Heavy Issues Read Free Page B

again that she was a complication he didn’t need. Until that little sparkling fucker had landed on his head; then the last of his restraint had gone bye-bye.
    She was game, finally. And thank God for it. He wasn’t used to denying himself, and even though he wasn’t into public displays or sporting a different chick on his arm every other day like his baby brother, Max, did, he was a very sexual man and long dry spells were not his thing. He could have easily scratched that particular itch, found himself a willing woman or two; God knew they threw themselves at him constantly. But it was pointless. By now, short of fucking Christy unconscious, there was no way of getting his glands to see reason. Which pissed his disciplined, rational self off to no end. He had perfect impulse control, dammit—legendary actually—yet, courtesy of that woman, here he was, unable to make his cock stand down even if his life depended on it.
    As he stepped into the packed diner, several familiar faces greeted him. He offered them a distracted smile and looked around, spotting her right away. It never failed. It was as if he was tuned to her on a primal level, as if she was his beacon. Hell, all he had to do was close his eyes, follow his dick, and it would invariably lead him to her. She was hell on his libido. Soft and curvy, with more than generous breasts that he was dying to taste and round hips that he was dying to feel against him.
    He cranked his neck, first left, then right.
    Okay, showtime.
    He was fucking unable to talk himself out of this insanity. Fine, so he may as well go through with it. Jump headfirst into the fire; it would make for a shorter agony if nothing else.
    Christy was sitting at the far end, talking to a woman. He headed toward her, debating with himself whether it would be best to wait for Christy to be alone, but then she raised her eyes and saw him, and the color drained from her face. Fantastic. Very encouraging.
    Well, too late to bolt now, and besides, that stupid ring was burning a hole in his pocket and his resolution. He needed to get some things cleared up before she put herself on the market, hooked up with some stupid asshole, and Cole found himself upstate doing time for murder.
    Determined, he marched to her table and placed the engagement ring on it.
    “We need to talk,” he all but barked.
    She recoiled. Christy might have been whitish before, but now she was definitely turning green. Very smooth, asshole. Great way to start . He was coming on too strong. Scaring her. “Do you mind if I join you?” he asked, forcing his jaw to unlock and his shoulders to relax. He attempted a smile, but he’d been scowling at her for so long, it probably came out as a grimace.
    Christy’s companion looked at her, then at him, made up some shitty excuse he didn’t even listen to, and literally ran away. So far so good. Ignoring Christy’s silence, he went ahead and sat down. “I believe this is yours.”
    “Huh?” She floundered, and he lost track for a second.
    Man, she was so fucking beautiful. Huge chocolate-brown eyes, mahogany hair, sweet, delicate features. Gorgeous mouth. As if whoever had made her had him in mind. Except for her highly questionable taste in music—if what she listened while working was anything to go by—and that inscription on the inside of her right wrist, that is. Numquam Satis . Never Enough, if his Latin wasn’t too rusty. He wasn’t terribly fond of tattoos, especially not on women, but at this stage he was so far gone for the chick he was more than ready to overlook it.
    “The ring,” he said, pointing at the table. “I don’t know if you remember, but you told me to give it to charity. It looks like an expensive ring to me, and you were drunk. I thought after the haze of the alcohol had gone, you’d reconsider and want it back.”
    She looked downright mortified. “Damn, there goes a big chunk of my dignity,” she mumbled into her lap, fidgeting with her hands.