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

wearing black trousers paired with sex-on-stilts, pointy-toed shoes that made her legs look a mile longer than usual. She topped it with a black tank under some kind of long, formfitting blouse that shimmered—seemingly changing color from fuchsia to purple every time she moved. She’d done something to her hair. It still had that just-got-out-of-bed tousle, but it didn’t look accidental. It looked as if some man had just spent the last twenty minutes running his hands through it—and he hadn’t been that man.
    Her blush brought out the emerald green of her eyes as they raked over him. Damn, the woman could get him half hard with just a look.
    Bree bit her lip, which was still slightly swollen from their earlier escapades. “You can leave, Storm. Simon and I will handle it from here.”
    “No, thanks. But you’re welcome to take off if you want some time.”
    “It’s my shift.” She came around the bar with eyes flashing, and he had the urge to pick her up and carry her to her office for round two.
    “I’ll take that end of the bar,” Simon said as he turned away. “Storm, let me know if you have any questions.”
    Storm couldn’t help but smile at Bree as she fumed. There was nothing he liked more than taking Breezy down a peg or two, well, except for kissing her.
    “Fine. Do what you want.” Her phone announced a text message, and she checked it, making sure to keep the screen pointed away from him. Whatever.
     * * *
    Bree answered Daniel Knickerbocker’s text asking about the Harbor Pier fund-raiser. She’d put him off before, even though her presence was expected, because she didn’t know if Pete would be home. Since she was suddenly free and her easy-escape allies—Rocki and Patrice—were already settled at the bar for the night, she jumped at Daniel’s offer to get out of the uncomfortable situation Storm had put her in.
    She stepped aside and tried to avoid the bucket of ice swinging from the bar back’s gangly arm and ran right into Storm. “Excuse me.” She waited for him to move—he didn’t. “With the three of us and Cory running around, it’s too crowded behind the bar.”
    “I’m making margaritas. I need the blender. Where do you suggest I go?”
    “New Zealand would be good.”
    She was being hard on him, she knew it, but when it came to Storm, she had no filter. She just couldn’t control it. He had no right to come here and stir up old feelings and emotions. He had no right to crowd her. He had no right to make her want him.
    Storm expertly salted the glasses and poured, shooting a look toward the door. “There are a few people waiting to be seated; maybe you should give the hostess a hand. Simon and I can handle the bar.”
    As she turned to glare at him, the too-high heel of her shoe stuck in one of the small holes peppering the floor mat, sending her reeling right into Storm.
    He caught her.
    Bree wasn’t sure if she was thankful or not. It would be a lot safer to fall on the floor than to fall for Storm Decker—something she swore she’d never do again.
    In heels, Bree was almost eye to eye with him. His eyes turned an amazing shade of blue shot with green. She sucked in a breath and got a lungful of Storm-flavored air, which didn’t help matters.
    “Hi, Bree.”
    Patrice. Bree closed her eyes and willed Storm’s hands off her body.
    “Storm. It’s nice the two of you are getting along so well. Picking up where you left off, I see.”
    Of course Storm hadn’t let Bree go; if anything, he held her closer. When she opened her eyes, Storm had his good-time-guy grin aimed at Patrice.
    “You’re as beautiful as ever, Patrice.” Storm’s hold tightened on Bree, and he lifted her off the offendingmat as if she were an inanimate object. He tugged her closer, wedging her between him and the corner of the bar—leaving her no escape. “It’s great to see you.” He nodded toward Francis. “Glad you could make it.”
    Simon came closer. “Cory and I have the