At that moment, a body pushes up to the bar on my opposite side, and I turn, ready to snap when the words die in my throat. Reanna is standing beside me with an empty pitcher and an angry expression. “Dog’s Den,” she calls to the bartender, and he takes it from her, propping it under the tap and flipping the handle down. “Reanna.” Her name is lost in the noise of the bar. She leans closer, her full breasts practically pressed against my forearm, the heat of her body tightening my muscles. “I see you’re here with her.” Her accent is more pronounced, and her ice-blue eyes flash with cold fire. I
...more
This highlight has been truncated due to consecutive passage length restrictions.
