Page 23 of Freeing Savannah

“Doesn’t sound like a lot of fun. Were you happy?” Suddenly, her answer to that question was more important than anything else. Even before she spoke, the gloom in her eyes told him everything he needed to know, striking him with a force that felt like a punch to the gut. If he’d only tried harder to keep in touch with her after she’d left, but the unanswered letters, each one a tiny stab of rejection, finally broke him and he’d given up. Now, he wished he hadn’t. Perhaps if he had been more persistent in his efforts to maintain contact, the lingering shadows of her painful childhood might not weigh so heavily in her gaze.

She softly responded, “Happy enough,” her eyes fixed on the empty plate in front of her, her expression betraying little else.

“That’s not really an answer, Savi.”

Her eyes lifted to his, and there was something in them—guarded and shadowed. “Some doors are better left closed, Sawyer.”

Before he could press, a clatter of heels and perfume hit them like a glitter bomb and the moment snapped.

Kandy, wrapped in enough shimmer to blind satellites, slid up to the table, her perfume trailing behind like an aggressive warning. Before he could say a word, she dropped into the empty chair beside him, legs crossed, lip gloss sticky and too dark.

“Bonsoir, lovers!” Kandy trilled, a gold lamé dress barely holding onto her frame. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”

“You are,” Voodoo said, not bothering to soften it.

“I just knew I’d find you here,” she purred, ignoring his blatant attempt to dismiss her, laying a hand casually on his arm. “Youdoclean up nicely. Though I’m guessing you look even better out of that suit. Especially if it was left on the floor in my suite.”

Voodoo peeled her hand off without ceremony and set it gently back on the tablecloth. His jaw ticked in irritation. “Never gonna happen,” he stated bluntly.

“Savannah, darling, you didn’t tell me your bodyguard was such asnack.I’d sure like a taste of that.”

Savannah sat straighter but didn’t speak. She just sipped her wine and looked somewhere over Kandy’s shoulder, as if willing her away.

Voodoo didn’t move.

She leaned in, brushing his arm with her tits, which were on the verge of spilling out of her dress. He subtly moved it out of her range. “You go by Voodoo, right? Has a naughty ring to it, don’t you think? I am interested in discovering other naughty traits you may possess.”

Savannah stiffened but said nothing, her glass suddenly very interesting.

“Kandy,” Voodoo muttered. “Our dinner is about to be served and you weren’t invited.”

From Savannah came a quiet snort, barely audible above the conversations from the other diners. His fleeting look caught her lips pursed in an almost comical attempt to stifle laughter, her eyes sparkling with mirth. That expression filled him with a sense of elation. The way she acted when Kandy first came over to their table, all cowed and quiet, wasn’t something he liked to see.

“Please. Like I need an invite,” Kandy replied, flicking her hair over one shoulder. “Besides, you’re the only guy here with a pulse and a jawline.”

She trailed her finger along his arm, and he resisted the urge to shrug her off. Across the table, Savannah’s expression flattened, and he saw the flicker in her eyes. Not jealousy . . . more like resignation.

“I saw you two all cozy and thought, ‘Why not bring a little spark to this funeral?’” She shot Savannah a pointed look. “Besides, Voodoo, you looked bored.”

Savannah’s smile was practiced, unreadable. But Voodoo knew her tells—the twitch of her fingers on her napkin, the dip of her shoulders like she was bracing.

Before Voodoo could shut Kandy down any harder, a voice like oil on glass joined the fray.

“Didn’t expect this table to be so popular,” Henry Patrick drawled, sliding in beside Savannah without invitation. “Hope I’m not crashing anythingtoopersonal.”

“You are,” Voodoo said bluntly.

Henry ignored him, eyes on Savannah like he was reading sheet music only he could see. “You look tired, darlin’. Hope they’re not working you too hard already.”

She shifted away subtly, like the air around him had gotten colder. “I’m fine.”

Voodoo didn’t buy it. The way she clutched her napkin too tightly, how her posture shrank a fraction was telling. Something about Henry put her on edge, and Voodoo felt his hackles rise in response. He knew the difference between flirty and invasive, between charm and control. And what Henry was doing? That was a game of possession.

Kandy, oblivious or just indifferent, traced a painted nail along Sawyer’s sleeve. “So, Voodoo . . . is there a Mrs. Voodoo? Or are you just guarding hearts and taking names?”

Savannah let out a quiet breath, just loud enough to catch. He glanced at her, but her expression was hidden behind her wine glass.

Sawyer gently shifted his chair, removing Kandy’s access to his arm. “My job’s to protect. That’s it.”

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