Checkmate: A Bishop's Pawn Novella by Suzanne Halliday

Author:Suzanne Halliday [Halliday, Suzanne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: A Bishop's Pawn Novella
Publisher: Suzanne Halliday
Published: 2017-04-29T18:30:00+00:00

Roman devoured the last of the gooey barbecue ribs, used a napkin the size of a beach towel to wipe his face, and sat back with a satisfied grunt.

“You know what they say, right?”

He glanced at the woman across the table and gave her a dry look. “Depends on who ‘they’ are.”

Domineau offered a sneer and a husky laugh. “Fuck you, Bishop. Ya’ just walked all over my kick ass comment by being a pain in my English-speaking ass.”

“Oh, shit. My bad. Go on then. What thigh slapper did you have in mind?”

She tossed her napkin onto the carnage of two destroyed platters of ribs and gave him the finger. “It’s not funny now, you douche canoe.”

“No, no,” he encouraged. “Go ahead. I promise not to laugh.”

She moved, and her chair scraped the floor as it shoved back a few inches. Shades of the Domineau he first met—back in the day—stared back at him when she put a booted foot on her knee and crossed her arms over her chest. The pose dared him to be a dick.

“They say,” she snickered with heavy emphasis, “that if your face isn’t a wet, gooey mess, you aren’t doing it right.”

For the briefest second, he was flabbergasted by her attempt to be funny but recovered quickly and let out a barking laugh.

“Do you talk that way to my girlfriend?”

“She’s your fiancée you swishy tool—although why she puts up with a Sharpie-drawn ring when you can afford the Hope Diamond is beyond me.”

“It’s my charm and sparkling wit.”

“Yeah,” she sniggered. “I know all about your charm and sparkling wit. Got the marks to prove it.”

Oh, Jesus. He nearly swallowed his tongue at the reminder of the time they’d established what complete idiots they could be.

“Sorry. A thousand times sorry. Whiskey and whips do not play nice together.”

She leaned forward, planted her feet firmly on the floor and punched his arm. Fucking hard.

“Hey,” he grumbled. We agreed you wouldn’t cause me bodily harm and I won’t ask you to wear a dress.”

She snickered, gave him the eye and jeered, “My dick is available for sucking.”

Shooting the shit with Domineau transported him right back to stranger days when conversations like this were completely normal. He didn’t miss the fucked-up-ness of the war, but sometimes he did miss the unique camaraderie.

“Again, Rivera. Is that how you talk around my kid? And fiancée?” he smirked with emphasis. “I may have to adjust your compensation. Maybe an out clause for unmitigated verbal impropriety.”

“Impropriety?” she snorted. “Dusting off the big words, I see.”

Roman grinned.

“And as for your fiancée—may I suggest that you avoid being in her cross-hairs?”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Domineau pushed stuff around on the table and rearranged on her chair. The smile options she had at the ready were limited, stiff, and when directed at you—sometimes scary. When she leaned on her elbows and canted forward slightly, he caught the devilish glint in her eyes and steeled himself for whatever grenade she was gearing up to lob.

“It means that your woman can shoot the eyebrows off a squirrel at a hundred yards.

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