The Hill. Carol Ericson
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can order at the bar. The waitresses here are few and far between.”
“I’m in no hurry, are you?” He caught the eye of a waitress in a pair of short shorts and a tie-dyed T-shirt tied under her breasts.
She scurried over, balancing a tray of drinks with one hand. “What can I get you?”
“I’ll have a beer, whatever you have on tap.”
“I’ll take the same.” London turned wide eyes on him. “How did you get her to come over here so fast?”
He shrugged. “I just made eye contact. It works better than yelling.”
Her gaze dropped from his face and meandered across his chest, where he’d undone the first few buttons of his shirt. His flesh warmed in the wake of her inventory.
“Yeah, whatever.” She folded her arms on the table. “So what do you normally do for a living when you’re not helping out friends guarding jewels for rich, frisky matrons?”
“Guard jewels for rich, frisky matrons.”
“Really?”
He stretched his legs out to the side of the table. “I’m a private investigator and bodyguard. Usually my assignments are more long-term than this one. I just got back from a job in Saudi Arabia.”
“I know a few people in that part of the world.” She flashed her teeth in more of a grimace than a smile and drummed her fingernails on the table. “Is it interesting work?”
“It can be. There’s a lot of travel involved, which I like.”
“I like to travel, too.” She stopped fidgeting and pressed her palms together. “Things will be a little different for me now, now that...”
“Your father died. Sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
“He left you in charge?”
Her eyes narrowed and glittered. “You sound surprised.”
“You sound defensive.”
She puffed out a breath, blowing a strand of hair from her eyes. “Let’s just say I’m dealing with a lot right now. Lots of unhappy people never expected Dad to put the reins of Breck Global Enterprises in the hands of his flighty daughter.”
“You’re his only child?” He knew that, of course, even if he didn’t follow San Francisco society closely, except when he needed to for his clients. But he stubbornly wanted to pretend he knew nothing about her famous family.
“Only legitimate one.” She rubbed her chin. “I do have a half brother. I’m sure my father would’ve preferred me as the bastard and Wade as the legitimate son. You have three brothers, right?”
He raised his brows but held his response as the waitress delivered their drinks and a bowl of peanuts.
The waitress asked, “Do you want anything to eat?”
“No, thanks.” He tipped his chin at London. “You?”
“Not after all that rich food at the benefit.”
He sipped the dark, malty beer through the thick head of foam and met London’s purposeful look over the rim of the glass.
“Three brothers? I know one’s a cop in the city, and then there’s the one who was working with that writer.”
“You seem to know a lot about my family.”
“The Brody family is in the news almost as much as my family.” Her lips puckered and she blew on the foam in her glass.
“For very different reasons.” He shifted his gaze away from that kissable mouth. He’d let her make all the moves.
“While you’re all busy delivering justice, the Brecks are delivering...money.”
“Both equally necessary. Besides, I don’t deliver justice. I just look out for pretty people and their pretty things.”
He didn’t believe in justice—not after losing his father when he was practically a baby and then his mother to drugs and alcohol. Sean had been a great big brother, but a sibling was no substitute for a mom and dad.
“Thank God for that.” London clinked her mug with his.
The song on the jukebox had changed to a slow ballad all about how love hurt, and Judd took a swig of beer. Hell, love didn’t hurt, not if you dropped it in its tracks.
London rapped her knuckles on the table between them. “You wanna dance?”
“You’re kidding.”
“There are some couples out there.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder at the postage-stamp dance floor.
“That doesn’t mean we have to join them.”
She tugged on his rolled-up sleeve. “Come on. I promise not to jump on the tabletop.”
Her cool fingers brushed against his skin, causing a thudding ache in the middle of his belly. “Have you been known to do that? Jump on tabletops?”
Her fingernails dug into his forearm. “Don’t pretend you don’t know about me, Judd Brody.”
Busted. He jumped from the booth. If this was some weird mating ritual she had, he’d play along.
When they hit the dance floor, he pulled her snug against his body. Who did she think she was toying with, some upper-crust rich boy? He didn’t play games. If a woman signaled interest the way London was doing, he’d take her up on the offer every time.
Wrapping one arm around her slender waist, he reached up with his other hand to tuck her head against his shoulder. Her breath warmed his skin through the thin material of his shirt.
He rested his cheek against her bright hair, and the golden strands stuck to the stubble of his beard. Reaching between their bodies, he opened her leather jacket and drew her close, his chest pressing against her soft breasts beneath the silvery material of her dress.
She shifted and her soft lips touched the side of his neck.
He gritted his teeth to suppress the shudder threatening to engulf his body. Her expensive perfume enveloped them, and for the first time in a very long time and a very long line of women, he felt on the edge of losing control.
Then the door to the bar burst open and Theodore, bloodied and battered, staggered into the room and dropped to the floor.
London screamed at the bloody mess that was Theodore’s face and twisted out of the comfort of Judd’s embrace, pitching forward. Judd curled one muscular arm around her waist to steady her.
He tucked her behind his large frame and strode toward Theodore, who had collapsed in a heap.
She made a grab for Judd’s belt and hooked two fingers through the loop, following him as people cleared a path to Theodore’s inert form.
Judd yelled over his shoulder at the bartender, “Call nine-one-one. Now!”
He crouched beside Theodore, feeling for his pulse. “Towels, I need some clean towels to stop this bleeding.”
“I-is he still alive? Has he been shot?” London had never seen so much blood. She unbuttoned Theodore’s shirt at the neck.
“He’s still breathing, and I don’t see any bullet wounds.”
The waitress who had served them earlier rushed from behind the bar with a stack of white towels. “Is he okay?”
“He’s lost consciousness.”
One of the bartenders knelt beside Judd with a pitcher of water. “Ambulance is on the way. Do you need this?”