Chapter 7
Cersi wanted to scream at the bored look on Tyson’s face. It was his cockiness though that nearly did her in.
With an indifferent lift of his shoulders, Tyson muttered, “I do what I want. I’m Tyson BloodMoon. No one fucks with me.”
Rolling her eyes, she let out a low hiss when the bartender returned with their drinks. She shot him a placating thank-you grin, and as soon as he stepped away, she sucked down half her drink and then turned her angry eyes back on Tyson.
“That’s fine, Tyson BloodMoon that no one fucks with you.” She did air quotes with her good hand around the word fucks and then felt her cheeks singe at how corny that was. Still, she kept right on. “But I’m not you! And, I’ve been digging pretty damn deep and pushing really hard, and I can’t have you blowing my cover because you’re so damn egotistical that you think you’re safe just because you’re built like a brick shit house.”
Her little rant earned her a genuine smile from Tyson that nearly stole her breath. The guy was smoking hot when he was all dark and broody, but when he smiled…hooo, that was doing stuff to her nethers that she was positive shouldn’t be happening considering he preferred men.
“Brick shit house?” he smirked.
Waving her good hand up and down his frame she scowled, “You know what I mean.” She gave her attention back to her drink and sucked the rest of it down before waving for the bartender. She should probably stop drinking now considering she was already feeling all warm and fuzzy, but being under Tyson’s scrutiny had her needing some liquid courage.
The bartender brought her another drink and when he left Tyson turned serious. “No one’s hunting you, Badass, and even if they were,” he stalled long enough to take a long swig of his beer. “They’d have to go through me first.” Setting his bottle on the bar top he shot her a quick wink. “And that ain’t happening.”
“Because no one fucks with Tyson BloodMoon,” she drawled.
“Now you’re getting it.”
Their argument died when their food arrived. Large platters of delicate lobster meat steaming inside vibrant red shells had Cersi’s eyes rounding. At the mere sight of the food, her stomach growled loudly. She was starving from being out for two whole days so as soon as the waiter settled the plates on the bar top, she ripped the silverware out of the cloth napkin and forked a mound of steaming garlic flavored mashed potatoes into her mouth. Her cheeks billowed then hollowed as she rapidly sucked in and exhaled air to cool the bite in her mouth.
Beside her, Tyson chuckled and offered, “Maybe try the lobster first. It shouldn’t be too hot.”
Swallowing her bite, she took Tyson’s advice and speared a decent hunk of lobster meat before dipping it into the little carafe of butter that sat over a lit tea candle. The second the lobster meat hit her tongue, she closed her lips and eyes and moaned. It might have been because she was famished, but this was, hands down, the best meal she’d ever had in her entire life.
The waiter settled Tyson’s expensive bottle of wine on the bar between them, and even though she’d said she wasn’t going to have any, she accepted the filled wine glass Tyson handed her and took a healthy swig before setting the glass near her plate and digging back into her food.
Brows furrowing as he watched her, Tyson offered, “Maybe you should take it easy. Your stomach’s been empty for two days.”
“Three,” she corrected around a bite of food.
When Tyson looked at her in confusion, she elaborated. “All I had the day I shot us was a couple of margaritas.” She stopped with a forkful of green beans to her lips when she looked up and realized the bartender was standing there. His brows were hiked up and were confirmation enough that he’d heard her.
“Ha ha,” she forced out a brittle laugh. “Short us,” she rushed out and cleared her throat. “The day the bank shorted us,” she explained to the bartender who shot her a weird look and went back to the other end of the bar.
Beside her, Tyson was laughing a deep rumbling sound that had her grinning as she dipped her chin and angled her head to the side to hiss out of the side of her mouth, “Asshole. You could’ve said he was standing there.”
After that, they ate in silence, and because Tyson was right, she slowed way down. It didn’t take much to get full, so by the time Tyson filled her wine glass a second time, she was shoving her plate away.
“Feeling better,” he asked.
“Mmm,” was her response as she sipped her wine.
Tyson polished off the rest of his food, and when she slid her plate toward him, he accepted it and ate what remained on her plate too.
“You eat a lot.”
“I’m a big guy.” His eyes turned mocking. “Us brick shit houses burn a lot of calories.”
Her eyes tripped down his frame, and when her blood went all hot, she tore her eyes from him and tried—and failed miserably—to sound utterly nonchalant as she asked, “So…guys huh?”
Tyson, who’d just taken another long pull of his beer choked.
Eyes rounding, Cersi patted him on the back until he stopped coughing. When he looked at her accusatorily, she shrugged her good shoulder up to her ear and offered, “Sorry. Inappropriate topic.” Reaching for her glass, her hand stopped when Tyson caught her wrist. She looked at him, and he was shaking his head.
“I’m not gay.”
What? “But…you said…”
“I said clothes on at all times in my presence. That doesn’t mean I don’t like women, Badass. It means I don’t trust myself in the presence of one like you.”
Like me? She stopped herself from asking by lifting her wineglass to her lips and drinking heartily as she considered his words. His declaration had her way more excited than she should have been. Finally, she set her glass down and said, “It’s okay, you know. I’m…”
“I’m not gay,” Tyson bellowed loudly enough that the bartender glanced up from where he was washing glasses at the opposite end of the bar.
Leaning closer to her, Tyson growled, “I am not gay. I just can’t have you parading around half dressed in front of me and my…”
Eyes narrowing, Cersi studied him. “You and your what?”
When he didn’t answer, she pressed, “And what did you mean, one like me?”
Letting his head fall back, Tyson sighed, “Oh dear God, you are difficult.”
Feeling a little too proud of that, Cersi lifted her glass and clinked it off his bottle that sat on the bar. “Thank you.” She drank down the rest of her wine, eyeing Tyson over the rim.
To himself, he muttered, “It wasn’t a compliment.”
She knew that, but messing with this behemoth was just too much fun.
Cersi finished her second drink far too quickly. Setting the empty glass on the bar, she swayed a little which had Tyson’s brows spearing down. One large hand settled on her lower back. He placed his other hand on her thigh. She swore she could feel the heat from his palm searing her skin through the denim she wore.
“That was probably too much too soon.” He pulled some money from his wallet and tossed it on the bar before standing. “Your first meal in three days and we punctuate it with two shots of gin and two glasses of wine, probably not a good call.”
Cersi got to her feet and had to admit he was right. She was feeling way too good. Belly full, arms and legs flushing with liquid warmth, her head began to grow fuzzy.
The bartender hurled a, “Thank you, Mr. BloodMoon,” down the bar but Tyson only grunted, his eyes never leaving Cersi.
She went from feeling warm to feeling hot and a little achy under his gaze. It only got worse when he swept her up off her feet to cradle her in his arms.
“Tyson,” she breathed peeking around. “People will see.”
“There are no people, and even if there were, I don’t give a fuck!”
He didn’t even break eye contact with Cersi as he carried her out of the bar and up the stairs to the second-floor landing.
“You…should probably put me down.” She hated saying the words but having him carrying her around like she was his wasn’t doing her stupid addled insides any favors.
He didn’t put her down though, so she said again, more firmly this time, “Put me down.”
With a sigh, he did as she requested but caught her hand in his. When she looked down at their interlocked fingers, he shook his head. “Ain’t letting go, don’t ask.”
She didn’t. Hand tucked in his, they made their way down the hall back to their room.
“I’m exhausted,” she admitted.
“I know.”
How could he know? “It doesn’t make sense. I just woke up.”
“Your bodies healing. It needs time.”
He was right. She’d never shot herself before, but she had been shot in the line of duty. A bullet went through her left thigh, and it had taken months to heal properly.
“Hey,” Cersi exclaimed glancing down with a grin as her thoughts were brought back to the present. “Our penny’s still there.” She pointed at it before looking up at Tyson. “Must mean the luck is meant for us.”
“Told you,” he stepped over it again pulling her along with him. “I make my own luck. And I ain’t superstitious.”
At the door to their room, he pulled out the key card and held it to the lock, but his eyes were on Cersi. “Are you?”
“What?” she asked. “Superstitious?” She shrugged. “Sure. Better safe than sorry, I suppose. Plus, a lot of superstitions have historic significance. Most have been around longer than me.” She released his hand and slid under his arm when he pushed the door open. “Who am I to shirk tradition?”
He caught her arm just as she brushed past him.
Eyes lifting to his, her breath stalled a minute when his bright green eyes narrowed on her. “Then why didn’t you pick it up,” he asked.
Looking over her shoulder and back down the hall, a corner of her mouth kicked up. “I’m superstitious, but I’m also a germophobe.” Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “I’m not touching some old penny from God knows where that’s sitting on a filthy hotel carpet.” She heaved an exaggerated sigh. “It might as well be sitting in the bottom of a toilette.”
Without another word, she stepped into the suite and made her way to the bathroom. She didn’t need to use the facilities, but she definitely needed to put some space between herself and Tyson because being close to him was messing with her head. She kept forgetting she was on a mission. She kept forgetting that he and his brother had Vesa and that they could be her enemies.