“Why do you insist on rubbing that in my face tonight?” he demanded, and Samantha felt like she was missing something.
“Tell him to run along,” Delilah instructed. “He’s in big, bad protector mode and won’t go unless you say it’s okay.”
Samantha wasn’t sure it was okay. “It’s fine,” she assured Ozzie, forcing a smile.
After searching Samantha’s eyes, Ozzie nodded and turned to join Christian and Emily in the doorway.
Fido was still barking. Peanut was still yowling and hissing. But Samantha had no trouble hearing the words Delilah whispered in her ear. “Okay, sister. Hear me and hear me well. If you hurt him, I’ll murder you in your sleep and toss your bloody carcass into the Chicago River.”
Samantha opened her mouth, but Delilah kept on. “No, I talk. You listen. Ozzie is the best of us. The absolute best of us.”
A lump suddenly grew in Samantha’s throat. To inspire such loyalty, such fierce protectiveness, Ozzie had to be everything she’d always thought he was.
“I know that,” she assured Delilah, placing her hand over the tight grip on her arm and giving the woman’s fingers a squeeze.
“He’s suffered enough recently. I don’t want him—”
“I know that too,” Samantha insisted. “He told me.”
“He did?” Delilah frowned.
“Yeah.” She nodded. “I know the motorcycle wreck nearly killed him. I know he almost lost his leg. I know he’s suffered. I won’t make him suffer any more. I promise.”
Delilah searched Samantha’s eyes for a long time. The bartender must have seen what she was looking for, because she finally released Samantha’s arm.
Samantha turned and scampered toward Ozzie, who was waiting for her with an extended hand. She thrilled at the memories of what those skilled fingers had accomplished such a short time ago. And she couldn’t wait to get upstairs and finish what they had started.
*
Emily watched Ozzie and Samantha disappear down the hall into the shop and took a tiny step closer to Christian. Just to test him. Just to see if he noticed her proximity.
Yes, sir, he noticed. He immediately stepped away, taking all his delicious body heat with him. Damn.
The devil in Emily made her close the distance again. Since his shoulder was now pressed against the doorframe, there was nowhere left to run.
“Does the concept of personal space mean anything to you?” he asked, his voice wonderfully raspy. Barefoot and bare-chested, he was the visual equivalent of Whoa, baby! His skin had the healthy, golden glow of having been kissed by the sun shining over six of the seven continents. And his tattoos… Given the way he dressed, one would never know his arms were covered in deep, black tribal designs that didn’t appear the least bit civilized.
She had to tuck her hands inside the sleeves of her sweatshirt to keep from touching him. “Just making room for Delilah,” she lied, glancing over her shoulder.
Delilah finally caught Fido’s collar and dragged him toward the door. No longer forced to escape and evade, Peanut hopped onto the lid of the trash can and eyed the dog from his superior position, taunting the poor pooch with the angry, side-to-side flick of his crooked tail.
Turning Emily’s lie into a truth, Delilah joined them in the doorway. “Ugh. I’m not sure how to feel about those two hooking up.” She shook her head and eyed the empty hallway.
“I do,” Christian said. He smelled like expensive aftershave and designer deodorant. But underneath that was…man. “It’s bad news. Ozzie leads with his heart, which is why we love him. But this time…” He shrugged. “This time, I wish he’d lead with that stonking brain of his. It won’t work between them. It can’t work.”
“Well, aren’t you Mr. Glass Half Full?” Emily glanced up at him. Whoa, his eyes are pretty. They were such a light green that they were almost yellow. “I never knew you were a pessimist. An overweening dandy, sure. But never a pessimist.”
He glared down at her. His harsh features and bright eyes made him look positively terrifying. She shivered in delight and decided to press on. “Just because you’re emotionally constipated and—”
“Why do you insist on raking me over the bloody coals every bloody minute of every bloody day?” he interrupted.
“Um, ’cause it’s fun?”
He made an exasperated sound and turned to stomp down the hall.
“Oh, for crying out loud! There you go again!” she called to his back. “Walking away from me!” After he turned the corner, she saw Delilah eyeing her speculatively. “What?” she demanded, thickening her South Side accent so that it sounded more like whut.
“There are better ways to seduce a man than verbally ripping off his dingle every freakin’ chance you get.”
“Who says I’m trying to seduce him?” Emily fisted her hands on her hips, jutting out her chin like she’d been taught to do on the tough Chicago playgrounds. “Maybe I’m just trying to knock him down a peg or two. All that lofty air he breathes has to be getting thin.”
Delilah snorted and shook her head. “If that’s how you want to play it…”
*
That he was standing in front of Samantha’s bedroom door, rejecting her offer to come inside, made it official. Ethan “Ozzie” Sykes was…an…idiot.
“You’re an idiot,” Samantha confirmed with a frown. “I’m not suffering from PTSD or some shit. I’m a grown-ass woman who knows what she wants, and I want you.” His heart thrilled at the words even as she pointedly glanced down at the fly of his cargo shorts. “And you want me too. No use denying it.”
Nope. None whatsoever. His johnson was making its ever-intrepid presence known far and wide.
“I do want you, Samantha,” he admitted, reaching down to adjust himself into a more comfortable position.
She watched the maneuver with ravenous eyes, catching her bottom lip between her teeth and grinning up at him. God help me!
“But cooler heads have prevailed, and I realize that tonight isn’t the right time. For one thing, you were nearly knifed by a fat, bearded biker. For another, you’ve been up for going on twenty-four hours. Not to mention the fact that you lost someone you cared about.” She opened her mouth to argue, but he talked over any objection she might have made. “You did care about Marcel, even if you didn’t know him well. And I know you feel responsible for what happened to him, so add a heaping helping of guilt into the mix. Do you know what that all adds up to?”
She started to answer, but he did it for her. “A woman who’s vulnerable. A woman who’s looking for something to help her forget what’s happened. A woman who might have second thoughts in the cold light of day.”
Everything he said was true. Every word of it. What he didn’t say was that on the walk up the stairs from the first floor to the third, his conscience had started gnawing at him, taking huge bites that left gaping holes of doubt behind. There was a bigger issue working against him than the possibility of her taking off down the road after he scratched her itch.