Take (Fury Brothers #4)

Until it had killed him.

I shook off the melancholy. This was a party, and New Orleans was a fresh new start. I took a drink off a tray and smiled at the server. I took a sip of the champagne, and the sweetness fizzed on my tongue.

I didn’t really remember Reath. I had a vague recollection of a man in uniform—like all the other soldiers milling around when Jack had come home. All I’d seen was my brother. I’d missed him so much.

“Oh my God, there’s Dante Fury,” a woman nearby whispered furiously. “His girlfriend is the luckiest woman in New Orleans.”

I glanced at the trio of gossiping women, then turned.

Oh, yes. It seemed Dante Fury was a hot, dark-haired man, with a muscular body, and a strong jaw covered in a dark beard. The kind of man men wanted to be, and women just wanted. The brunette beside him in the killer black-and-gold dress was laughing, and of course, stunningly attractive.

I craned my neck to look at the others. There was a tall, grumpy-looking man with a beard, and small, blonde woman in front of him, patting his chest.

“I’ll take Colton,” another woman drawled. “All that bounty hunter badassness.” The woman mock shivered.

At that moment, the crowd shifted, and I couldn’t see the other brothers. Darn it.

Sipping my drink, I made my way closer, but I still couldn’t see a thing. I hated that everyone in the world was taller than me.

My best friend Lindsay back in Seattle would tell me to quit complaining. She was five foot nothing, and complained bitterly about being short.

Suddenly, the crowd parted, and a man in a white suit made me forget all about the Fury brothers.

Oh, boy. He was gorgeous. The white was perfect against his dark-bronze skin. He clearly had some African-American heritage. His face was almost beautiful, but his strong jaw saved him from being too pretty. His black hair was short, and the way he held himself said that he was a man who knew how to move, who knew how to deal with whatever life threw at him.

I saw him scan the room, watchful and alert. I’d seen that look in my brother.

Someone passed between us, and my chest tightened. Wait. Was he looking at me?

Then his head lifted, and his gaze collided with mine.

Oh. My heart did a hard rap against my ribs.

I couldn’t look away. We stared at each other for a beat.

The crowd moved again, blocking my view. I quickly drained my drink and resisted the urge to fan myself.

I started moving through the guests toward the bar. There were some people out on the dance floor, doing some 1920s-style dancing to the jazz music.

Glancing back, I looked for my mystery man. I really didn’t need a hot guy messing up my plans. I was Frankie Parker, career girl. My PhD was my main priority. Dr. F. Parker had a wonderful ring to it.

I had no room for men, love, and entanglements. My project was too important.

My work would change things—first for the military, but later for so many sick people.

I thought of my mom. My father had been killed in the line of duty when I’d been seven and Jack was on the cusp of becoming a teenager. He’d been devastated. As had mom. Dorrie Parker worked hard to keep the perfect home, had come to soccer games and cheerleading practice. But after dad had died, it was like a light had gone off inside her. She’d pined for her husband and had never remarried.

I had no plans to let a man do that to me.

I pushed through a small crowd of people and ran straight into a hard body.

“Oh, sorry.” I pressed my hands to the man’s snowy-white jacket. I felt hard muscle and warmth.

Then I looked up into a familiar, handsome face. I blinked. He had dark-brown eyes that I couldn’t look away from.

“Hello,” my mystery man drawled.

My brain sort of stopped for a second. “Hi.” God, my voice was breathy. I sounded like a bad Marilyn Monroe impersonator.