by Olivia Myers
Not many women came into Shotguns, and the ones who did were nothing like her. They were either as rough and hard as the men they were drinking with, or the kind of easy girls that hadn’t been pretty enough in high school and were used to getting attention on their back or their knees.
Blondie looked like she’d probably been head cheerleader and Homecoming Queen. Duke doubted she’d ever spent a minute on her knees in her whole life. Which was a shame, because the thought of her looking up at him with those pouty pink lips made Duke’s blood hot. Hot enough that he had to reach down and make a bit of an adjustment as she sashayed across the bare wooden floor, the heels of her cowboy boots (Jesus, they were pink) clocking loudly over the faint strains of Waylon Jennings drifting from the ancient jukebox in the corner.
When she reached the bar, she placed her hands on the edge and leaned in, one corner of her mouth curled up in a little smirk. The move drew his eyes immediately to the ample cleavage visible above the scooped neckline of her little black tee, which was no doubt exactly the response she was looking for. His suspicion was confirmed when he glanced back up and saw the triumphant glint in her blue eyes.
She knew the effect she had on men and she enjoyed toying with them. Duke put on his best ‘Don’t fuck with me’ look, furrowing his heavy brows, mouth in a straight line, hard eyes and flexing biceps. It was an expression he’d seen on more than one CO’s face, and even used a time or two himself on some grunt fresh off the plane.
Unlike them, Blondie didn’t even flinch. She cocked her head a little, sending all that blonde hair sliding down her arm, and her gaze crawled all over him. Sizing him up. When she got back to his face her little smile grew wider. Duke felt the skin on his forehead tighten as his scowl deepened.
Christ, trouble was right! They hadn’t even spoken a word to each other and yet he could feel the heat crackle between them. The warm, leather- and alcohol-scented air of the bar seemed heavy and oppressive, like the atmosphere just before a hell of a storm.
When his fierce expression didn’t relax, she rocked back on her heels, her smile fading a little. The challenge in her eyes didn’t, though.
“Sign out front says you’re hiring.”
She hooked a manicured thumb toward the door she’d come through, as if Duke was too stupid to remember where it was he’d put the sign. It had only been three days since he’d had to fire Barb. He’d hated to do it, because she’d been a hell of a server. None of the customers gave her shit because she was just as hard as they were. But he’d caught her with her hand in the till, and there wasn’t much Duke hated more than a thief. Except maybe a coward.
When he didn’t respond, Blondie gave an exasperated little huff. She crossed her arms in a mockery of his posture, but it didn’t quite work since she had to do it under the full swell of her breasts, pushing them up as if offering them on a platter.
“Are you or aren’t you?”
Duke had to give her points for the hard edge to her voice. It sounded all business, even if she looked all pleasure. He shrugged one shoulder.
“What’s it to you, Blondie?”
He pressed his lips together to keep from smiling as her nostrils flared and a muscle in her jaw jumped. He could practically hear her grinding her teeth.
“I want the job.”
Duke couldn’t help it, he snorted laughter. Her spine snapped straight and a faint pink flush stained her cheeks. He turned away to grab a longneck from the cooler, ignoring her as he popped the cap and slid from behind the long bar.
He felt her watching him, her gaze a hot press between his shoulder blades as he strode across the room to Buz’s table and set down the fresh beer. The bearded old biker gave him a brief nod and pushed his empty out of the way.
Blondie was still staring at him when he turned back, hands on her hips like they’d been when she first walked in. Her eyes were glittering with anger… and maybe a hint of hurt. She covered it well, but he could see it in the set of her slender shoulders. Duke sighed as he reached her, setting Buz’s empty on the bar beside her and leaning one elbow on the scratched surface.
“Look, no offense Blondie, but the kind of clientele we get in here… well, they’d eat you alive.”
She flashed him perfect, straight, white teeth in something halfway between a grin and a snarl. Her eyes snapped with blue electricity.
“Perfect,” she purred. “I love getting eaten.”
Lust hit Duke like a flash grenade, every drop of blood heading straight to his groin. He swallowed, shifting as his previously comfortable jeans suddenly constricted his half hard cock.
Her gaze dropped to his waist, took in the outline of his erection. The flush on her cheeks grew deeper and the glistening tip of her tongue poked out to slide along her lips. Duke stepped into her personal space, resting his right hand on the back of the bar stool behind her, caging her in with his arms.
She had to look up at him. She was tall for a woman, nearly 5’11 with the heels on her boots, but he had her beat by a good six inches still. He stared down into her wide eyes, taking in the dilated pupils. Her breath was a warm, mint scented puff against his chin.
“If you’re looking for a little rough trade, you don’t have to work here for that. Have a seat. I’ll get you a drink. If you hang out, I’m sure you can find someone who’ll punch your ticket.” Duke gave her cleavage a lingering look and then shrugged. “Hell, if you’re still here at closing maybe I’ll give you a go.”
He’d meant to piss her off, because in his experience princesses like her liked to play bad girl but they stormed off in a snit when things didn’t go their way. Once she did that, he could get back to doing inventory.
But he’d underestimated Blondie badly. For one thing, she moved quicker than he would have thought. Her left hand came up between them to shove at his chest with surprising force. It didn’t shift him, but it rocked him back a bit and gave her a moment of advantage while he gaped in shock.
The sound of breaking glass coincided almost exactly with the movement of her right arm. If he’d been another man, she might have managed to get the broken beer bottle to his throat before he could take action… But Duke wasn’t other men. His left hand shot out without him even having to think about it, the response smooth and automatic. He caught her slender wrist in his thick fingers.
She panted lightly, but her arm didn’t tremble. Duke was impressed. And hard as a railroad spike. His heart hammered in his chest and he tasted bright metallic adrenaline on the back of his tongue.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, you crazy bitch?!”
He squeezed her wrist hard enough to make her flinch but she didn’t let go of the bottle. Instead, she pushed against him, her breasts brushing against his own plain black tee.
“What’s the matter, sweetheart? I thought you wanted to ‘give me a go’!” She fluttered her long lashes at him, her voice sickly sweet.
He narrowed his eyes, relaxing his hold on her wrist just enough to let the edge of the jagged glass touch his jaw. He felt the sharp sting and watched her eyes widen slightly. Her arm stopped straining. Duke was careful, he didn’t want to really hurt her, but he needed to prove a point. Because if she pulled that shit on some of the bikers who frequented Shotguns, they wouldn’t care about hurting her.
The bones of her wrist felt fine and light beneath his fingers as he twisted her arm, making her gasp and drop the bottle. It shattered on the floor, but neither of them looked away from each other.
She tried to pull away, but he stepped in even closer, pressing them chest to chest as he drew the arm up behind her. He put just enough pressure on the joints to make his case. She sucked a breath in through her teeth.
“Get the fuck off me, you Neanderthal!”
Somewhere behind him, Buz snickered. Duke ignored him, concentrating on her. Each uneven breath she took pressed her breasts against his chest. He thought he felt the stiff peaks of her nipples but he couldn’t be sure without looking, and he didn�
�t take his eyes off her flushed face and glittering eyes. He wasn’t going to underestimate her again.
Duke leaned down until they were nose to nose. He resisted the urge to crush her against the bar and ravage that pouty mouth with his tongue. Just barely. Only years of intense training in controlling his body allowed him to keep the reins on his raging lust.
“Make me.” He growled it, unable to suppress a feral grin when he saw her shudder. She licked her lips again, parting them on a shivering breath.
“I would,” she whispered, a sudden sideways smile baring a dimple in her cheek just as Duke felt her knee press up into his balls. Gently, thank Christ. “But I’d hate to ruin what feels like a rather impressive package by crushing it up into your diaphragm.”
They both remained still for a long moment, gazes locked. He tried to read the expression in her pale blue eyes, but couldn’t. His blood pounded in his temples and groin. Want was a roaring beast in his belly. It had been a long time since he’d been that turned on by a woman. And he could tell she wanted him too. If her blown out pupils and flushed throat weren’t a dead giveaway, he could practically smell the warm stickiness of her arousal.
An empty beer bottle clinked on a table, reminding Duke where he was. He released her arm and stepped back, gratified to see her sway a little when he let her go. He took a deep, steadying breath and then kicked at a piece of broken glass near his toe.
“Broom’s in the closet. Second door on the left.” He tipped his head toward the darkened back hallway that led to the restrooms, supply closet, and his office. “Get this cleaned up and then I’ll run you through your duties before things get busy later.”
She blinked, rubbing her wrist. “I’ve got the job? I mean…” She shook her head. “I have waitressing experience.”
Duke skirted the bar and bent to grab refills for the customers he’d been neglecting during their little confrontation. “Great. You’ll get a chance to prove it tonight. Now go get the broom, Blondie.”
She snorted and tossed her hair again, but headed for the hallway with her hips swinging like a pendulum and drawing every eye in the place.
“My name is Lexi.”
***
Lexi slipped easily out of the curl of the burly biker’s arm with a light chuckle and a wink.
“I hardly think that’s the kind of question you’d ask your sister, Tex.”
Tex shook his shaved head and ran a scarred, tattooed hand over his long, red blonde beard.
“If she looked like you, I might.” He winked.
The rest of the guys at the table guffawed. Lexi joined in their amusement, shaking her head as she gathered up the empties littering the sticky surface with nimble fingers.
It was nearing midnight. The jukebox was blaring Skynyrd and the clack of pool balls was nearly constant. She’d been officially on the clock at Shotguns since six, and her feet were starting to ache. Not that she’d give Duke the satisfaction of letting him know it.
She hadn’t lied when she’d told the taciturn bar owner that she had experience, but a single semester waiting tables at the small café on campus hadn’t exactly prepared her for Shotguns. She still wasn’t entirely sure what she’d been thinking when she saw the small ‘Now Hiring’ post on the board out front and strode through the door. She’d never set foot in a bar like Shotguns before.
While her fellow classmates preferred dance clubs and the few childhood friends she still maintained all frequented high class wine bars and gastro pubs, Lexi’s hunting ground of choice was the low key, blue collar bars where she was guaranteed to meet the kind of men she liked… the ones with calloused hands who smelled of clean sweat and hard work. The ones nothing like her stepfather Curtis; that posh bastard thought women came in only two categories — mistress and trophy wife — both of which existed on his sufferance.
Lexi liked her men manly, used to strong women but not browbeaten by them. She liked them confidently good in bed and secure enough not to throw a tantrum when she kicked them out in the morning. That was important, because Lexi didn’t do repeats. Ever. Have sex with a guy more than once and you might as well be dating. People said women were the more emotional gender, but in her experience it was always the guys who got ideas if she let them stick around. Ideas about exclusivity and availability.
Lexi didn’t plan on ever belonging to anyone. She’d seen how well that turned out for her mother. Marian Whittington wasted all of her considerable brilliance desperately trying to keep Curtis happy, and made herself miserable in the process. The only thing that could get a genuine smile out of her these days was a perfect martini and the sight of the pool guy, Miguel, in his tight shorts.
She’d tried to convince her mother to divorce Curtis, or at least have a fling with Miguel. Unfortunately, her mother claimed to love her overbearing husband. Besides, it turned out Miguel was gay.
“Planning on taking these pints over to table fourteen any time soon, or are you just here to stand around and look pretty?”
Duke was scowling at her again. Lexi wondered if he’d stop if she told him how hot it looked. No doubt the tall, muscular bartender thought he looked intimidating when he scrunched up his dark eyebrows and looked down his slightly crooked nose at her. And it did make her weak in the knees, but for entirely different reasons.
“If they’d been ready when I asked for them, I wouldn’t have to stand around!”
She rolled her eyes as she loaded the heavy mugs onto her tray and stomped away from the bar. Duke grumbled behind her and since he couldn’t see her face, Lexi allowed her lips to curve.
The second her eyes had adjusted to the gloom inside Shotguns earlier, her breath had caught in her throat. Even standing behind the water-ring stained bar, his height had been obvious. Having been tall all her life, Lexi loved a man who could tower over her.
Duke wasn’t only tall, he was broad-shouldered and muscular with deep black hair, a square jaw dotted with a day’s worth of dark stubble, a strong nose that had been obviously broken at least once, and full, sensual lips. Beneath the thick, straight eyebrows, his eyes were the dark brown of freshly brewed coffee.
In short, he was the kind of guy Lexi would have crawled all over if she’d met him at one of the tiny dives she frequented when she was on the lookout for a hook-up. Under those circumstances, she would have charmed him out of his surly mood with smiles and light touches until she had him grinning and in her bed. Instead, she’d had to meet him attitude to attitude.
Lexi knew he’d clocked her as a spoiled little rich girl. And yes, Curtis had plenty of money. But she worked her ass off to earn her degree and only took what she needed from him. The whole reason she was looking for a job was to earn extra cash. She’d taken on two roommates to save on rent and did a lot of her shopping at sample sales and secondhand boutiques. Her stepdad still paid her tuition and the lease on her car, but as soon as she could afford it, she’d stop taking that, too.
Thankfully, she’d been able to prove to Duke that she was more than just a ditz with an entitlement complex. It had been risky to physically challenge the big man, she knew that, but she’d had to show him that she wasn’t going to be intimidated by the rough clientele.
“Lexi, honey, can I get another round o’ Jäger shots over here?”
Axel wiggled his eyebrows at her. The rangy biker could be the poster boy for ‘rough clientele.’ He was good-looking in a sharp way with sandy brown hair tied back in a bandana and dark tattoos covering every inch of his bare arms from fingertips to shoulders. Several more tats were visible above the neck of his t-shirt. He wore stained blue jeans with a hunting knife on the belt, heavy black boots, and a leather vest (he called it a cut) over a grey tee.
When he’d first arrived, he’d given her a bit of a hard time, asking her what a ‘princess’ like her was doing in a place like Shotguns. She’d joked back, saying she was looking for her Prince Charming. Then he’d grabbed her ass. She’d made it very clear that if he wanted to have unbro
ken fingers, he’d keep them to himself.
Now he was trying to charm his way into her panties. She might have let him, too… if not for Duke. Ever since their encounter earlier, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about how his body had felt against hers. Hot and oh-so-hard. Not to mention how good he’d smelled, like citrus and clean cotton and a hint of salt sweat.
His dismissive comment about giving her a go if she was still around at closing had pissed her off, but it had also fired her blood. And she knew she’d gotten to him too. She’d seen, and felt, the thick erection straining the worn denim of his jeans.
“There you go, boys.” She flashed Axel and his buddies a smile as she doled out the shot glasses without spilling a drop. “Enjoy!”
“I’d enjoy it more if you sat right here,” one of the other scruffy bikers said, patting his broad thigh.
“Lexi!”
She winked at the table as Duke’s shout cut through the din of the bar. “Sorry. Duty calls.” She hurried away before they could protest. By the time she’d woven through the tables and made it to the bar, Duke was — surprise, surprise — scowling.
“Damn it, woman, could you concentrate on doing your job for more than five minutes? This is a bar, not The Love Connection.”
Lexi set down her tray and did a slow, pointed scan of the room. Not a single patron had an empty glass or bottle. When her gaze came back around to Duke, she lifted an eyebrow.
“Good thing it’s not, because with your bad attitude you’d be shit out of luck, boss.”
It wasn’t true. If anything, the gruff way he barked at her got her even hotter than when he’d been pleasantly polite earlier as he’d showed her where everything was and explained her job duties. Something about his furrowed brow and the twist of his lips when he gave her attitude just pushed her buttons.
Given his response when she gave attitude back, Lexi suspected he felt the same. They’d been bickering and bantering all night, and it was starting to feel like foreplay. She’d spent the last several hours trying to distract herself from inappropriate thoughts about her new boss with limited success. More than one patron had commented about her ‘headlights’ being ‘on.’