. Patrice, Francis,” she said, stepping away from Storm and taking Daniel’s arm, “have a good time tonight. I’ll see you later.”

  * * *

  Storm sat and watched Bree a
nd Captain Superior walk away with his hand on her lower back, entirely too close to her ass. Damn.

  “I never liked that guy; he’s too slick by half,” Patrice said as she dunked a chip in the still-gooey dip. Storm couldn’t agree with her more.

  “Now, Patty—” Francis interrupted.

  She stuffed the chip in her mouth without the finesse Bree had recently displayed. “Don’t ‘now Patty’ me, Francis.” She covered her mouth and spoke around the food. “I have every right to say what I think, and I never cared for that man. Sure, he’s doing all the right things, but I can’t help but feel that he has his own agenda. He’s the star of his own show, if you know what I’m saying. His philanthropic work is all fine and good, but I can’t imagine him doing anything unless it helps line his own pockets.”

  “Spoken like a true cynic.” Francis slid his arm around his wife.

  “I’m not a cynic. I’m a realist, and a good judge of character. I saw through you, didn’t I?” Patrice shot Storm a smile. “I saw the marshmallow within the body of an ogre.”

  “An ogre, huh?” Storm laughed. “I missed the whole marshmallow thing. Maybe it was because Francis was too busy using me as a punching bag to see anything but his big fat fist.”

  Storm never thought he’d see the day Frankie “the Bruiser” DeBruscio blushed, but then he never would have believed he’d be back in Red Hook watching Breezy leave with a slick bastard in a thousand-dollar suit either. “So, this Daniel Knickerbocker, what’s his story?”

  Patrice leaned forward. “Daniel bought a bunch of real estate when Red Hook was just starting to clean up its act. Now, he’s on the Red Hook Revitalization Committee with Bree—as I said, doing philanthropic work to line his own pockets.”