Free The Sweet Under His Skin by Portia Gray Page A

let his eyes close again, taking another oversized shot of tequila. "So, you like the kid or you like her?" Mandy asked gently.
    He shrugged. "Dunno. I like the kid, that's it. But I wanted to hit that fucker that hurt her. I didn't expect that."
    "Just be careful, hun. A bitch that takes your wallet's one thing. A bitch that takes your heart is much more trouble."
    "I know," he said, patting her leg. "You remember how it was with Pamela, right?"
    Mandy gave a short burst of laughter. "How could I forget?"
    "I made her miserable, Mandy."
    "I'd say it was an equal effort on both sides. You did a good job making each other miserable."
    He stewed on that, but not for too long. He craned his neck back to look at her again. "Why didn't I just marry you, huh?"
    Mandy smiled and squeezed his face with one hand. "Baby, you couldn't handle this."
    He grinned back. "You're right."
    "Go get some sleep, Quentin. And before you decide anything with that hottie neighbor, I want to meet her."
    "Mandy—"
    "I mean it. You're not as tough as you think, hun. Trust me. If she's gonna cause you pain I'm not letting that happen."
    "You take such good care of me."
    "Of course I do. I take care of all my boys." She concluded their chat by kissing his temple then pushing him upright again. "My old man's giving you the eye, Quentin. I better go over there and calm him down."
    "Be good, Mandy."
    "He hasn't complained yet," she replied immediately, eyes on Bishop as she stood on her spiked-heel boots and worked that tight denim-clad ass across the floor. As soon as she was in grabbing distance, Dead Men's president had her in his arms, laying a possessive kiss on her that everyone in the room could read loud and clear.
    Quentin was smiling. The true love she had for Bishop was something to be admired.
    Envied.
    He cringed, taking another deep pull on the bottle. He didn't want an old lady. Been there, tried it, got the fucking scars to prove it. No thank you. Ink your initials on a piece of ass and she owned you. He was not interested in that.
    Not to say he wasn't interested in taking a taste of Aunt Arielle. She was attractive, not what he was used to. Exotic, really. Not around solely for sexual service to the club.
    That was unnerving, now that he thought of it. Shit. He might have to actually try with her...
    Bishop still had his old lady in his arms. They had their foreheads resting against each other, Bishop was talking and Mandy was grinning at him, her hands slowly circling his shoulders. Damn. A woman that into her man… it must be really… nice.
    The morning of his birthday Calvin woke Arielle up by jumping on her bed. "Auntie Arielle! It's my birthday!" His excitement made her grin. Calvin never got this animated. He was acting like a kid, and she loved it.
    "I know, Peanut," she groaned, sitting up and grabbing him around the ribs, tickling him. "What does the nine-year-old want for breakfast?"
    "Bacon."
    "And?"
    "Eggs."
    "And?"
    "Toast."
    "And?"
    "Please?" he concluded, giggling as she tickled him. He could have gotten away, he just didn't want to.
    "Okay. Go watch TV, I'll be right out."
    "Okay!" he bounded out of her room, and she took a moment to catch her breath. She felt really tired this morning. But a fancy breakfast was absolutely imperative, especially for a birthday.
    It was ten o'clock, which meant he waited to wake her up. He had likely been reading in bed since about 6:00 AM. It gave her a little pang to realize he was worried about her. He was so courteous. Calvin even tried to help with breakfast dishes, but she reminded him that birthday boys didn't do dishes. So he happily parked in front of the TV while she cleaned up.
    By noon they were both showered, dressed, and she was taking Calvin to the afternoon matinee of some classic science-fiction movie he wanted to see. She was tucking her wallet into her purse when there was a knock on the door, and Calvin answered for her as she slid her feet into flip flop sandals.
    "Um,