What Belongs to Her. Rachel Brimble
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in a handful of women—and made men want to dance around them in some strange prehistoric mating ritual.
She reached up and whipped the glasses from his face so fast they scraped painfully across his nose. He winced. “Hey—”
“No fair. You want to get all macho and moody on me, let me see your face.” She pushed the glasses into his chest and shoved him away to stand in front of him, then turned her back to him.
Grinning, he stared at the crown of her beautiful head, took the time to study her amazing mane of jet-black hair that fell almost to her waist. Why did someone come to work at a fairground and leave their hair loose like that? His gaze traveled lower over her butt. Unless of course, she purposely left it that way for his benefit. It had been tied up into a high ponytail when they’d met last night....
“Stop staring at my ass.”
He snapped his gaze up. “I’m not.”
“Windows are reflective.”
He turned to the window and their eyes locked in the glass. Shit. He shrugged. “Better I look and appreciate than don’t, right?”
“Pervert.”
She faced front as the queue moved forward and they stepped inside. Eight booths big enough to comfortably sit six people each lined a window at the far side, with tables scattered throughout, and a huge deli counter covering the breadth of the shop at the back. The atmosphere was relaxed and cheerful as bursts of laughter mixed with the chatter from the customers, and shouts and calls came from behind the busy serving area.
He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and slipped out a ten-pound note. “Why don’t you grab us a table and I’ll do the honors. What are you drinking?”
She tipped her head back and met his eyes. “Cappuccino would be great. Thanks. I’ll be right over there at the front of the counter. I don’t want to miss any of the action.”
He frowned. “What action?”
She wiggled her eyebrows and left the queue. John followed her progress as she sashayed between the tables. She hung the strap of her bag on the back of a pine chair and sat, propping her elbows atop the gingham tablecloth. She intertwined her fingers and rested her chin on them, her dark gaze locked on his, a soft smile playing at her lips.
When his dick woke up again, John snatched his gaze from hers and approached the counter. The young girl serving was busy putting the change in the till from the previous customer. She didn’t bother looking up when she spoke. “Yes, sir, what can I get you?”
“A black coffee and a cappuccino, please.”
“Coming right up.” She slammed the till closed and finally met his eyes. “Oh...wow.” Her cheeks flushed a deep red before she turned and headed for the huge steel coffeemaker behind her.
Frowning, John slipped his glasses into the vee of his shirt.
“Well, hello there. And who might you be.”
The woman who appeared in front of him tossed him a wide grin. She was ample in stature and, judging by the glint in her eye, intended to eat him alive. Straightening his shoulders, he held out his hand. “John Jordon. Nice to meet you.”
Her smile vanished and the glint disappeared as if a storm had blown in and snuffed out a candle. “Well, well, well.”
John glanced over his shoulder toward Sasha as unease rolled up his spine. Her grin widened. He turned back to the woman behind the counter and dropped his offered hand. “Is everything okay, ma’am?”
She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms, pushing her rather generous bosom to rest on top of them. “I don’t know. We’ll have to give it a little time before either of us knows, won’t we?”
John raised his hands in surrender. “I just came in for coffee.”
“Where’s Sasha?” She ran her gaze over his chest. “You left her to run that fairground on her own? Or is that good-for-nothing Freddy Campton down there shouting the odds?”
Ah, so this is Marian. He smiled. “Marian, right?”
She didn’t as much as lift the corners of her mouth. “The one and only.”
Seconds passed before John tilted his head in Sasha’s direction, keeping his gaze on Marian’s. “Sasha’s over there. No doubt enjoying the show.”
Marian slid her gaze toward Sasha and the transformation in her demeanor was so ridiculous, John was struck dumb. Her face broke into a wide smile and her eyes lit with adoration before she dropped her arms and hastily wiped them on the towel hanging from the waistband of her apron. She waved at Sasha. “I’ll be right over.” She turned to John and the smile vanished. “Go grab a seat. I’ll bring your coffees over.”
Giving up hope of a friendly exchange, John lifted his shoulders. “Great. Thank you.”
He approached Sasha and stared at her. “Enjoying yourself?”
“Absolutely.”
“I’m guessing you and Matron Marian are pretty close?”
Sasha laughed. “If she hears you call her that, she’ll slice your balls off quicker than you can draw your next breath.”
“Is that so?”
She grinned. “Yep. You’re in for one hell...” Her gaze drifted to a spot behind him and her eyes lit up like they had lanterns behind them. “Oh, great. More company.”
John spun around. Marian walked toward them carrying their coffees. Beside her was a woman with the reddest hair and greenest eyes he’d ever seen. If he thought Marian was prepared to eat him alive, the careful appraisal of this latest Templeton Cove resident left him no doubt she’d be more than willing to hold him down while Marian executed her chosen sadistic pleasure.
They stopped in front of him, and Marian glared. “Inspector Garrett, let me introduce you to Mr. John Jordon.”
CHAPTER SIX
SASHA SWIPED THE tears of laughter from her eyes and pushed to her feet. Marian was one thing, but leaving John to cope with Inspector Garrett and Marian was too much to expect of any man, animal or superhero. She’d begun the day with plans to make John’s welcome as uncomfortable as possible, but her fiasco on the Mixer and him making her laugh meant unnecessary cruelty was no longer part of the deal.
She stepped away from the table to stand at his side. She smiled. “Inspector Garrett. Nice to see you.”
The inspector dragged her steady gaze from John’s and smiled. “Hi, Sasha. Marian seems keen to introduce me to your friend.”
A sudden and inexplicable need to defend John stole through Sasha. She didn’t want to leave him to the wolves. Something about him intrigued her, interested her to the point she didn’t want that tiny, unnamable facet of his personality quashed on his second day in the Cove.
Her sympathy was unnerving and she swallowed hard against its implication. She waved her hand in what she hoped was a gesture of indifference. “John’s...um... John’s...”
“Why don’t I help you out?” Marian placed their coffees none too gently on the table. “This, Inspector Garrett, is John Jordon—Kyle Jordon’s son and heir.”
Sasha grimaced. The entire bakery descended into silence, barely broken by the clatter of crockery and the occasional cough or snigger. Marian’s booming voice was her trademark, the reason people warmed to her and loved her—but in that moment, Sasha understood why others dreaded her undivided attention. The queue of people turned toward the show, and Sasha’s cheeks burned.
John, on the other hand, appeared nonplussed as he extended his hand to Inspector Garrett. “Nice to meet you, Inspector.”
With her usual cool air, the inspector closed her hand around