Free Back to You: Bad Boys of Red Hook by Robin Kaye

the sale, and counted out her change, slamming the drawer shut with his hip.
    “Fine.” Bree stomped into her office and was so angry, she slammed that door too—only it didn’t slam. She looked over her shoulder and found Rocki protecting her face. “Sorry.”
    “I guess if you really want to, you can slam the door now. I’m just glad I have great reflexes.” Rocki took a seat on the other side of Bree’s desk.
    “I have work to do.”
    “No, what you have is a bad case of beard burn. You might want to put some cream on that. Maybe next time you and Storm go at it, he should shave first. Still, that whole scruffy, didn’t-get-the-chance-to-shave-this-morning look really works for him. But then, what wouldn’t?”
    “We had a fight.”
    “Why make love and not war when you can do both? That must have been one hell of a reunion, huh?”
    “I think I preferred the one last night when I clobbered him with a frying pan.”
    Rocki laughed. “Oh, to have been a fly on the wall…but knowing you, you would have hit me with the frying pan too.”
    “This is not funny. He’s behind my bar.”
    “I know—that’s usually what happens when you request help running a bar.”
    “He’s supposed to help. Not take over. Not mess with my head. And not look as if he belongs here when he’s just biding his time until he can run away again.”
    Rocki slid forward in her seat, “Just think of all the women he’s going to attract. We should publicize it. Of course, Patrice is already on the job, so you’d better be prepared for one hell of a night. Storm Decker is going to be quite the draw. He’s all that with a Brooklyn Kiwi accent—a tantalizing combination.”
    “Why do I bother?” Bree sat at her desk and held her aching head in her hands. “You’re supposed to be my best friend. You’re supposed to commiserate with me and give me ‘poor babys.’ Instead, all I get is skin-care advice and the nauseating job of holding your drool cup.”
    “I hardly drooled, not that he’s not worthy.” Rocki crossed her legs and did that annoying heel-to-sandal slap with her waggling foot. “I’m not sure what’s more interesting, watching Storm or watching you watch Storm. Girl, you’ve got it bad.”
    “I do not. I can’t stand him.”
    “Yeah, I can tell by the beard burn.” Rocki reached into her bag and took out a tube of cream. “If you don’t want to advertise what you two were doing upstairs, you’d better use this.” She tossed it across the desk, stood, and headed for the door. “It’s about time you let a man close enough to scrape some of that fair skin of yours off. The blush works for you too. It really brings out your eyes.”
     * * *
    Bree hung up the phone after her daily call from Slater asking about Pete’s condition and ran up the back stairs to her apartment. If she was going to have to deal with Storm Decker and loaded questions all night, she was going to do it looking as good as she could, and preferably without noticeable beard burn.
    She piled her hair on the top of her head and jumped into a hot shower, doing her best to wash the scent of Storm off her body.
    As if it weren’t bad enough that he rubbed all the skin off her face with that coarse bristle, she’d spent the afternoon squirming in her chair. Instead of doing a beer order, she relived every second of that kiss—or whatever the hell it was. Remembering the way he’d picked her up, how her thighs cradled his erection, the taste of his anger and the second it had changed to need, want, and pent-up frustration.
    What was it about him that had her thoughts making a right-hand turn toward eroticaland? And what the hell was she going to do with him? He could piss her off and turn her on just by breathing. How could she fight something like that, especially with her Irish temper?
    Bree tore the ponytail holder from her hair and soaked her head. It was no use; nothing helped. She was beyond horny, edgy, and exasperated