Allegiance - Chiah Wilder Page 0,1
his empty glass on a nearby table, he muttered, “Behave, my ass.”
Snagging a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, he strolled out to the back.
The sweet scent of roses hung in the air, mingling with the smells of chargrilled steak and fresh baked bread flowing through an open window facing the backyard, and his stomach growled. Clutching the champagne flute, he walked back into the mansion and toward several buffet tables, each sporting ice carvings, flower arrangements, or both. A few of the waitstaff, carrying trays of appetizers, rushed by him before he could catch their attention.
“Dammit.” Tank looked at the empty buffet tables. When the fuck are they gonna serve the food? All he wanted was some chow before he hightailed it out of there.
After draining the last bit of champagne, he set the glass on the table and gazed out over the garden, gleaming under a twinkling canopy of tiny white lights. The shimmering ocean was a blaze of orange and dusky purple, the vibrant streaks of color painting the sky. At that moment, all Tank wanted to do was jump on his Harley and take a long ride down Sunrise Strand Boulevard, along the coast. Tank could almost smell the salty air and feel the warm breeze stroking his face.
“Would you like a shrimp toast hors d’oeuvres?” a waiter inquired.
“Yeah—thanks.” Tank snatched three of the appetizers from the tray and popped them into his mouth.
As he chewed, he watched Dawson, laughing and talking to a group of people who looked as though their clothes cost more than what Tank made in a month at his printing business. He wasn’t surprised his friend had married into a wealthy family. Dawson always had the golden touch when it came to making money. Tabby’s father had gone to Dawson’s law firm when a real estate problem had come up with Jerry Fitzgerald—one of the richest men in town. The guy practically owned all the real estate in Santa Teresita, and he made damn sure everyone knew it. Tank never liked the man or his family, even though he’d dated Quinn Fitzgerald, Jerry’s youngest daughter, for a short time back in high school. Quinn was the rebellious one in the family, and she loved pushing her parents’ buttons. When they were younger, hanging out with Tank was her ultimate act of rebellion. The problem was, she still wanted him as a side gig, even though they’d graduated thirteen years before. Sometimes, when the urge hit and he was tired of the club girls, he’d take Quinn up on what she was offering. But mostly, he regarded her as a spoiled, bratty pain in the ass.
Delicious smells wafted through the air. He looked behind him and saw the waitstaff setting down platters of food on the buffet tables, and a small crowd was gathering around the spread. He shoved a hand through his thick, sandy brown hair, messing up the lame hair gel he’d used that morning, and maneuvered his way through the guests. A majority of the people in his way parted as soon as he got close to them.
“Is everything good to go? Can I go to town?” Tank asked a frazzled, curly-haired waitress standing behind an array of salads, seafood, cold cuts, and cheeses.
The waitress sputtered, blushing, looking everywhere but at him. “I–I’m not sure…”
Tank smiled. “It’s not that hard of a question.”
She shrugged, then chewed on her lower lip.
A striking woman with dark brown hair interjected with, “I’m sorry, but dinner will be served after the toasts.” Her voice was smooth, like a fine glass of whiskey.
Taken aback, he stared at the olive-skinned beauty before letting his gaze trail down her body, to her gunmetal beaded ballet shoes, and then back up, lingering on her luscious cleavage in her V-neck blouse, until settling on her gold stud nose piercing.
Her lips parted, and a pink blush crept across her cheeks. Fuck. His gaze lowered to her cleavage again. When she drew in a sharp breath, her tits rose. Lust gripped his spine, shooting a jolt straight to his balls.
She cleared her throat, bringing his attention to her eyes. “The toasts shouldn’t take too long.”
He pointed to the cheese platter. “I can’t even take one of them fancy crackers? C’mon, I’m starving here.” He gave her his most beguiling smile, boyish and charming. The one that had landed him into countless beds.
Her chestnut eyes fixed on his, as if she were studying him. Finally, she crossed her arms and