Damn, the woman made him laugh. He looked up and met Czar’s eyes. Shit. Blythe, no doubt, had texted him about the fucking basket. He shook his head, grinning, and looked back down at his phone and the taunting emojis. That woman.
“This fireman,” Storm said. “The one Darby was dating. What do we have on him?”
“Asher Larkin,” Czar announced. “Has a two-year-old son, Caleb. Reggie, the man Eden was married to, has a sister, Lydia. Asher is her son. He’s an only child. He has sole custody of Caleb. He’s a hard worker, and he seems to really like Darby. She broke it off with him after he mentioned to Shark that we had dinner reservations at Crow 287. He came to me like a man and said when Tony asked him if he would let him take Eden out that night, that he didn’t know it was anything more than just that. He hadn’t realized why Darby broke things off with him until Tony said it was a possibility that it was because of their relationship and the reservations.”
“You believe him?” Reaper asked.
Czar nodded. “I didn’t want to. I can tell when a man is lying. He’s a straight shooter. And Darby’s been miserable. Asher doesn’t have anything to do with the Diamondbacks.”
“It’s still dangerous,” Reaper pointed out.
“Darby knows that. She knows what she can and can’t say around him. I’m letting her make up her mind.”
“Shit, Czar,” Storm said in disgust. “It would be a whole hell of a lot easier to kill the bastard. Now we’ve got to watch our girl like a hawk.”
“You were getting lazy,” Alena pointed out. “Gives you something to do.”
Storm glared at her when they all laughed.
“Where are we with Shari Albright?” Savage asked. “I’m not forgetting that she completely demolished Seychelle’s cottage and ruined her parents’ sculpture.”
“While you were holed up in your little love nest with your woman, Savage, Shari went back to San Francisco and hit the clubs hard. She was well known in the party crowd. Liked to do a lot of drugs and party at the edgier clubs. She was with a group of her friends, and right in front of them, Saturday night, she was hitting it hard: mixture of alcohol and drugs, dancing, sex with not-so-nice men, went out on the balcony with her girls and she went over the side. She was laughing too, they said. No one thought she did it on purpose. She was fooling around, doing a striptease on the railing, and then she went over.”
Savage stared at them all. Finally, he shook his head. “No way. The balcony, in front of everyone? We haven’t pulled that one off in years. No cameras? Someone had to have had their cell phone out filming her fooling around like that. Everyone has cell phones now.”
Mechanic grinned at him. “I’m hell on wheels with those cameras now. I practice all the time. No one got a shot of Lana with those women. Even if they did, she was wearing a really cute face that no one would ever recognize. Our resident artist is really getting good.”
“Soleil?” Savage guessed. Ice had married a woman who was an amazing artist.
“She’s mind-blowing with facial masks. She makes them so real. The material is like human skin. Even when you’re wearing it, the mask doesn’t bother you at all. The makeup is superb,” Lana said. “Soleil is a huge asset. She doesn’t have a clue what I’m using it for, but if she did, it wouldn’t matter. She’s so loyal to Ice, she’d never say a word.”
“Thanks, Lana,” Savage said. “And Seychelle’s cottage? I’ll start helping now that I’m halfway decent to be around.”
A round of laughter eased the tension in the room.
“The house is completely cleared and gutted. We’re starting on the walls,” Master reported. “Keys and Player are working on the bathrooms. Maestro and I are concentrating on the kitchen. Once we have those rooms done, we’ll tackle the easier ones. The others join us when they’re off work.”
“Thanks, everyone, we both appreciate it so much.”
“Got something for you,” Savage said. He was lying naked in his favorite spot, his arms around Seychelle’s hips, his head on her belly, while she sat, back to the headboard.
Seychelle’s fingers massaged his scalp, the way she did most nights when they lay together like this. Happy. Lazy. Drifting.
The sex had been amazing. It always was with Seychelle. The marks of his whip were fading, the patterns mostly gone until only a few lines continued to show on her skin. He’d kissed them a hundred times. Kissed her more. Worshipped her body in every way he knew how. Worshipped her even more. She’d given him life. Joy of living. Laughter. Those older women who’d thought it was okay to put a hat made of gems on his Harley. Made him think it was damn funny that a fucking cop would pull a prank on him and think he could get away with it. Never mind he’d started it in the first place. Seychelle had given him fun.
“I don’t need anything more, Savage,” Seychelle murmured softly. “I’ve got everything. I mean it. You’re everything. This house. What we have.”
Savage rolled over, sat up and reached under the bed. There were two packages. Both were of significant size, and both were heavy. He sat facing her and put the first brightly wrapped gift in front of her.
“Open it, baby.”
The wrapping was purple, blue and white tissue paper. She looked at him. “This is signature wrapping from Judith Henderson’s store. She makes gorgeous kaleidoscopes.”
As guesses went, it could have been a good one. He wouldn’t mind having a kaleidoscope in the house. A big one. He watched her expression as she carefully took the tissue away and uncovered the delicate sculpture. Savage didn’t realize he was holding his breath.
Seychelle’s eyes widened. Her facial expression, if possible, got even softer. She lifted her lashes and looked straight at him, the love there so easy to read. She never held anything back from him.
“Lissa finished the sculpture. It’s so beautiful.”
It was. He thought it was even more impressive than the first one. The roses were entwined, the petals a dark red and the stems dark green. It was thicker and much sturdier than the first sculpture but gave the appearance of being delicate. The scattered ashes and former glass embedded in the piece lent it texture and brightness. He thought Lissa was a miracle worker. It wasn’t anything like the first one, but it was beautiful.
“She hoped you’d like it. I didn’t want you to be disappointed that it wasn’t like the first one. She couldn’t make it the same.”
Her fingers trembled a little as she followed the path of the stems. The base was sturdy and could sit easily on a stand if she wanted to light it the way she had the first piece. “I didn’t need it to be the same, Savage. I just needed it back. Thank you. I would never have thought to bring the smashed pieces to her. I love you so much. I really do.”
He took the sculpture from her and handed her the second package. The sculpture he set on the long, wide railing that ran the length of the room. He had thought a lot about where to place it to keep it safe and yet still have the piece prominent for her to see whenever she walked into the master bedroom.
He turned at her gasp. She stared at the second piece of artwork he’d asked Lissa to make for his woman. It was the most beautiful piece of blown glass he’d ever seen, but then he was biased. A single black rose with dozens of thorns twined tightly around a beautiful red rose with no thorns on its stem. When they were apart all those weeks, he had come to her at night, leaving behind a black rose with thorns and a red rose without. Again, the sculpture was sturdy, the bottom able to stand on its own or be fitted onto a base so it could have light under it. His angel. Him.