“Dim your love-lights, you oversexed jackass,” Scarface said, crossing his arms over his chest when he came to a stop in front of them. He was a mountain of a man. Close to six-and-a-half feet of bulging, flexing muscles. “I’m blinded by the bullshit shining in them.”
“Oversexed? Me?” Ozzie’s tone and expression epitomized incredulity. “You’re one to talk. I’m surprised every morning that Becky can walk out of your bedr—”
“Not in front of our guest,” Scarface growled, leveling Ozzie with a look Penni was surprised didn’t curdle the latter’s balls. “Especially not before the introductions have been made.”
“Typical.” Ozzie shook his head. “You can dish it, but you can’t take it.”
When a vein the size of a garden hose appeared in the center of Scarface’s forehead, Ozzie quickly relented and officially introduced Penni to Richard “Rock” Babineaux and Frank “Boss” Knight, a.k.a. Scarface. After shaking the men’s hands, Penni turned to extend the gesture to Geralt and thank him for the escort.
The giant redhead ran a hand over his bristly crew cut and said with a dramatic leer, “Believe me, the pleasure was all mine. And if you decide not to take Ozzie up on his offer of ball-and-chaindom, how about you and me grab a cup of joe before you leave, yeah? Ya see”—he had the audacity to slow wink at her before turning a smug smile toward Ozzie—“I’ve always had a thing for NYC accents, especially when that accent comes with a broad whose legs go all the way up.”
From “skirt” to “broad.” She wasn’t sure it was an improvement. And didn’t everyone’s legs go all the way up to…well…wherever all legs went? Hips, usually?
“Back off, you big ginger!” Ozzie bellowed, pushing Geralt’s shoulder but failing to budge the Carrot-Topped Colossus an inch. “I saw her first!”
“Oh, sure.” Geralt made a face. “‘I saw her first.’ The go-to gambit of small-minded men with even smaller d—”
“Gentlemen, please,” Penni interrupted, her head spinning with the whirlwind that was her first five minutes at Black Knights Inc. And then there was her stomach… It was so jittery at the thought of what she was about to do that she marveled her lunch was staying down. She’d been so peaceful, so serene when she’d made the decision to come. But now that she was actually here, on the brink of confessing everything? Yeah, no. And Ozzie and Geralt? Well, they weren’t helping a damned thing.
Her father’s voice echoed inside her head. When you find yourself in a gaffle, Penelope Ann DePaul, the only way out is straight ahead.
Her dad had been chockablock full of little adages like that.
“It’s not that I’m not extremely flattered at being reduced to the chew toy in a game of tug-of-war between two big, slobbery dogs…” She lifted a brow, letting both men know when she used the term “dog” she wasn’t referring to the four-legged variety. She was fully aware this little tête-à-tête had nothing to do with her and everything to do with them having an excess of testosterone, which forced them to latch on to any excuse to growl and posture and insult one another. Men. She shook her head. “But I really do need to talk to Dan.”
Geralt had the good sense to bite the inside of his cheek and turn the color of the cherries they put atop the charlotte russe pound cakes back in Brooklyn. But Ozzie? He just grinned wider. The good-looking lout.
“We’ll let you talk to Dan,” Boss said, narrowing his eyes, “if you can assure me this doesn’t have anything to do with that bad business in Malaysia.”
To her utter horror, when she opened her mouth, what initially came out was, “I-I-I—” Hello? What sorry sonofabitch had gone and tied her tongue in knots? Swallowing, she tried again. “I’d really rather discuss this with Dan, and I—”
Before she could finish, three women burst from the back door of the warehouse, laughing uproariously. There was a petite blond with a lollipop stick protruding from her mouth. She was carrying a huge casserole dish filled with…peach cobbler, by the smell of it. Beside her was a tall, curvy woman with an amazing mass of chestnut hair. She was holding a baby swaddled in a Chicago Cubs blanket—the little bundle cooed and burbled and waved a pudgy fist in the air. Bringing up the rear and rounding out the trio was a dusky-skinned, dark-eyed beauty who walked over and slapped Rock on the ass before she realized there was a stranger in their midst.
“And who do we have here?” the black-haired woman inquired, snaking an arm around Rock’s waist. Rock brushed an inky lock away from her face and bent to press a tender kiss to her temple.
“Vanessa,” he said in that sweet southern drawl that screamed Louisiana bayou, “this is Agent Penni DePaul.”