Page 2 of Bombshell (Whiskey Dolls 1)

“Well, hello there,” he said in a velvety smooth voice that had just the right amount of delicious rasp to it. “I’m Pierce.” He extended the hand not attached to the adorable kid, and the instant his long, thick fingers engulfed my hand, goosebumps broke out across my whole body. “And who might you be?”

His mother jumped to introduce me when it became obvious the power of speech had failed me, and as soon as the words, “Frank’s girlfriend” left her mouth, a switch flipped. The man who’d nearly knocked me on my ass just a minute earlier with nothing more than a smile was suddenly giving me the deep freeze.

Every encounter after that was downright chilly. Every forced conversation felt layered with frost until I eventually just gave up all together.

Frank used to bad mouth his brother constantly, always going on about how arrogant and condescending he was, how he thought he was better because he’d gone to law school and worked in the city. The colder Pierce acted toward me, the easier it was to understand Frank’s animosity toward his big brother, and eventually, Frank’s animosity became my own.

Once again my breath caught in my throat as I watched him. With the sleeves of his expensive button-down rolled to mid-forearm, I was able to stare, transfixed, at the cords and muscles flexing and straining beneath his golden-tanned skin as he wiped down his prep station.

The last place I’d ever expected to see Pierce was at a cooking class. It was a complete contradiction to the callous man I knew him to be.

His hair flopped down over his forehead as he leaned over, adding a boyish element to the man’s hard, chiseled face that managed to somehow soften his granite-like features just a bit. I hadn’t thought it possible for the man to ever look soft. He always seemed to be in a bad mood. In the three years I’d dated his douchebag of a brother, I’d only been around Pierce a handful of times and, with the exception of that very first encounter in his mom’s kitchen, I’d never seen the man smile.

On top of hard, brooding features, he had the most incredible icy blue eyes I’d ever seen. They had the ability to freeze a person to their core with just one look. I knew that for a fact, considering after each run-in with the glacial man I felt like I had frostbite.

Still, as much as it irked me, I couldn’t help being fascinated by him.

“Uh... everything okay here?” I jerked up, whipping back around so fast my hair slapped me in my face when I turned to the woman standing a few feet away. She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper as she looked off in the direction I’d just been staring. “Do you need me to call the police or something?”

“What? No! Oh God. No. Sorry. I just—” I stopped myself mid-ramble and held my hands out, palms up. “No, sorry. Everything’s fine. I just spotted someone I know, and I didn’t want him to see me, so I’m hiding.”

Oh great, Marin. Because that admission totally doesn’t make you sound like a wackadoodle.

Her brows climbed higher on her forehead. “Why didn’t you just leave then?”

I gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. “Well, because I didn’t wanthimto seeme. ButIstill wanted to seehim, you know?” Realizing how that sounded, I quickly added, “But not in a weird way! In a totally normal, non-creepy kind of way.”

I’ll take Things Stalkers Say for a thousand, Alex.

If anything, the woman looked even more convinced that she needed to call the police.

I pulled in a slow, steady breath in an attempt to calm my nerves that had been firing like crazy since I saw Pierce, and explained, “He’s my ex-boyfriend’s older brother.”

Understanding lit her eyes, and the panicked look ofI’m standing here talking to a psychodrifted away. “Ah. I see.” She joined me at the wall and peeked around with me to get a better look. “Wow,” she breathed. “He’s very good looking.”

“Yeah,” I said with a defeated sigh. “The stupid jerk.” She looked back to me, a quizzical brow arched in suspicion. “Sorry. It’s a long story. I should probably get out of here before he notices me. Is he looking this way?”

The woman glanced back. “No—wait.” She watched for another second before whispering, “Okay, go!”

“Thanks,” I whispered back, pushing off the wall and scuttling down the hallway.

“Have a good evening. See you next class,” she continued to whisper-yell.

“Yeah, you too,” I returned, waving over my shoulder.

Half an hour ago I’d been so sure I was done with Cooking Solo and that snooty Chef Jodi. But then I saw him. And even though I couldn’t stand the guy, I knew that if it meant I’d get another chance to gawk when he wasn’t looking, I’d be returning for the next class.

Because I was nothing if not a glutton for punishment.

2

Marin

Every light in the house was on, making it glow like a spotlight on the quiet, sleepy street. I could hear pandemonium from inside as I climbed the porch steps and knocked on the front door.

I waited patiently as a blood-curdling scream erupted from inside. A second later my older sister pulled the front door open, looking harried and exhausted. Glancing back over her shoulder, she shouted, “Erika Marin Allen, if you don’t knock off that screamingright now, I’m gonna shave your head in your sleep!”

“It’s not my fault!” my eleven-year-old niece shouted back from somewhere upstairs. “Matt let his stupid rat out of its cage again!”

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