Free The Protector (Lone Wolf, Book 1) by Bridget Essex Page B

 
    “Yes?” I asked, biting my lip.
    Her mouth quirked sideways, and she
grinned, the grin deepening into a very wicked smile as she cocked her head a
little.   “Pick someone for me to spy
on,” she whispered, lowering her voice into a velvety growl.
    I watched her mouth forming those
words, a little spellbound by it, the drink slowing my reflexes and making me
forget just a bit that staring at the body parts of my body guard was kind of unforgivably rude and inappropriate.   I cleared my throat, circling my martini glass with cold fingers
as I gazed out across the bar.
    I caught the glance of a woman
leaning against the bar, talking with two other women.   She had short brown hair, stylishly cut, and
was wearing a blazer and dress pants, like the two others she was with.   She was also drinking a martini, and as I
glanced at her, she didn’t stop speaking to her companions, but she did raise
her glass to me a little, her mouth taking on the tiniest of smiles.  
    “What about her?” I asked Layne in
a stage whisper.
    Layne sighed and gazed at the woman
across the room.   Layne lifted her chin,
met my gaze head-on as her lips flattened to a hard line.   “She’s asking her friends if she should come
over and buy you a drink.   She thinks
you’re hot, but she…”   Here Layne began
to grin again, her mouth curling triumphantly at the corners as she tossed the
hair out of her eyes and narrowed them.   “She thinks you’re with me .”
    “You’re just guessing!” hooted
Tracy, but she fell silent as quickly as if she’d been stung, because the woman
was walking across the crowded bar toward our little table, then.
    She reached us and leaned down
toward me, a few wisps of brown hair haloing her face.   “Hi,” she murmured.   She smelled of expensive perfume and booze,
and up close, her face showed worry lines around the corners of her mouth as
she cleared her throat.   “I never do
this kind of thing,” she said, biting her lip as she stared down at me, “but I’ll
kick myself for it later if I don’t —so, I was wondering if I could buy
you a drink?”
    I stupidly blinked for a long
moment—half because I was so shocked that Layne could possibly have
heard this woman over the loud music, the incessant talking, laughter and
clinking of glasses, and she’d been twenty feet away and whispering —and
half because that sort of thing doesn’t usually happen to me.   I gulped.   “I’ve…I’ve had enough for tonight, but thank you—that’s very nice.”   I tried to think of some excuse as she began
to frown.   “…I just got into an
accident,” I said quickly, pointing to my crutches, positioned much like Tiny
Tim’s as they leaned against the table.
    I’d meant the words to indicate
that because I’d gotten into an accident, I was pretty bushed.   But she stood quickly and took a step
back.   It’s not as if I had the plague ,
but she retreated quicker than if I’d announced I was just diagnosed with
dysentery, heading to the bar without looking back.  
    “That was a little rude.   She must not like reminders of her own
mortality,” said Layne snidely, with a shake of her head, but her body language
and her smug smile told me all I needed to know:   she was very happy that the woman had left us so quickly.
    “Okay, so you really do have
good hearing,” Tracy finally admitted, eyes wide.   “But, seriously, that was a little spooky—how the hell do you do
it?   How the hell could anyone possibly have that good of hearing?”
    Layne shrugged a little, lifting up
her club soda and taking a sip.   I
watched that motion, watched the inherent grace in it, could also see her bicep
move as her arm moved, and I realized I hadn’t seen her very much without her
jacket.   Even though it was warm in
here, and even though I knew that she ran a warm temperature, Layne hadn’t
taken off her leather jacket in the bar.   “Honestly, it’s not much of a trick—I just