by Jill Shalvis
His dark hair was finger-combed at best, a lock of it falling over his forehead. He had a strong jaw, and cheekbones to die for, and disbelief swimming in those melted caramel eyes. “Mind telling me why you have it in for my bike?”
“Okay, this looks bad,” she admitted. “But I swear I have nothing against you or your motorcycle.”
“Hmm. Prove it.”
Her gut clenched. “I—”
“With a drink.” He gestured with his head to the bar.
“With you?”
“Or by yourself, if you’d rather. But you look like you could use a little pick-me-up.”
He had no idea.
He righted his bike with annoying ease and held out a hand.
She stared at it but didn’t take it. “Look, nothing personal, but I’ve just seen how you deal with people who irritate you, so…”
He looked in the direction that Smarmy Suit had vanished. “Parker was hitting on a good friend of mine and making an ass of himself. Yeah, he irritated me. You haven’t. Yet.”
“Even though I’ve tried to kill your bike twice?”
“Even though.” His mouth quirked slightly, as if she were amusing him. Which was good, right? Amused at her klutziness was better than being pissed.
“And anyway, the bike’s going to live,” he said, directing her to the door, the one whose sign read THE LOVE SHACK.
“This is a bad idea.”
He flashed her a smile, and holy mother of God, it was wickedly sexy. It might even have been contagious if she hadn’t been so damn worried that any second now he was going to morph into an angry, uptight, aggressive LA attorney who didn’t know how to control his temper.
No, wait. That’d been her ex, Alex. “Honestly,” she said. “Bad idea.”
“Honestly?”
“What, don’t people tell the truth around here?”
“Oh, the locals tell the truth. It’s just that they tell all the truth, even when they shouldn’t. It’s called gossip. Lucky Harbor natives specialize in it. You can keep a pile of money in the back seat of your unlocked car and it’d be safe, but you can’t keep a secret.”
“Good thing I don’t have any.”
He smiled. “We all have secrets. Come on, I know the bartender. It’ll help you relax, trust me.”
Yes, but she was in the red on trust. Way overdrawn. In fact, the Bank Of Trust had folded. “I don’t know.”
Except he’d nudged her inside already, and her feet were going willingly. The place snagged her interest immediately. It was like entering an old western saloon. The walls were a deep sinful bordello red and lined with old mining tools. The ceiling was all exposed beams. Lanterns hung over the scarred bench-style tables, and the bar itself was a series of old wood doors attached end to end. Someone had already decorated for Christmas and huge silvery balls hung from everything, as did endless streams of tinsel.
Hot Biker had her hand in his bigger, warmer one and was pulling her past the tables full with the dinner crowd. The air was filled with busy chattering, loud laughter, and music blaring out of the jukebox on the far wall. She didn’t recognize the song because it was country, and country music wasn’t on her radar, but some guy was singing about how Santa was doing his momma beneath the tree.
Shaking her head, Maddie let herself be led to the bar, where she noticed that nobody was here to drink their problems away.
Everyone seemed… happy.
Hoping it was contagious, she sat on the barstool that he patted for her, right next to a woman wearing sprayed-on jeans and a halter top that revealed she was either chilly or having a really, really good time. Her makeup was overdone, but somehow the look really worked for her. She was cheerfully flirting with a huge mountain of a guy on her other side, who was grinning from ear to ear and looking like maybe he’d just won the lottery.
Hot Biker greeted them both as if they were all close friends, then moved behind the bar, brushing that leanly muscled body alongside of Maddie’s as he did.
She shivered.
“Cold?” he asked.
When she shook her head, he smiled again, and the sexiness of it went straight through her, causing another shiver.
Yeah, he really needed to stop doing that.
Immediately, several people at the bar tossed out orders to him, but he just shook his head, eyes locked on Maddie. “I’m done helping out for the night, guys. I’m just getting the lady a drink.”
The other bartender, another big, good-looking guy—wow, they sure grew them damn fine up here in Lucky Harbor—asked, “What kind of wing man just takes off without proper clearance? Never mind.” He slapped an opened sudoku puzzle in front of Hot Biker. “Just do this puzzle in three minutes or less.”
“Why?”
“There’s a woman at the end of the bar, the one with the fuck-me heels—Jesus, don’t look! What, are you an amateur? She said she’d do things to me that are illegal in thirteen states if I did the puzzle in less than five minutes. So for all that is holy, hurry the fuck up. Just don’t let her see you doing it.”
Hot Biker looked at Maddie and smiled. “Trying to impress a woman here, Ford.”
Ford turned to Maddie speculatively. “I suppose you already know that this guy here has got some charm. But did he tell you that in our freshman year we nicknamed him Hugh because his stash of porn was legendary? Yeah, he had more back issues than eBay. And maybe he mentioned that he can’t pee his name in the snow anymore because the last time he did, he gave himself a hernia trying to cross the X at the end of his name?” Ford turned back to Hot Biker and slapped him on the back. “There. Now you have no hope of impressing her, so get cranking on that puzzle—you owe me.”
Hot Biker grimaced, and Maddie did something she hadn’t in weeks.
She laughed.
Chapter 3
“A glass of wine is always the solution.
Even if you aren’t sure of the problem.”
PHOEBE TRAEGER
So you collect porn.”
Jax Cullen took in the genuine amusement on the woman’s face and shook his head. Fucking Ford. “Past tense,” he corrected. “I sold the collection to an incoming freshman when I left for college.”
“Uh-huh. That’s what they all say.”
Liking the way the worry had faded from her eyes, which were now lit with good humor, he leaned over the bar and whispered near her ear, “Want to swap stories, Speed Racer?”
She composed herself enough to grimace. “I’m just glad you can laugh about me almost killing you.”
“As opposed to?”
“I don’t know. Yelling.”
Jax studied her face before she turned away from him, purposely eyeing the bottles of alcohol lining the back of the bar, trying to conceal her discomfort. “Not much of a yeller,” he murmured and reached out to play with one of her dark blond curls. He couldn’t help himself—they were irresistible.
So was she.
“I’ve heard that LA women are pretty aggressive in their pickup tactics. But this just might be one for the record books. You should probably just save us both some trouble and ask me out directly.”
“Hey, I didn’t nearly run you over on purpose. And I tripped on the bike trying to read the sign.”
“Ah, but you don’t deny the attempting to pick-me-up part.” He nodded. “You want me bad.”
She laughed and then shook her head as if surprised at herself. “If you plan to keep stalking me like this, we should be on a first-name basis. I’m Jax.” He held out his hand. “Jax Cullen.”
She slid her smaller, chilled-to-the-bone hand in his. “Maddie Moore.”
He knew the name, more than he wanted to. She was Phoebe’s middle daughter. Giving himself a moment, he rubbed her hands between his, trying to warm them up. Earlier when she’d been using the highway—and nearly his body—for offensive-driving practice, he’d gotten the impression of a sweet, warm, and very stressed-out woman, and that hadn’t changed. He loved the wild, c
urly hair which was barely contained in a ponytail, but her long side bangs brushed across one eye and the side of her jaw, nearly hiding her eyes and her pretty face.
She’d dressed to hide her body, as well. Watching her squirm on her barstool under his scrutiny, he wondered why. “What’s your poison?”
“A beer, please.”
Jax grabbed two Coronas, lifted the walk-through, and took the barstool next to her. Ford, who was a coowner of the place—and until about two minutes ago also one of his best friends—came back and jabbed a finger at the sudoku book. “You haven’t even started it? Killing me, Clark.”
Maddie frowned. “Thought your name was Jax.”
“It is, but Leno-wannabe here thinks he’s being funny when he calls me Clark. As in Superman,” he clarified, making Ford snort.
“As in Clark Kent,” Ford corrected. “See him squint at the puzzle? Yeah, that’s because he needs reading glasses and he won’t wear them. He thinks he won’t ever get laid again if he does. Because apparently squinting is sexier than admitting his vision sucks.”
“Thanks, man,” Jax said.
Ford clapped him on the shoulder. “Just keeping it real.”
Maddie was looking at him. “Actually, you do sort of look like Clark Kent, if he were really fit. And tough. And edgy. What’s your superpower?”
Ford grinned in approval at her and opened his mouth to answer, but Jax reached across the bar, put a hand on Ford’s face, and shoved. “I try to keep the superpower on the downlow,” he said. “Because the people here like to gossip.”
Even with Jax’s hand on his face, Ford managed another snort and tapped the sudoku book in front of Jax. “If he’s a superhero, ask him why the puzzle’s still blank. Tick-tock, bro. Tick-tock.”
“Forget it. And maybe you could actually be the bartender and serve us.” Jax looked at Maddie. “Food?”
She was too nervous to eat and shook her head.
“That’s all right,” Ford said. “This guy’ll eat me out of house and home all on his own.” He leaned over the bar, smiling at her, pouring on the charm that got him laid so regularly.
“Hey,” Jax said.
Ford grinned at Maddie. “He doesn’t like to share. It’s because I’m hotter than he is.”
Maddie was smiling again. “You always make fun of your friends?”
“Hey, you can’t make fun of your own brother, who can you make fun of?”
Maddie took a long pull on her beer, set it down, then once again turned to face Jax, eyeing him for a long beat. “You’re brothers?”
Jax understood the question. Ford had lighter hair, lighter eyes, and more bulk to his muscle, like a football player. He mostly sailed these days and was, in fact, a world-class pro. When on the water, he moved with easy, natural grace, not that you could tell by looking at the big lug. “Not by blood.”
“Yeah, by blood,” Ford said. “We cut each other’s palms and spit on them in the third grade, remember? Misfits unite.”
Maddie was still dividing her gaze between them. “Neither of you look like misfits.”
“Ah, but you didn’t see us back then,” Ford said. “Two scrawny, bony-ass kids. The best that could be said of us was we knew how to take a beating.”
“And run fast,” Jax reminded him.
Maddie looked horrified. “How awful.”
“It wasn’t so bad.” Ford lifted a shoulder. “We had Sawyer.”
“Sawyer?”
“Our secret weapon. He’d been wrestling with his older brothers since before he could walk. It’s why we let him hang out with us.”
Maddie finished her beer and set the empty down, looking infinitely more relaxed. “Another, please.”
Ford obliged. “So is this a social second round or a get-shit-faced one?”
She pondered that with careful consideration. “Does it matter?”
“Only if I have to peel you off the floor and call you a ride.”
She shook her head. “No floor peeling.”
Ford nodded and smiled, then turned to Jax and pointed at the puzzle before moving off to serve his other customers.
Maddie sipped her second beer. “So you and Ford are close.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you two fight?”
“Occasionally.”
“And how do you settle these arguments?”
“Depends. Fight night in town square usually works.”
At that she gave him a long look, and he smiled, making her shake her head at herself. “You’d think LA would have beaten the gullible out of me,” she murmured.
“Nah. I’m just good at pulling legs.”
“So what do you and Ford argue about? Women?”
“We try to avoid that.”
“Okay, not a woman. Something else. Would you solve it with, say, a diplomatic coin toss?”
“Probably not,” he admitted. “Loudest usually wins. A well-placed punch is always a bonus.”
When she narrowed her eyes in blatant disbelief, he smiled again. “See, you’re catching on to me already.”
“Actually,” she murmured, “it’s not a bad idea. But I’d lose a fight against my oldest sister. Tara’s got some serious pent-up-aggression issues.” She considered her beer for a minute, her fingers stroking up and down over the condensation, drawing Jax’s full attention.
“Probably I could take Chloe on account of her asthma,” she said. “But that’d be mean. Plus I’m out of shape, so…”
At that, he gave her a slow once-over, fully appreciating her real curves, and shook his head. “Not from where I’m sitting.”
She blinked. Compliments obviously flustered her, which only stirred his curiosity all the more. “You could challenge your sisters to a street race in your Honda,” he said. “My money’s on you.”
She choked out a little laugh, set down her beer, and pointed at the opened puzzle book. “Four.”
“Excuse me?”
“Four goes there. And six goes there.” Leaning in, she took his pencil and filled in the two spots while he found his mouth so close to her ear he could have taken a nibble. Instead, he inhaled her scent. Soft. Subtle. Nice.
She cocked her head sideways, concentrating, and he just breathed her in. Which was how she filled in the rest of the puzzle before he realized it. “Damn.”
“Don’t be impressed,” she said. “I’ve got a little compulsive problem. I can’t stand to leave anything unfinished.” She hopped off the barstool. “Unfortunately, they don’t have a twelve-step program for such things.”
“Ford’s going to owe you,” he said, snagging her wrist to halt her getaway.
“You could have done it if you’d worn your glasses.” She pulled free. “It was only a moderately hard one. Oh and FYI? Women think glasses are a sign of brains, and also, they’re sexy.”
Cocking his head, he took in the slight flush to her cheeks, the humor in her gaze, and felt something stir within him. She might be struggling with some demons, but she was sweet and sharp as hell and a breath of fresh air. “Are you flirting with me?”
“No. The porn thing was a dealbreaker.”
That made him laugh, and even better, so did she, and something flickered between them.
Chemistry.
A shocking amount of it. Clearly she felt it, too, because suddenly she was a flurry of movement, pulling some cash from the depths of her pockets, setting it on the bar for Ford, and turning for the door like she had a fire on her ass.
“Maddie.”
She turned back, looking a little frenzied again, a little panicked, much as she had when he’d first seen her across the expanse of highway. He wondered why.
“I have to go,” she said.
“Puzzles to solve?”
“Something like that.”
“It’s not really a puzzle-solving night,” he said, slipping her money back into her front jeans pocket, his knuckles grazing her midriff. She went stock-still while he pulled his own money out to cov
er the drinks. “It’s more of a make-new-friends night,” he said. “And Ford’s putting out peanuts. We can throw them at him. He hates that.”
She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, emotion flickered there. “I’d really like that, but tonight I have to have that fight with my sisters.”
She was clearly vulnerable as hell, and he needed to get away from her before he took advantage of that. But then her bright blue gaze dropped and homed in on his mouth, and all his good intentions flew out the window.
“I’m working on a new beginning here,” she said.
“New beginnings are good.”
“Yeah.” Her tongue came out and dampened her lips, an unconscious gesture that said maybe she was thinking of his mouth on hers. Seemed fitting. He’d been thinking about her mouth on his since he’d seen her outside the bar.
It’d been a hell of a long time since he’d let himself feel something, far too long. That it was for this woman, here, now, was going to make things difficult, but he was good at difficult and wouldn’t let that stop him.
Reaching for her hand, he pulled her in, lowering his head. His jaw brushed her hair, and a strand of it stuck to his stubble. He was close enough now to watch in fascination as her eyes dilated. Her lips parted, and—
“You two need a hotel room?”
Ford, the resident nosey-body.
Maddie jumped and pulled free. “I’ve really got to go. Thanks for the drinks.” She whirled around and stumbled into a table. With a soft exclamation, she righted the spilled drinks, apologizing profusely. Then she hightailed it for the door, not looking back.
“You’re an ass,” Jax said to Ford, watching her.
“No doubt. So, you going to collect her, too?”
Jax slid him a look.
“Come on. Try to deny that out of guilt you collect the needy: the homeless dog, friends who need loans, the chick with the sweet eyes and even sweeter ass—”
“You know I’m not interested in a relationship.” It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in the concept. In spite of his parents’ failed marriage and Jax’s own close call with his ex, he understood wanting someone, the right someone, in his life. But he wasn’t sure he trusted himself. After all, his past was freely littered with the debris of his many, many mistakes.