Big Game (The V V Inn, Book 3) Read Online Free PDF Page B

cart behind us. “Where are they now?”
    “Yes, it is,” I say. “Dalton and Flavia await us at the main house. Dria dislikes them crowding around the dock to say hello.” I slide a warm palm over Dria’s jumpsuit-covered thigh, snagging on a zipper pull. I tickle the edge of it and resist. The multiple fasteners make me want to open up all the zippers and explore.
    “Well,” Dria says, “their daughter fell in the cove that one time. I felt so guilty when she cried for her ruined dress.”
    “That was fifteen years ago, dear. She’s no longer a four-year-old wearing frilly pink dresses.” No sooner do the words leave my mouth than we round the last bend to see Dalton standing on the cobblestone circular drive flanked by four delectable beauties. Poor Paul, he’s going to whimper when he gets a gander at them.
    A stifled intake of breath comes from one of the stopped carts. I suppress a smile as I picture the poor sod trying to calm his raging vampiric tendencies to seduce and feed from anything attractive.
    I lived through it when Dria changed Cy, but his fledgling stages progressed so very quickly it was maybe only a week where he walked around being led by his semi-mortal cock. There’s not as much temptation for Paul at a job worked for ten years and they all know your wife.
    “Welcome,” Dalton steps forward and shakes my hand the moment I disembark from the cart. “How was your long trip?”
    “A few storms,” I answer. “Uneventful, otherwise.” The wind slashes across the driveway, hitting us harder at the hilltop.
    “Good.” He withdraws his hand and kisses Dria on both cheeks. I note the dark haired, doe-eyed beauty of his wife still looks as lovely as ever. Flavia’s full lips part in a small smile and she greets me with the traditional show of Argentine hospitality, double cheek kisses and a short hug.
    Their daughter, Rosia, stands near her two aunts Carmella and Carmina. The trio could’ve stepped off the set of a South American telenova—glossy, dark-brown hair, fully made-up faces, dressed to the nines, and exuding a sexual air combined with a womanly confidence one doesn’t often see in the States.
    I nod to the ladies, but wisely keep my distance. Dalton is a protective man and already the frown forms between his brows at Tommy and Bob’s slack-jawed appreciation of the single women. Thankfully, with a shove from Chelly, they close their mouths and manage to keep quiet.
    I’m guessing Flavia’s younger sisters are in their mid-twenties, the perfect age for sexual experimentation with exotic strangers. This could be a very good trip for the two bumbling fools if they play their cards right, and avoid Dalton’s watchful eye. Although, I think I’ll mention something to them about not hitting on his daughter. Dria would be pissed if we lost a good caretaker over their exploits.
    After Dria introduces the group to our traveling companions, we make our way to the large, modified Spanish-style hacienda. All of the lights have been left on inside to welcome us, and the effect is grand. A warm glow spills from each pane of glass, inviting the weary traveler indoors. The red tile roof compliments the creamy stucco beautifully, even years after flying in craftsmen from northern Argentina to do the work.
    The many exterior balconies have been enclosed with high-tech glass that tints to block the sun at the press of a button. From every side of the house the gently sloping terrain does not hinder observation of the ocean, but prior to the conversion it was not cozy viewing this time of year. The central courtyard of the home is enclosed as well, with high-arching atrium panels spanning the open area between rooftops.
    Maintaining the sparsely-wooded twenty acres closest to the home takes up a large portion of Dalton’s time in the summer. But since Jon didn’t join us and we plan on heading to Buenos Aires soon, his efforts won’t be as appreciated this trip.
    With a welcoming gesture,