Sweet as Sin (20 page)

When the crustaceans were under control, Gina paused and blew a stray hair away.

“Thanks for getting him here. I worried when he moved that he’d end up a recluse. Johnny doesn’t exactly search out friends, you know.

He’s content with his creations and take-out pizza.”

“I didn’t get him here. You and your threats did.”

“Hey, whatever works.” Gina laughed as John and a tall man with bright emerald eyes came through the door. The man dropped a kiss on Gina’s cheek before stealing a chilled shrimp.

Quick introductions flew and Pete Salvatori disappeared with a tray of basting spices. Gina thrust potato salad makings at Livvy.

Mixing the goopy blend, Livvy bit her lip to hide a smile. John’s sister treated her like family.

Guests you catered to, family you dictated to and bossed around. Right now, John was on the wrong end of that dictatorship.

“I just don’t understand, that’s all.” Gina pointed her knife in John’s direction and scowled.

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“A police cruiser, Johnny? What in the hell were you thinking?”

John rubbed his eyes. “I was thinking at least this time I wasn’t in handcuffs. Enough with the cross-examination, Gina.”

Livvy grimaced at the anger as he strode out the door and across the lawn, stiff-backed and swaggering. Irritation emanated from his body.

Another element of being treated like family was not hiding your arguments. She’d forgotten that part.

“He told you.” Awe in her voice, Gina gaped at her, her brows rounded in surprise.

Livvy concentrated on mixing the salad but nodded. John’s sister just stared. Silence stretched while the shrimp pot continued to boil, the sound of rapid bubbling filling the space. After a small swallow that felt almost like a betrayal of his confidence, Livvy sighed. “Yes, he told me about Alan.”

Gina rubbed her neck. “Wow. Johnny doesn’t even talk to me about it anymore. You must mean a hell of a lot more to him than I thought.” She turned a soft smile on Livvy. “I’m glad.”

Conversation became impossible as more

women came into the kitchen bearing casseroles, baskets and boxes. Gina directed everything to its proper place and Livvy was sent to a wide table on the patio where several women sat sorting 218

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small toys into sand buckets. Gina tossed out to no one in particular that she was John’s girlfriend, and the circle opened immediately. Such simple words, but they made Livvy’s heart buoyant as she tucked yo-yos and squirt guns into plastic buckets.

Livvy glanced around at the now-bustling yard for a familiar flash of dark hair. At the far end of the grass under a small oak tree, beside a tapped keg, John stood with several other men in a circle.

“Never fails,” Gina piped up when she noticed the direction of Livvy’s gaze. “You get a bunch of men together, they all revert to puberty, and their IQ drops twenty points.”

“That’s why they all end up with stupid

nicknames.” One woman snorted. “You try being married to a man everyone calls Skunk and see how you like it.”

A young woman sighed. “Still, look at them. If testosterone could patch the ozone layer, that group over there would fix the problem in an hour.” Livvy had to agree. The group was nothing more than a feast of masculine eye candy with every flavor represented.

A very pregnant woman pulled herself out of her chair and moaned. “Yeah, well if they start whipping out rulers to see who’s got a bigger package, I want pictures. It’s been so long since Cas touched me, I forget what it looks like.”

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“Looks like he already touched you enough,”

Skunk’s wife quipped and the feminine group erupted in laughter.

Like most company picnics she’d attended, the crowd was evenly divided into groups. The married folks with small children commandeered the center and watched brightly scrubbed

preschoolers ruin their clothes while sharing stories of bottles and kindergarten teachers.

Beneath the oak, single men, or those with no children, told stories that would most likely burn a blush onto a woman’s cheeks while their

counterparts stood around the dessert table and told tales of their own that were just as catty. On picnic benches and various lawn chairs, the older crowd relived different days. Behind the scenes, the small group of women who kept things rolling moved with quiet efficiency. Only mealtime would bring everyone together.

Pete sent a loud blast from an air horn and the crowd moved en masse closer to the food tables and grills. Livvy’s back molded against John’s chest, his dark shirt absorbing the heat of their bodies and the day. The clip from her hair released in his hand, spilling her hair around her face. John tucked the clip in his pocket with a small grin before running his fingers through the loose curls. He brushed the hair to one side and nibbled her neck while everyone else bowed their 220

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head for a prayer. A zing of sexual energy made her thighs tremble and her eyes refused to focus.

Somehow she ended up with an overflowing

plate at a wooden table beside him. Children ran by, squirting water pistols and streaming bubbles while the DJ blasted an eclectic mix of music.

Tablemates laughed and teased and Livvy had no trouble relaxing. The end of the long meal silently signaled people to drift to their separate groups, but Livvy hated to part from him. Straddling the bench, John held her with him until everyone else had cleared away. They stole a private moment in the throng of picnickers, the instant connection sparking with a single sly look.

Just before his mouth landed on hers, Gina called to Livvy, asking her to help clean up. Livvy smiled at him in mournful resignation. His hand clung to hers as she went to step away.

“Let ’er go, Shakespeare, and come get a beer,”

a deep voice called.

Livvy turned with a grin. “Shakespeare?”

John stood, popped a quick kiss on her mouth and chuckled. “‘What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.’”

Livvy leaned in and rubbed her sunburned nose against his. “You’re no rose, Murphy, just a silver-tongued devil.”

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His eyes darkened in the bright sun and he pulled her close. The spicy scent of his skin wrapped around her as his lips traced her ear lobe.

“If we ever get a minute alone, I want to show you what a silver tongue I have.”

“Shakespeare, come on.” The voice laughed.

“Or do you need an audience, you pervert?”

John sighed and dropped his head back before calling over his shoulder. “Shut up, Beaver. I’m working here.”

Livvy shoved him away with a giggle. The sway of her hips as she crossed the lawn did erotic things to his imagination. He couldn’t get enough of her. Shaking his head to clear the sexual cobwebs, he joined the small group of men under the shade tree.

A brawny black man chuckled heartily as he filled red plastic cups from the tap, passing them behind him like a well-oiled machine. The beer assembly line rarely changed, from the keg to Smoke, to Utah and down the line. The familiar scene eased John back into the fold.

“One question.” Foxy grinned, his dark blond hair flying in the wind. “She a real redhead?”

John took a long sip of the cool brew handed to him. Not bothering to hide his grin, he nodded.

“I love redheads.” Casanova sighed.

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John smacked him in the back of the head and fixed him with a stern look. “Want your fingers broken? Don’t touch. Aren’t you married now?”

“Married, yes. Dead below the waist, no.”

“But still stupid,” John shot back.

“Oooh, Shakespeare’s jealous, boys. There’s a first. Better watch it, Cas, he’ll nail your boot to the ground next.” Smoke laughed around the ever-present cigarette.

Smoke made a good foreman for just that

reason—he knew when to back off, when to divert attention and when to knock heads. That he was a stone-solid mountain helped immensely. At six-one, John came even with the bald man’s thickly corded neck.

John shot him a grin. “I never meant to shoot the nail gun at your foot. I aimed for your balls and slipped.”

Jibes and jokes, tall tales of women and

adventures were passed around like a
Playboy
in a locker room. Occasionally one of the women drifted over to flirt, ask a question or generally remind them they were being watched, but mostly the banter was crude and all male. John searched for a glimpse of Livvy through the open patio door, smiling when she came into view. His gaze landed on another woman headed toward the oak.

“Who the hell brought Emily?”

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Every set of male eyes flew to the approaching brunette. Of the group, few hadn’t known her and even if they hadn’t, her reputation preceded her like a parade.

“Stoner’s shacked up with her now,” Casanova whispered just as she joined the outskirts of the group. She headed directly to John.

“You’re stuck in her craw, Shakespeare,” Foxy said. “You didn’t scratch her itch long enough.”

Curves that most country roads would envy reminded John of her appeal but he had no interest in heading down that path. Long dark hair bounced with each step. The knotted halter-top bared her lean stomach and drew attention to her breasts. She was beautiful, John acknowledged, but her beauty was superficial. He had a sudden thirst for Livvy’s kisses.

“Hey, Shakespeare.”

Her voice had made more than one man pant, but John looked through her, sipped his beer and nodded. “Em. Where’s Stoner?”

“Where is Stoner usually? Out behind the cars, I guess. Where’ve
you
been? You just dropped off the face of the earth. I’ve missed you.”

“Been around. Moved on. Nothing important to hold me here.”

A dimple appeared as the subtle dig landed.

“You didn’t stick around long enough to get a good taste.”

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Before he could blink, she planted her painted mouth on his. John jerked backward, his spine hitting the scratchy bark of the shade tree. He wiped his hand across his mouth.

“Don’t do that, Em. I’ve been there, done you.

Not interested in a repeat.”

A gleam lit her eyes and she boldly slid her hand over his zipper. “I do love a challenge.”

“You got trouble,” Beaver hissed. John’s eyes flew over Emily’s head. Livvy was headed

straight for him with jealous fire on her face. His gut sank.

Emily looked over her shoulder. A feline grin bowed her lips and she turned back to him with a soft laugh. “She’s too sweet for you, Shakespeare.

You could eat her in one bite and still be hungry. I know you like them spicy, just like me.”

Her fingers moved higher, walking up his chest.

It took everything he had not to rip her hand from his shirt but he was honestly afraid he would crush her wrist if he touched her right now.

“Lady, if you want to keep those tiger claws, you’ll get them off my man right now.”

Emily licked her lips, turned and pressed closer to his chest. “Go away, sugar.”

“Hands off, bitch.”

The brunette spun away from him on her heel.

“Who are you calling a bitch?”

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“I only see one dog in heat here.” Livvy

narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. “From what I hear, you’ve had every Salvatori man sniffing after your skirts, and most of them find a well-chewed doggie biscuit. But you’re barking up the wrong tree this time, Fifi. He’s in my doghouse now, so paws off.”

Utah snickered but no other sound broke the air.

John stood with his jaw hanging open. When had his sugary lover turned into a spitting alley cat?

Emily’s ruby claws circled around his neck like a leather collar, trying to mark him as hers. “I don’t see him fighting me off.”

Livvy glared at him. Possession swelled and for the first time in his life, he didn’t choke on it.

He was Livvy’s and only Livvy’s.

He calmly reached around and eased Emily’s hands from his skin. “Not interested, Em. Not now and not anytime in the future. This mutt’s been housebroken.”

Fury flashed on her face and she shoved away from him, digging her nails into his stomach.

Livvy wiggled her fingers, a sarcastic sparkle in her eyes. “Bu-bye, Bow-wow.”

Laughter burst out in the group but dimmed in his ears as Livvy walked to him. Her chin notched higher and her steps grew bolder than he’d ever seen. A scant hair’s breadth from him, Livvy shook her head with an unreadable expression on 226

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her face. “Can’t leave you alone for a second, can I?”

“I didn’t start that.”

The men milled around him but he knew they had keen ears and were hanging on to every word.

He didn’t care. All he cared about was Livvy.

She’d doubted him before. Did she doubt him still?

John had always gotten his share of female attention, even been the center of a few catfights.

Before, it had stroked his masculine ego. But now fear brewed and he wondered if she trusted him.

He’d never wanted a woman’s trust but he needed Livvy’s. He’d think about why later.

Her hand shot to his face and he braced for a slap that never came. Instead, she whisked her thumb across his bottom lip. She arched one eyebrow in challenge.

“Whore-red is not your color.”

Her slow smile eased the tight muscles in his gut.
Damn, she knew what was happening the
whole time and played me like a roulette wheel.

She trusts me.
Such a strong sense of wonder took hold that his hands trembled. “Quite the wildcat, aren’t you, Liv?”

Livvy cocked her head and tossed his flirt back to him. “Meow.”

Desire leaped, pouncing with a speed and

strength that threatened to bring him to his knees.

He’d known she was beautiful but now she

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radiated a glow that captivated him. The fading sunlight kissed her hair, bathing her face in gold.

Just one look and he was harder than an oak board, something Emily couldn’t manage with a touch.