First Bite is the Deepest: Dances With Werewolves Book Two
Page 16
The biker threw a vicious punch and Anna closed her eyes waiting for the connecting crunch. There was only the sound of shuffling footsteps. She opened one eye to see the bartender deftly sidestepping another wailing fist. Then, with a loud bellow, Biker Boy charged the bartender, lowering his head at the last minute like a battering ram. Anna’s scream was stopped in her throat as the bartender twisted, grabbed the man’s upper arm and flipped him flat out on his back. “Are we done?”
Gasping to regain his breath, the biker scrambled to his feet. “Hell, no.” He began circling again, looking for an opportunity.
Anna relaxed her grip on the umbrella and settled in to watch.
After dodging a few more killer swings, the bartender casually decked the guy with a precise punch to the nose. It felt like a cartoon “POW!” should accompany the blow as blood spurted and the oaf flew backward onto his burly butt.
“Don’t come back.” The bartender shook out his hand then walked past Anna to the doorway. He turned to look back at her. “What? You think it’s going to rain?” After a quick glance skyward, he shook his head.
“No, I was going to—” Anna gritted her teeth as she realized he was mocking her.
He held the door open, his expression softening. “Come on in. I’ll pour you a brandy.”
She considered refusing just to piss him off when she heard a groan from the pavement behind her. Nope. I’m not staying out here. She sashayed past him and plunked the umbrella back in the stand before saying, “Make it a double and you’ve got a deal.”
She smiled at his deep chuckle.
“What the hell was that about?” Ella intercepted her as she took a tall stool at the bar. Rosie moved to her other side.
Damn. She’d hoped to have a little time alone with her knight in shining armor, or prissy apron as it were. “That biker made a pass at me and—” She turned to the bartender now pouring her a brandy. “I didn’t get your name.”
“Erickson.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “First or last?”
He slid the drink toward her. “First.”
“Oh.” Anna took a swig and then choked as the damn thing burned its way down her throat. “Jeez!”
“You’re supposed to sip it.”
She cleared her throat, then glared at him. “Thanks for the warning.” Her voice was still raspy.
“You don’t seem to like being told what to do.”
Rosie let out a laugh and then shot her an apologetic look. “He’s right, you know.”
Her shoulders tightened with annoyance. They were all against her. “I was gonna hit that guy, I just didn’t get enough room to wind up.”
“I’d rather people didn’t fight in here, it messes up my décor.” He shook his head and then used his fingers to tame his disheveled hair.
Anna wondered briefly what it felt like. God, her brain was all over the place tonight.
He leaned over the bar toward her with a playful smile. “You going to tell me your name or do I have to card you again to refresh my memory?”
“Anna. And you can’t card someone twice in a night, buddy.”
“I’ll try to remember that rule.” His laugh was warm and intimate. “Pleased to meet you, Anna.”
“You too.” Up close his eyes were the coolest shade of green. Almost forest green. They seemed to darken under her gaze and a warm surge of sexual awareness bubbled up inside her. Jeez! She leaned back and took the last sip of her brandy to break the spell. Her face felt hot, but hopefully if she was blushing he’d think it was from the drink.
When he quickly busied himself arranging a stack of cardboard coasters and shot glasses, it occurred to her that he might’ve felt that same heat. Hmm, interesting.
Anna stood and pushed her empty glass back to Erickson. “Well, thanks for the brandy and for taking that guy out, but my friends and I have a business meeting to get back to.”
“You’re welcome, Anna.” He chuckled. “And thank you for the umbrella protection.”
“Yeah, right.” She turned before he could see the blush heating up her face again. Okay, so now she just needed to figure out how to make him ask her out...
****
Ericson eyed the three women as they strutted away. Well Anna strutted. Her friends had flatter strides with less hip action. His eyes lingered on Anna’s long legs and tight ass before turning his attention to his apron. Shit. Why do the beefy guys always have to bleed so much? Luckily his jeans and apron were black so they didn’t show the mess.
He emptied his pocket onto the lower bar: corkscrew; pocket knife; back-up corkscrew; rag—just a little bloodied, but it’d have to be washed; and then the change and a strip of condoms in the other pocket. Not that he had much use for condoms these days, but if customers were getting drunk and frisky at his bar, he wanted to make sure they didn’t have bigger regrets when they sobered up the next day. His eyes flickered to Anna, now focused on her friends. She was attractive as hell but he sure didn’t need that kind of trouble in his life.
He threw his apron and the rag into the hollow beside the garbage can, grabbed a clean one from the shelf and methodically replaced the items into their respective homes. Laundry day would come a little earlier this week.
“Hey! What does a bloke have to do to get a drink around here?” Bill, at the end of the bar, held up his glass.
“Maybe if you tipped better, you’d get better service.” Erickson hollered back as he drew him a Coors Light.
“If you hired some cute young servers, I’d tip.”
“What? You calling me old?” Erickson gave Bill his pint and took away his empty. “I’m hurt.”
“Sorry Eric. You just don’t fill out a mini skirt like you used too.”
“Oh man, you been trolling my old photos on Facebook, again?” Ericson laughed as he grabbed his tray to do some table service. He only made the rounds when his server called out, mostly preferring his sanctuary behind the massive maple bar. But the fight had gotten his adrenaline up, or else he just wanted to check out Anna again. Damn I’m not getting caught up in that girl’s drama, besides which, she’s too young for me.
First two tables placed their orders and then he approached Anna and her friends. “Can I get you ladies anything from the bar?
The blonde looked up guiltily as if worried he might’ve overheard their conversation. Wonder what their “business meeting” was about? Anna with her black clothes and dark lipstick hardly seemed the office type. And the red-head’s clothing didn’t scream out big business type, either.
Anna turned to her friends. “Okay, I owe you gals one more drink. You want another SoHo, Ella?”
“No. I think I’ll have an Orange Crantini this time.” She smiled at Anna. “And this round’s on me. I sold a short story today.”
“Congratulations!” The red-head winked at Anna. “If Ella’s buying, I’d better go for something more expensive. What’s an interesting mixed drink, no Grenadine and without milk?”
“How about a Bartender’s Masala?”
She eyed him suspiciously. “What’s that? It doesn’t have curry, does it?”
“No. I just throw a bunch of things into a glass, shake it up, and voila.”
“What sort of things?
“Well, I won’t know until I start pouring.”
Anna sat up straighter. “I’d like to try that!”
“Okay, me too.”
“Aw hell, scratch the Crantini and I’ll go for it too.”
“Three Masalas on their way.” Ericson winked at the women before turning back to his bar. Ah this was the way he liked to tend bar. More fun than just pulling beers and pouring wine. And it might distract him from thinking about Anna...
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This book series wouldn't and couldn't have happened without the amazing help from my fellow writers. Thanks especially to Jacqui Nelson for critiquing and computer wizardry, Terry Mitchell for the amazing art, publishing knowledge and procrastination wrangli
ng, and Kay Gregory for tea, sympathy and copious amounts of wine as I wrestled my werewolves into submission.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Living in New York and Toronto, Nora Snowdon was a jerk of all trades–one week hawking toys at major toy conventions, the next in a high-end jewelry store pandering to the rich. She worked in the financial market, gambling dens, environmental protection, food service industry and sold shoes. During these years she also either appeared in or directed twenty-five plays.
Then Nora moved to the wet coast, took up health foods (dark chocolate and red wine) and became a Writer of Elegant Smut, (Although apparently her books are generally considered to be Romantic Comedies. Go figure.) Her ambition is to become a crazy cat lady and wine hoarder, not necessarily in that order.
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Table of Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
Author Note
Excerpt
Acknowledgements
About The Author