Lip caught between my teeth, I bite back the urge to scream, and screw my eyes shut to the visual of her choking on that goddamn ice cream cone.
“Fuel meet fire.” Lucian climbs out, and every muscle in my body pulls tight as I watch him round the vehicle toward the women.
With the window still rolled down, I can hear snippets of their whispers, as Lucian approaches.
“Sorry to interrupt your ice cream, but my lady friend over there seems to think your comments are directed at her.” There’s an eerie calm to Lucian’s voice as he stands towering over them, while both women squint to look up at him. “If that’s the case, I’ll ask that you apologize to her for being so rude.”
“Do you even know who you’re talking to, asshole?” Joan asks, lifting her hand to shield her eyes from the glaring sun that must be directly in her face, maybe why she doesn’t seem to recognize him and those infamous scars.
“Any chance you might know who you’re talking to?”
Hand covering my mouth, I swallow back a laugh, watching these clueless women rile the Devil of Bonesalt.
Brady’s mom scoffs and takes another lick of her ice cream. “Tell me, so I can report your ass for harassment.”
“Lucian Blackthorne.” He bends forward, holding out a hand toward her. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Both women gasp in unison.
Brady’s mom slowly lowers the ice cream from her mouth, the top scoop plopping onto her lap with her trembling. She glances toward Joan, who hasn’t moved in nearly a minute now, as if he’s already turned her to stone. Neither woman returns his shake.
“Perhaps the gossip hasn’t truly done me justice,” he says, and slips his hand back into his pocket. “Feel free to report my ass, if you’d like. I’ll give my lawyer a heads-up. And in the meantime, I strongly suggest you watch your words when you speak, or refer, to Isadora Quinn.”
Not a word is spoken between the two women, and I’m beginning to wonder if he cast some kind of dark spell over them, because I’ve never seen Brady’s mom so silent after a confrontation.
As Lucian makes his way back toward the car, I exhale a shaky breath, trying to figure out whether to laugh, or cry, at the fact that he just verbally Hulk-smashed the bane of my existence.
The moment he falls into the seat beside me, a burst of laughter escapes me, and I double over, my muscles still trembling with the adrenaline rush. Catching a glimpse of Brady’s mom cleaning up the mess from her lap, I laugh harder. “You are so on her shit-list now.”
“Whoever did her hair this morning should be, as well,” he says, throwing the car in reverse. “Where to next? The Shoal?”
“Yes. What took you so long in there? Thought I was going to have to send in a rescue squad.”
He shrugs, looking calm and collected, the way he leans back in his seat with one hand on the wheel. “Caught up in conversation. Who were those women back there?”
“Tempest Cove clowns.”
“I’m serious.”
Huffing, I stare out the window at the sidewalks bustling with tourists. Strangers who know nothing about me. Have no idea about my reputation. “Brady’s mom and her friend, Joan.”
“Why do they have a problem with you?”
Pangs of remorse still needle my gut for not having stood up for myself. If not for my desperation to get out of this town, I’d have chanced another harassment claim, just to shut her up myself. “This whole town has a problem with me.”
“I can see why.” At his remark, I snap my attention back to him, scowling and mouth gaping for something to say. “Young. Beautiful. Intelligent. I’d be pissed, too, if I looked as unoriginal as the two of them.”
Chuckling, I shake my head. “I never know whether to slap you, or kiss you, Lucian. It’s the most confusing feeling in the world.”
Eyes on the road, he sets his hand on my thigh in a possessive way. “Nobody fucks with you when you’re with me. Ever.”
The Devil of Bonesalt. The Mad Son. The monster of Tempest Cove.
Not even.
About a mile and a half up the street, he pulls into the parking lot of The Shoal, where I notice Aunt Midge’s old junker parked off in one of the designated employee spots toward the back of the lot. A nervous thrum of anxiety pulses beneath my skin as we exit the car. Rhea was relatively harmless. It’s hard to say with Aunt Midge. She knows Lucian played a part in helping with the drug dealer, but whether that’s enough to change her perception of him is up in the air.
The tired boards of the deck creak below our feet, as we walk the pier to the front entrance, the salty sea air and sound of seagulls taking me back to life before Blackthorne Manor. After passing through the invisible curtain of grease at the entrance, we step inside, the scent of seafood smacking me in the face. Irish pub music drones on in the background, where the regulars--Mac, Joe, Doherty and Paul sit in their usual seats around the bar. Conversation withers like a frosted vine, the moment they turn their heads toward us. Behind the bar, Aunt Midge eyes me up and down, and frowning, she tosses a towel onto the counter behind her before shuffling toward us. “What’s this?”
“We’re here for lunch, like I promised.”
“We?” She tips her head, and the moment she crosses her arms, looking past me toward Lucian behind me, I know she doesn’t approve. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”
“Sure.”
Warm palms grip my shoulders, and perhaps Aunt Midge notices the way my skin reacts to Lucian’s more intimate touch because her frown deepens. “I’ll grab a table.” He strides toward one of the many open spots at the back of the bar, and I watch the other men eyeing him as he passes.
Once out of earshot, Aunt Midge tips her head to get my attention. “What do you think you’re doing?” Her gaze dips to my dress and back. “Wearing dresses now?”
“I told you. We’re having lunch. The dress was the only thing I had to wear in ninety-degree heat. Here.” I slip the check Rand issued me this morning for another week of work. “To help with the mortgage. Already signed it.”
“I’ll deposit it for you, but I’m not taking the money.” She folds the check, slipping it into her apron.
“C’mon, Aunt Midge. Don’t be difficult.”
“That’s another discussion. Right now, I want to know why you brought him here.”
“Why not?”
“Sounds too much like a date.” Again, her eyes trail down to my dress and back. “Looks like a date, too.”
“What if it is? I’m nineteen. An adult.”
“And he’s nearly twice your age, child!” She’s the master at whisper-yelling, but I don’t think she went unheard this time, as I look around the room to see all the men, Lucian included, staring back at us. “Look, I know he helped out with that Franco. But you don’t need to be getting involved with him, okay? It’s bad news.”
“You guys get a load of that? The Devil of Bonesalt himself.” Mac, one of the older fishermen sits at the end of the bar, hiking his thumb toward Lucian. “Since when do we allow monsters in our fine establishments?”
Two of the men chuckle, and only one of them shakes his head, but smiles as he’s doing it.