Fatal Strike by Shannon McKenna Read Free Book Online Page B

her eyes, but Aaro hustled her in to do her maid-of-honor duty.
    Sveti lagged behind, joggling the fussing Marco to calm him down. The movement made her tits quiver. Her shoulders were creamy pale in contrast to her long, dark hair. Petrie wrenched his gaze away. Down, boy. Daring to look at the lofty goddess’s perfect ta-tas. But her scolding attention was focused mostly on Miles, not him. So no worries.
    She stopped on the step below, frowning up. “Miles?” she asked, as if she didn’t quite believe it.
    “That would be me,” Miles said.
    “Where in hell have you been? Do you know how worried—”
    “Don’t.” Miles’ voice was hoarse. “Don’t start.”
    Sveti’s lips tightened up. She looked almost like she might start to cry. “At least you are here,” she said. “How nice of you to make such an effort. So generous of you, no? Such a loyal friend.”
    Miles looked relieved. Sarcasm was easier to deal with than tears.
    “Thought I’d missed it,” he said. “Good thing Lily was late.”
    “Marco had a terrible attack of colic,” Sveti told him. “Lily ended up having to take her whole outfit off so she could nurse—”
    “Christ, spare us the gruesome details,” Petrie cut in.
    Her eyes flicked over him. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
    Miles peered down at the creature squirming on Sveti’s chest. “Marco. Wow. He’s, uh . . .” He paused, at a loss. “Bigger.”
    “Oh, yes.” Sveti held the wriggling striped entity up to be inspected, as proudly as if it were her own. “He’s gained three pounds in two months. Almost up to the 50th percentile in length and weight for a full-term baby. But the colic is very bad. Want to hold him?”
    Miles recoiled visibly. “No, no,” he said hastily. “You keep him.”
    She cuddled Marco back to her tits again, studying Miles intently, with those huge, exotically tilted eyes that haunted Petrie’s wet dreams.
    “This isn’t about Cindy, is it?” she asked, very softly.
    Miles shook his head. “Not at all.”
    “Ah. That is good. Because, you know, ah . . . she is no longer with that man, hmm? The one she ran away with. You know that?”
    “Don’t care,” Miles said, his voice flat. “Irrelevant.”
    Sveti gazed at Miles searchingly for a moment, and then nodded, evidently satisfied. “Good,” she said. “She was just an excuse for you, anyway. A reason to hide. No one was contented with her. Not for you.”
    Miles shook his head. “Can’t go there with you, Sveti. Not today.”
    “You’re a fine one to talk about excuses,” Petrie blurted, and was immediately appalled at himself. What the fuck possessed him? A death wish? A schoolyard hunger for attention? Jealous because she was talking to Miles and not him? Sveti had turned her fathomless dark eyes on him, wide and affronted and furious. Too late to turn back.
    “I beg your pardon?” she said, icily.
    Petrie gestured toward Marco. “Excuses. Like that one. You’ve always got a baby wrapped around your neck. Like a suit of armor. No guy’s going to get that close to a full diaper, so you’re safe, right? Good old Sveti. Always first in line to help with the kiddies.” He took a long swig, but Sveti was still glaring at him when he capped the flask.
    “You are an asshole, Petrie,” she informed him.
    “As you have told me many times before.” Petrie clucked his tongue. “Such tough language for Marco’s tender ears.”
    “Shut up. My armor is of a better class than yours.” She slapped the capped liquor flask out of his hands, sending it spinning and bouncing off the steps. “Better to stink of baby poop than of bourbon.”
    Marco tugged at Sveti’s neckline with a red, dimpled hand that shone with drool, and nuzzled hungrily at Sveti’s cleavage. Petrie jerked his chin toward the kid. “Looks like he wants to top up,” he observed.
    Sveti’s face went crimson. She pulled a bottle from her purse, stuck it in Marco’s mouth, and stalked away. The two men