Damian
āYou?ā
My head whips around at the sound of a womanās voice.
Itās been a long-ass morning already with meetings I wouldāve loved to have avoided. Since being put in charge of the Durango field office, it seems I spend more time in meetings than working in the field. I swear each week there are new task forces put together, and I can barely keep up. I stepped out of the office for a much-needed break to find that the coffee shop around the corner had a sign plastered on the door stating they were closed due to a family emergency. Desperate for my caffeine fix, I kept walking and bumped into Kerryās Korner: Books & Brew. Something about the name is familiar. I push the door, which opens with the ring of a bell, when I hear her voice.Ā
Sheās pretty. The woman behind the counter looks like a seventies flower child, with wild, dirty blonde hair, some kind of flowy top leaving her collarbones and a goodly amount of cleavage exposed, and a pixie face. Something about her is familiar, and it appears she knows me, too. Fuck if I canāt place her.Ā
āGot me at a disadvantage, sweets,ā I tell her with a shrug.
āYouāre FBI,ā she says, propping her hands on her nicely rounded hips. āI remember you.ā
I look at her a little closer. Not a hardship, thereās a lot to check out. Those pale gray eyes trigger a memory. āYouāre Kimeoās girl,ā I say, remembering the case a few years ago when I first saw her for the briefest of moments. A case long since put to rest, but not before this woman was snatched and roughed up before we got to her. Weād been called in by Gus Flemming, a friend of mine who owns an investigation and security company in Cedar Tree. Kimeo, the wife of one of Gusās guys, found herself in the middle of shady land deals and this woman, her best friend, had been kidnapped to ensure her silence. I may not have remembered her name until I saw her standing behind the counter of Kerryās Korner, but I sure as hell remember her. I also remember the wedding ring on her finger, which is why I didnāt bother looking twice at the time.Ā
The hands resting on her hips no longer sport that wedding ring, just a large knuckle ring on the middle finger of her left hand as a sort of fuck you to the world. I bet she flips that bird easily, judging by the attitude she throws off. I like it.
āKerry,ā she says, almost as a challenge.Ā
āRight. You look better now,ā I tell her, making her snort loudly.
āNo shit. Iād just been used as a punching bag when you found me and shoved me into the back of a van without a word.ā Yup, most definitely a challenge. She doesnāt like me much, I deduct from the slightly distasteful look on her face.
āWas a little preoccupied with my investigation. Sorry if I didnāt take the time to make nice.ā Fuck me, I sound like a dick. Something about her attitude grates on me, especially when she rolls her eyes dramatically before placing her hands on the counter in front of her and leaning over.Ā
āDamian. Right?ā She doesnāt wait for my confirmation before she continues, āWell, Damian, what brings you to my bookstore?ā
āCoffee. Straight up,ā I tell her without blinking. She turns her back without a word and starts fiddling with the expensive-looking machine on the sideboard, and I take the opportunity to check out her backside. āDouble shot?ā she asks over her shoulder, catching me ogling.Ā
āGood guess.ā I smile at her, which only earns me another eye roll. Attitude in spades, this one. As much as it irritates me, it somehow turns me on, too.Ā
Sheās late thirties, maybe forty, if I had to venture a guess from the lines around her eyes. She obviously laughs a lotāsomething I wouldnāt mind hearing. I have a feeling with that slightly raspy voice of hers, her laugh will sound even sexier. Sheās not wearing a stitch of makeup from what I can tell and seems totally at ease in her skin. Not usually the kind of woman I find myself drawn to, but this one has an appeal all her own. Most women I end up with are well put together: stacked, sweet, and sultry. Just the way I like them. This one, though? This one is like the fucking girl next door. Fresh-faced, with a hippy vibe, barely enough tit to fill my hands, but an ass that should be framed, itās that lush. Always considered myself a boob man, until I just got an eyeful of her backside.Ā
While she doctors the elaborate coffee machine, I take the time to check out her shop. An older building, it has an old-fashioned facade with shallow bay windows, displaying an assortment of books, framing the door. Old wood floors that have been left bare to the wear and tear of foot traffic, resulting in a well-worn look more suited to an old saloon. Rows of rugged bookcases, jutting out from the back wall, with chalkboard display signs indicating the different genres. The counter is on one side in front of the window and on the opposite side, in front of the second bay window, is a small seating arrangement with an old, brown leather couch and two club chairs around a small, round coffee table. On the counter is a large, round, glass cake stand with pastries.Ā
āHere you go. Anything else with that? A pastry to sweeten you up a bit or perhaps a book on appropriate social behavior? I have both.ā I canāt stop the smirk tugging at my mouth. This oneās a handful, for sure. Too much of one. I pull out my wallet and slap a couple of dollar bills on the counter.Ā
āNah,ā I drawl. āNot the kind of sweet Iām looking for, and as for the book, Iāll just wait until you get done with it. Youāre probably due for a reread.ā I snag my coffee off the counter, and with a wink, I saunter out the door, leaving her standing with her mouth hanging open and fire shooting from those pretty gray eyes.
How to kick off a great summer in the Hamptons:
Scarlett is always the sensible one: The sober driver. The planner. The one holding your hair back while you’re worshiping the porcelain gods.
Sara Ney is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the How to Date a Douchebag series, and is best known for her sexy, laugh-out-loud New Adult romances. Among her favorite vices, she includes: iced latte’s, historical architecture and well-placed sarcasm. She lives colorfully, collects vintage books, art, loves flea markets, and fancies herself British.
Cait's Creatures 