Forgotten Sea

“Babe,” he said mildly. “Take a menu.”

“I want to see his tattoo.”

He shot a glance behind her at the young guy, who was back to watching Lara with narrowed, intense eyes.

“I’m sure he’d be happy to show you al his tattoos. But then he might want to inspect yours.”

“I don’t have any . . . Oh.” She flushed and twisted back around.

Too late.

Young Guy started forward and was blocked by Stocky.

Shit. No time to retreat. No room to react. Iestyn got to his feet as the grizzled man in the bandanna approached F o r g o t t e n s e a 179

their table, uncomfortably aware of the kids in the next booth, the mother dipping her napkin in her water glass to wipe the toddler’s hands and mouth.

“Haven’t seen you in here before,” Bandanna Man said.

And you never will again, Iestyn thought.

“Just passing through,” he said easily.

“What do you want?”

Lara opened her mouth.

“Short stack, two eggs over easy, and coffee,” Iestyn said quickly before she could speak. “Milk, no sugar.”

“What?”

He sighed. “We’re not looking for trouble. Just breakfast.”

He could see the waitress, a wide woman with a shock of peachy curls, waiting with her pad by the coffeepots, as obviously deadened to disputes as she was to peeling linoleum or the crumbs the kid in the next booth was grinding into the floor.

Bandanna Man shifted his weight, clearly il at ease.

“You’re not looking for . . .”

“No trouble,” Iestyn repeated. “We just came in for something to eat.”

The man jerked his chin in Lara’s direction. “What about her?”

“She’s with me,” Iestyn said firmly, flatly. “Why don’t you move on so this nice lady can take our order.”

*

*

*

The man in the red bandanna loomed over their table, exuding menace and testosterone. Lara tensed. Beneath the bacon and onions, something simmered. Not a smel . An absence of scent and warmth, of light and life. It pressed her chest like a lack of air, muffled her senses like a hood.

18 0

V i r g i n i a K a n t r a

For a moment she could not breathe.

The family in the next booth col ected themselves and left, the ten-year-old dragging his feet, the mother clutching the toddler in her arms.

Iestyn sat perfectly stil , doing nothing, everything about him open and relaxed, his face, his voice, his posture. Mr. No Problem. Except she knew him wel enough now to see the muscle ticking beside his mouth, to feel the coiled tension in his long, lean body.

Maybe the man in the red bandanna felt it, too. Because after three . . . four . . . five agonizing heartbeats, he turned away.

“Have some water,” Iestyn said.

She blinked at him.

He pushed a sweating glass across the table. “Drink some damn water. You look ready to pass out.”

His blunt command was easier to bear than sympathy would have been.

She drank and felt the muscles of her throat relax.

“You’re taking care of me again.”

A corner of his mouth quirked up. “As much as you’l let me.

What do you want?”

“Whatever you want,” he’d said to her last night.

“What can I do for you this morning?”

Her face burned. She dropped her gaze to the straw lying on the table. Absently, she picked it up, rol ing it between her fingers. “I just ask, and you’l give it to me?”

“If it’s on the menu.”

The waitress swept in to take her tip and their order.