Courting Justice

Peyton was sitting on a barstool in a slinky black cocktail dress with a split up the side that displayed nearly every inch of her thigh and gorgeous leg. She looked absolutely stunning, the way the thickness of her dreadlocks swept across her shoulders. She hadn’t seen him yet, which gave him a chance to observe her unnoticed. Although she usually came off tough as nails, there was a softness that showed in her face. Her lips were full and sexy, and the reason why he had laid in bed so many times thinking about how it would feel to taste them. Her coffee-colored skin framed her dark eyes. And a pair of gold chandelier earrings dangled from her earlobes, giving her an exotic, sensual look.

She shifted in her seat, revealing a bit more of her thigh, and a spasm of desire coursed through him. He couldn’t see much of her dress. But from what he could see, it covered just enough to make him fantasize about the rest of her.

The men standing around her were eagerly hanging on her every word. They reminded him of predators circling their prey, ready to pounce at the first chance. And he intended to make sure they didn’t. They may have put her at the top of the food chain, but he was going to have her on his menu for her entire stay.

Peyton laughed again, throwing her head back and accentuating her long graceful neck. She sat there looking simply gorgeous and more dazzling than any other woman in the room. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen her look so jaw-droppingly beautiful. There had been times they’d run into each other at weddings and family gatherings. And she always managed to garner more than enough attention, just like now.

When she laughed again, he figured she had started the party without him and it was time to make his presence known, especially when one of the men continued refilling her cocktail as another placed his hand in the center of her back, touching her bare skin.

Not on his watch.

Ignoring the women looking in his direction, he moved toward the bar where Peyton sat entertaining her audience. He frowned the closer he got. It seemed one guy in particular intended to make her his for the night, the one who kept refreshing her cocktail.

She was talkative, more than he’d ever seen before. When he was in her line of sight, she blinked. Seconds later, a huge smile spread across her lips, from corner to corner. “Angelo! What on earth are you doing here?”

Angelo smiled warmly at her as he moved past the men encircling her and came to a stop in front of her. He heard the slight slur in her voice, which meant she’d had one drink too many. “Maybe I should be asking you the same thing, Pey,” he said, intentionally using her nickname to convey his familiarity as he gently pried the glass out of her hand and placed it on the counter.

Angelo knew that Peyton wasn’t a drinker, seldom touched the stuff. She wasn’t completely sloshed yet, but a few more would get her there. “What are you drinking?” he asked her.

She shrugged her shoulders. “Scotch and water. I don’t drink much.”

Angelo nodded. “I know.” He glanced at the glass. It was more Scotch than water.

“I’m celebrating my birthday. It’s this week, and I’ll be thirty.”

He heard the excitement in her voice. “I know that,” he said, “and an early happy birthday to you.”

“Thanks. These guys are helping me celebrate,” she said, motioning to the men standing around her.

“Umm, you don’t say.” Angelo stared at them, taking a hard look at each one of them. A few had the decency to look away, probably to shield the guilty looks on their faces. He knew just how they had intended to help her celebrate.

“Yes, wasn’t that nice of them?”

She really didn’t want to know what he truly thought of them, so instead of answering, he slid onto the stool opposite her. “How can you be turning thirty when you don’t look a day over twenty-five?”

She reached out and patted his cheek. “You’re so sweet, Angelo.”

“Hey, evidently you don’t know the rules around here,” the man who’d had a heavy hand in refreshing her drink said gruffly, moving to stand closer to Peyton’s side.

Angelo gave the man a hard look. “No, I think you’re the one who doesn’t know the rules, especially with the amount of Scotch you’ve been giving her,” he said, glancing back at Peyton, and seeing the glassy look in her eyes.

“He was just being nice, Angelo,” she said softly, smiling. “I’m here to have a good time, right?”

“Right, but I think you’ve had too much of a good time for now.”

She nodded slowly. “Yes, I think so, too.” Then she leaned in closer. He ignored how good she smelled and listened attentively when she whispered, “I’m beginning to feel sick.”

“Then, let me get you to your room,” he said, standing.

“Hey, look here, buddy,” the man said angrily.

Angelo turned stony eyes on him. “No, you look,” he said in a steely voice, trying to keep it down so as not to cause a scene. But if he had to, he would. “You were deliberately trying to get her drunk. Now, I suggest you haul ass before I kick yours.”

The man was about to open his mouth to say something when one of the resort’s well-dressed, no-nonsense security men approached. “Is there a problem, Mr. Di Meglio?”

Angelo glanced over at the resort’s security manager whose name was Saul. “No problem.”

He reached out and took Peyton’s hand and gently tugged her off the barstool to bring her to his side. “I’m escorting Ms. Mahoney to her room. You might want to go over the rules of the resort with these guys, regarding taking advantage of guests by getting them drunk.”

With Peyton nestled close to his side, he began shouldering his way through the crowd. Behind him he heard the man ask Saul in a pissed-off voice, “Just who the hell does he think he is?”

Saul’s response was short and direct. “He’s one of the owners.”

* * *

“Do you need me to help you undress?”

If Angelo had meant to snap her out of her tipsy state he certainly succeeded with that question, Peyton thought, drawing in a quick breath and glancing across the room at him.

She’d just stepped out of the bathroom, after voiding her stomach of the Scotch she’d drank earlier. She’d stayed in the bathroom a few minutes longer, wiping a warm cloth across her face, brushing her teeth and gargling. She felt a little better, but not a whole lot, and knew that in the morning she would probably have a doozy of a headache.

What on earth had made her drink that much when she knew she couldn’t handle it? She’d always known her limits. Overindulging had never been her thing, and she would get upset at anyone who did.

“Peyton?”

It was then that she realized she hadn’t responded to Angelo’s bizarre question. And maybe it wasn’t so bizarre considering how sick she’d been moments ago in the bathroom. There was no doubt he’d heard it and probably figured she’d almost died in the bathroom.

“No thanks, I can manage,” she said, entering the room on wobbly legs and dropping down in the nearest chair.

Mac and Sam hadn’t just given her a room at Dunwoody Cove. They had given her the mother of all luxury suites. She could have probably fit her modest-size apartment in here. She couldn’t believe the view she had of the ocean from her balcony, as well as how expensive the furniture looked. And the closets were big enough to accommodate a family of four.

“You sure?”

Rubbing her temples as she already felt a headache coming on, she met his gaze. “Positive. But thanks for asking.”

“You’re welcome.”

A few seconds passed, and then he said, “All right then. Do you want to talk about it?”

She dropped her hand down in her lap and couldn’t help the smile that touched her lips. Sam would always tell them how whenever she got in trouble about anything, Angelo would begin their discussion by asking that question. Do you want to talk about it?

“There’s really nothing to discuss, Angelo.” Bottom line, she’d made a fool of herself tonight. No big deal. No harm done. She drew in a deep breath knowing that it was a big deal since it was so unlike her. She glanced down at herself and decided to blame it on the dress.

She had found enough courage to wear one of the outfits she’d bought shopping with Mac and Sam last week. For once, she had let Sam talk her into buying a couple of things she normally wouldn’t have purchased.

She wasn’t vain, but she had to admit the dress looked pretty damn good on her. When she had walked into the ballroom and noticed the attention several men had given her, her head had swelled a little. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn something that had turned a man’s head, mainly because she couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone out of her way to impress anyone. That wasn’t her style.

She could only assume the reason the attention had gotten to her was because she was going through this almost-over-the-hill, turning-thirty crisis. She was enjoying her last few days in her twenties, and it had been pretty heady stuff to draw the attention away from women a few years younger than she was.