No release date yet.
They’re a lot LOL.
I raised an eyebrow. “No, not pink. Blush. If I walk in here next week and there is pink leather in this car, your ass outta here.”
Unruffled by my threat, Jeremy stepped in again, giving me a nod. “Whatever you need, Ms. Hamilton – consider it done. Just say the word.”
“Ay! Back the fuck up off my wife.”
Jeremy looked up, confused, but didn’t step away, even as Denver strode in our direction, anger practically radiating off him. He actually – bless his heart – stepped in front of me, between me and my husband, as if he’d assigned himself my protector.
“You seem very bothered, my man, let’s hold up.”
That stopped Denver in his tracks.
In front of me, Jeremy’s shoulders relaxed, but… no.
That was the exact opposite of what he should be doing right now.
Beautiful, but… terrifying.
The perfect ivory of his teeth against soft mahogany lips, and darker skin, the lush tapestry of coily, coal-black facial hair – Denver was, truly, magnificent. But the loveliness of his smile laid in direct contrast to the barely-bridled rage in his eyes, something Jeremy didn’t know my husband enough to pick up on.
I wasn’t even a little surprised when Denver pulled the gun from the waistband of his exquisitely tailored bespoke suit. Jeremy had no time to react to the sight of it before it was already under his chin.
“Did you just call yourself getting between me and my wife?” Denver asked, his face just inches from Jeremy’s as he peered into his eyes. “I know that’s not what you called yourself doing, right?”
“I… I… um… nah, man. I… I just…”
“Get your bitch ass outta my face,” Denver growled, moving the gun just enough that Jeremy could get free.
Wisely, he took off running.
“Everybody out!” Denver demanded, and I rolled my eyes as the few workers in the garage who’d been watching the scene unfold went scurrying in the same direction as Jeremy. Once the door closed behind the last person, he looked to me. “What the fuck is this, Kensa? You’re trying to get somebody killed now? That motherfucker in your face – that’s who you were talking about last night?”
“You’re the one holding a gun.”
He looked at the gleaming metal in his hand, then back to me, before tucking it back out of sight, where it belonged. “We need to talk.”