by Violet Duke
Not just because she’d broken the connection first, but because a touch of humor had ghosted her lips when she had. Immediately following, the next hour found their gazes colliding across the room with increasing frequency. It was all more friendly than flirty but still, Luke was captivated.
And officially clueless as to what his friends had been talking about for the past twenty minutes.
The fact that the whole guys’ night out had been his idea in the first place just made his bro-code infraction that much worse. The four of them hadn’t hung out in months. He’d been stressed as hell relocating his chocolate shop to Cactus Creek, and Isaac was practically living at the new mixed martial arts gym he’d opened up this past year in Tempe. Connor had the best excuse seeing as how his now two-month-old was apparently going through diapers on the hour every night, while Connor’s brother Brian took second place honors having just gotten married a little while ago to a firecracker who was keeping life thoroughly interesting from what they’ve heard.
Yep, the guys were definitely going to ride him about this one for a long time. He quickly pardoned himself, however, when his continued lack of attention to his friends allowed him to catch his mystery bartender bending over to grab something from a floor shelf. No, his basal response to that wasn’t evolved at all, but for some reason, the biologically encoded heat swell in his gaze didn’t seem to offend her when she caught him smiling appreciatively. Instead, it prompted a nose-scrunching twitch of a smile that she tried hard to hide behind a droll eye-roll.
Damn, she was cute.
Absently, he joined in the laughter at his table over some joke Connor had made—or perhaps that had been Brian—before glancing back over again at his mystery girl.
He did a double take at the transformation.
She was frozen in place behind the bar. Stopped in her tracks, breath held, eyes intent on the vintage bar clock on the wall. Completely in her own world.
No longer even pretending to pay attention to the guys anymore, Luke leaned forward and watched in growing curiosity as she soundlessly counted down a few more seconds with the clock before tucking a secret grin away and heading to the wall phone. Her expression was serious as she made a call that lasted just a few seconds, after which, she hesitated, chewed on her lip in debate, and then slowly lifted her eyes to find...his.
He tilted his head in question.
The shy, happy smile blooming across her face was a heck of an answer. Rippling with a deep pride obviously born from cherished memories, that incredible smile sucker-punched him, drove him crazy because he didn’t know the meaning behind it.
When she went right back to working as if they hadn’t just shared a moment, he couldn’t help but frown. She was still smiling, but it wasn’t the same. He felt a pang of disappointment. Sappy as it sounded, he wanted to learn everything there was about that earlier smile, have her share it with him and him alone again. Be the one to make another one like it appear.
Whoa. He leaned back in his seat, surprised. Pulling his eyes away from her to avoid earning stalker points, he took another drink of his Black and Tan and began dissecting his intense interest in the woman. He’d listed at least dozen unique reasons when his thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the raucous sound of singing bursting out over the brewery PA system.
Weird.
Weirder still was the eruption of ecstatic cheers and wolf cries echoed all around the brewpub.
Huh, must be a thing.
All eyes flew to the glass partition to the brewery where its workers—whom he hardly saw working in these large numbers at night—were lined up on the other side, arms linked and beer mugs sloshing as they crooned out the lyrics to an infectious old school British drinking song. Their mostly off-key singing blared over an old speaker affixed above the glass, normally only used to announce brewery tours during the day. Then, as if this were some sort of musical, the entire joint was soon joining in and rocking out. A few beer-happy dudes even ran to the brewery glass like super fans at a hockey game.
Completely thrown, Luke just surveyed the deafening good cheer all around in amusement and raised a questioning eyebrow at the Sullivan brothers for an explanation, seeing as how they’d been friends with the owner of Ocotillos for years. But the waitress lowering a platter of food onto their table beat them to it.
“It’s a tradition here,” she said with an affectionate smile. “The whole thing started about fifteen years ago with Vince, the original Dobson brewmaster.” She pointed to the big, framed photo of him in its place of honor on the wall. “For every new seasonal brew he created, he’d have customers try it for a night on tap before he launched it officially. And if folks didn’t fall head over heels during the tasting, the crazy man would scrap it and start from scratch, throwing months of work down the drain.” She paused her story when a perfectly harmonized singing of the chorus rang out from the staircase, courtesy of the musicians who’d been performing upstairs. Everyone in the brewpub spun around to see the four rocker guys holding their beer mugs up in salute toward the bar; and like a surge of thunder, the crowd stomped their feet and raised the singing decibels in the place even higher.
“But in the cases like tonight,” she continued with a grinning shout, “if the customers downright loved the new beer, he’d call back to his guys and tell them to ‘have a drink’ to celebrate the birth of a new Dobson beer.” Tucking her food tray under an arm, she nodded her head over at the animated brewery workers who’d all removed their caps in respect while singing the drunken lyrics. “One year, back when this brewpub had been at the tail end of financial crisis, good ole Vince decided he wasn’t gonna go down without a fight. So, bless his heart, he poured every bit of his soul into one more brew...that ended up winning the biggest craft beer award around.”
She smiled with the far-off look of someone who’d been there. “When we found out, he and the brew boys broke out in song right there in the brewery. And this was the song they sang. From that day on, the song became an unofficial anthem, a tradition the baby of the Dobson clan, the new brewmaster here, still carries on whenever a new beer is born.”
Luke looked around the thriving brewpub with newly appreciative eyes, which riveted right back onto his mystery woman moments later when she hopped on the counter behind the bar to write Warm Winter Rye—Red Ale up on the chalkboard with all the other Dobson beers listed on tap. A symphony of applause rippled across the brewpub and the look of pure joy on her face vaulted straight into Luke’s chest, lodged itself pretty deep in there considering he’d never even had an actual conversation with the woman beyond the one time she’d rung up his lunch order the other week.
“Wow, you’ve got it bad,” murmured Isaac, thoughtfully evaluating the emotions running across Luke’s face with annoying accuracy. He didn’t comment further, however, which Luke appreciated. Like all his close friends, Isaac knew all about Luke’s take on love. It was a mirage.
Always just out of reach.
Blinking back the unwelcome demons from his past, Luke shrugged and quietly admitted to himself as much as Isaac, “There’s something about her.”
“Well if you’re going to go meet her, can you put in a good word for me with her hot friend, too?” prompted Isaac, casually giving him a little nudge and downplaying the significance of his meddling in one houndish swoop. “Look, now’s your chance,” he nodded over at the bar.
Like a first-time addict going from zero to sixty on a rush, Luke immediately swung his gaze around to find the brunette again.
God, she was pretty. And intriguing. And so impishly sweet a person couldn’t help but smile upon seeing her. Of course in his case, it was growing painfully obvious that smiling wasn’t the only reaction he’d be having to the woman.
Hell, anyone with eyes could see the hard time he was having keeping his reaction to himself; and it didn’t help one bit when her lips parted on a soft breath at just that moment.
Good grief. A brain simply couldn’t be expected to function with a
ll its blood racing to command central south. His brows dipped low in reflection as he adjusted his jeans. Had anyone ever affected him this way before?
This wholly, this swiftly?
He shot to his feet. Nope, never. Fixing his gaze on her with an intensity that made it clear this wasn’t just aimless flirting for him anymore, he saw her eyes fire wildly for him once again.
Now altogether myopic about meeting the woman, he cut a path straight for her.
…Only to have his ego take a hit when she jerked her attention to the invisible watch on her wrist as reason to retreat away from the bar.
Undeterred, he picked up the pace.
Equally stubborn, so did she.
And this round went to her. She vanished behind a door to the back just as he reached the spot she’d vacated beside Isaac’s exotic bartender.
“Where’s she going?” he demanded.
The bartender extinguished a delighted grin and tilted her head with an innocent double-blink. “Who?”
His normal easy-going patience strangely on hiatus, he replied with just a smidgen of impatience, “The other worker you were clearly pointing me out to earlier.”
She shrugged, now visibly entertained. “That other worker had work to do.”
Luke’s lips thinned warily. “What game are you two playing at here?”
That made her expression sober quickly. “My friend isn’t into games.” She spoke now in full protective-friend mode, staring him down. “Competitive? Ridiculously so. A player? No.”
Luke felt his frown dissolve into a smile, liking both that compelling character profile and oddly, the bartender as well, in all her strange and candid glory. “Unlike you, you mean.”
A pleased laugh bubbled out of her. “God, you’re perfect for her. As sharp as you are blunt.” She studied him for a second before coming to some sort of conclusion. “She’s lugging liquor boxes out from storage, back near the brewery pass-through. You should go help her.”
He squeezed her forearm in thanks and set out to do just that, hurrying through to the back, down an empty hallway. Noiselessly, he opened the storeroom doors and was greeted by the sound of his mystery woman’s voice…softly cursing up a string of very creative expletives.
Oh yeah. He grinned. This was going to be interesting.
* * * * *
“HOLY HEFEWEIZEN...” Incredulous, Dani yanked open a box of their mid-shelf tequila and pulled out two fresh bottles as she attempted to get her pulse rate in check. Though she was now a closed door away from the man who’d just about scorched her with a look mere minutes ago, she was still buzzing from the potent currents that had passed between them.
And fighting the impulse to go back out there for another hit.
Heck, it felt like every female cell in her body was ganging up on her, defiantly urging—demanding—she do the reckless for once and give in to each promised temptation that had been radiating from that man.
What in the world?
She’d seen the guy, what, three or four times in the last few weeks? They’d chatted for maybe a minute that time he’d come in to pick up a phoned-in lunch order. He was just a random guy, not even a local as far as she could tell.
She shook her head, thoroughly mystified. This wasn’t her. Dani Dobson did not get weak-kneed for a guy without getting to know him first, and most times, not even then. And she sure as hell had never felt like a cat in heat before tonight.
Taking a calming breath, she fanned her suddenly overheated skin. Clearly, she was just plain losing it, cracking finally under the mounting stress she’d been under lately. In a few weeks, her brother Derek would be home from his honeymoon and she still didn’t have a clue on how to buy out his half of the brewpub—the one thing making it impossible for him to pursue the dreams he’d patiently put on hold for her years ago.
The day she’d royally screwed up.
And for every day he didn’t complain, pressure, or do any less than give her support and praise for her successes—while never mentioning that one epic failure she never let herself live down—she hoarded another guilty reminder of how badly she was letting him down.
Yep. The stress from that impossible problem would be enough to make any girl go crazy...the crazy here of course being an admission that Xoey could possibly be right about this ‘dry spell’ of hers reaching parched proportions.
And that the man from the bar would be her absolute first pick to quench it.
A jolt of awareness charged her skin as she recalled every memorable thing about him, all now tattooed in her brain. Halfway down the fairly long list, she huffed out to herself, “Xoey’s losing it. That guy can’t possibly… I mean he was just so—” She shook her head, at a loss for words to match her blistering hot thoughts.
“I was so...what?” prodded a deep, gentle voice from behind her.
“You!” she gasped, spinning around. She gripped the rum bottle she’d just unloaded from its crate and poised it before her like a fencing sabre. “What are you doing back here?”
“Whoa, easy.” He shot both his hands up in the air, amusement curving his mouth into a lopsided grin. “No need to bottle-bash me. Your friend, the other bartender, sent me in to help you.”
“Of course she did,” Dani muttered in exasperation.
Mental note: Xoey was so fired.
When she pulled her weapon away from his face, the man efficiently slid next to her as if she hadn’t been poised for assault with deadly bottle, and began opening liquor cartons like he was being paid to. “Now what were you just saying about me?”
She balked. “How could I’ve been saying anything about you?! I don’t even know you.”
His pupils flared. But not in annoyance at her well-worded, bald-faced lie. But rather…in hunger.
She took a step back.
“Sorry.” He tore his eyes away from her and focused on the whiskey bottles he was lining up behind the older bottles in accordance with the labeled restocking instructions on each shelf. “The thoughts in my stream-of-consciousness just went to dangerous waters,” he added in that malt-rich voice of his. “I went from thinking ‘pants on fire’ to thinking about your pants.” His voice graveled, heated for a second as if teased by his own words. “Then, well, you can follow the breadcrumbs.”
Lordy, the man was lethal to the female population.
She did in fact follow those crumbs, right over to her backside. Unconsciously, she took a compulsive swipe at her jeans with her free hand—nope, no flames engulfing her butt—and felt the temperature in the small room spike dramatically.
Dammit, if he didn’t quit looking at her like that—all steamy eyes valiantly glued to her face rather than her fire snuffing efforts below… She shivered. Not wanting to even mentally voice the trouble that would ensue from that train of thought. It was bad enough that the faint scent of one of her dark ales was lingering on his lips in that sexier than sin sort of way, but candying it atop a gentlemanly sweet center to boot was just playing unfair.
Of course, like a masochist, she tipped her head back to meet his gaze anyway.
“Hi,” he rumbled gently, a soft smile flirting with the corners of his lips.
It was a content murmur more than anything else and somehow he managed to make that one word, the mere act of greeting her, meeting her for the first time sound so...special.
Oh, hell. The moment her fingertips began gravitating to his chest, the rest of her couldn’t help but follow. His hands settled lightly at her sides and she watched, spellbound, as the simmering heat in his eyes burned hotter. Deeper.
An unexpected sigh of pleasure seeped out of her and instantly, his fingers flexed against her hips in response. It was the only warning she got. In one sultry swoop, he strapped a steel arm around her waist to pull her flush against him before he caught her jaw with his free hand and just exploded past all her defenses with one slow, soft brush of his lips against hers.
Then just as quickly, he pulled back.
; Seemingly shocked at his own actions, eyes fixed on hers as if to gauge her reaction, he dragged in ragged breath after ragged breath. To try to slow things down probably.
One second, two seconds...
On three, her lips found his racing pulse just above his collar. A timid tongue swipe was all it took to get her shoulders pinned back against a wall, his hand speared through her hair, and the sensitive skin along her neck schooled on how turnabout was so far beyond fair play.
Breathing became barely a memory as his mouth decimated any hope she had of control. Before she knew it, she was undoing her shirt, daring him to follow suit. She wasn’t normally the bold instigator type but with him...she couldn’t think, couldn’t wait, couldn’t—
She gasped.
I don’t even know this guy’s name.
Shoving him probably far harder than was necessary, she jerked out of his arms and outright leapt as far away from him as she could.
“Are you alright?” He held a startled, worried hand out to her like a forbidden apple.
Yes please. She shook her head hard, sidling farther away from him. “I don’t do that…this. Ever.”
“Well then, you’re one of those who are just phenomenal without needing practice,” he teased lightly, the concern in his voice evident. “Hey, it’s okay. Why don’t we just sit and talk for a bit?” He perched atop a nearby liquor crate. “I promise not to pounce on you.”
He meant it, she could tell. He just sat there waiting, patiently giving her the time and space she needed. Slowly, she sank down onto the crate directly in front of him.
“Are you?” he asked softly, gently smoothing her hair back to study her expression.
Feeling like she’d lost all her marbles, she looked up in confusion. “Am I what?”
“One of those who doesn’t practice much? At this?”
Dani gasped again, this time in anger. “Did Xoey bribe you to end my ‘drought’ or whatever she calls it?!” She jabbed a finger in his chest. “Because I’ll have you know—”
“Hey, calm down.” His hands curtailed her efforts to drill into his sternum. “Your friend didn’t tell me about any, um, drought.” The corners of his eyes crinkled slightly.