Panthers' Pleasure [Impulse 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Read Online Free Page A

to her? If so, why didn’t she feel more apprehensive about that very real possibility? Why wasn’t she saying thanks but no thanks and getting the hell out of Dodge?
    Chantal honestly didn’t know why not. There wasn’t much in Tallahassee for her any more. She’d moved there from the Midwest to be with the man of her dreams, but the cheating scumbag had put the kibosh on all that when he literally climbed into bed with his female boss. She still had a cheap rented apartment up there, a job she hated, and no friends because she’d had Jack and he’d convinced her they didn’t need anyone except each other. Although, it seemed that he did, the two-timing shit. Chantal blew air through her lips, wondering how it was possible to reach the age of twenty-five and still be so naive. Anyway, she was here now, and however remote the chance of finding Max in Impulse might be, she wasn’t ready to leave until she’d checked it out.
    All conversation stopped as she and Rafe walked into the bar, and she was conscious of thirty or more pairs of eyes assessing her. None of the faces seemed hostile, more curious, and she felt slightly less conspicuous when several people smiled at her.
    “Everyone, this is Chantal,” Rafe said.
    “We know,” several voices said together.
    “Hey, Chantal, welcome,” said several more.
    “Congratulations, Rafe.”
    A few men patted his shoulder as they walked past. One woman actually rubbed her cheek against his, which seemed an odd way to greet a person. She wondered what they were congratulating Rafe about. She wondered where they’d all appeared from so quickly as well, but had no time to dwell upon these oddities. Rafe sent the guy behind the bar back to the kitchen and showed Chantal where everything was. It was time to get to work.
    “It seems pretty straightforward,” she said. “Should I open the blinds?”
    “We’ve got them,” someone said, letting up the shutters on one side of the bar only, the side that didn’t face the water or let in the overhead sun.
    “Does everyone here drink milk?” she asked Rafe, glancing at the glasses beside the plates of meat.
    “Not all.” He nodded toward several other people eating what Chantal considered normal breakfast food—eggs, waffles, bacon, pancakes—and drinking coffee. “Milk’s pretty popular at breakfast time, though.”
    “How come the parking lot’s so empty?” she asked a little later when she returned from the storeroom, having taken a quick glance outside. The only car in the lot was hers.
    “People in Impulse like to walk. It’s a small town.” He paused, following the line of her gaze, which was focused on his forearm. She hadn’t noticed it before, but when he reached out to remove a plate from the bar, she saw a mishmash of thin white lines, similar to those on Vilas’s torso, on the inside of his arm. “What happened?” she asked.
    “A disagreement with an unruly customer.”
    “What did he hit you with? Those look more like deep scratches than knife wounds.”
    Someone called out to Rafe and he turned his back on her to answer the man. Chantal got the feeling that he’d deliberately dodged her question. She was starting to feel like Alice—curiouser and curiouser.
    “You were telling me that Impulse is a small place,” she said when Rafe returned his attention to her. “But it’s not that small. Speaking of which…” She glanced at the customers perched on barstools, conversing amongst themselves but seemingly watching her with interest, too. “Does anyone know anything about a hotel called O’Malley’s here in Impulse? Can you tell me where it is?”
    Conversation died, and no one filled the heavy silence. Instead they all looked toward Rafe.
    “I’ll go through that with you after your shift.”
    “Oh, okay. I just thought someone here might know—”
    “They won’t.”
    Chantal didn’t see how he could be so sure but was willing to let the matter drop, at least temporarily.