by Selena Kitt
He unlaced his hands and slapped them on his knees before he stood up. "You know, we're doing all this stuff for veterans now. Free drinks and all that. College girls who want to climb you like a tree. Which is great. All that is great. But no one wants to remember that, a little while ago, people would wait for soldiers to get off the plane so they could spit in their faces."
The silence stretched and grew thick between them. He wasn't sure he'd meant to tell her all of that story. The details had sort of rushed out of him.
"You learn a lot in the Army, boss. You learn that everyone's there, willing to put it all on the line, for a different reason." He looked up into round brown eyes. "And I never met one person who went all the way to Afghanistan for free beer. But little things like that matter anyway."
They were quiet for a moment before, as if reading his mind, she said, "You didn't have to tell me all that."
He shrugged. "No, maybe not. I'm glad I did, though. I couldn't think of how to explain why I wanted to buy that guy a beer."
She joined him at the foot of the stairs and put her hand on his shoulder. Her touch warmed him a bit through the fabric of his T-shirt.
"I'm glad, too. Thanks for sharing that with me."
"Thanks for being cool about it."
She let go of him too soon, and the silence between them began to build again. If he didn't go, they'd eventually turn a corner to things that couldn't be undone.
"So you don't need anything else, boss?"
She shook her head. "I just came to count one thing. I'm going out right behind you."
"Okay," he said. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."
Chapter Two
Long after the boat parade and the annual displays of fireworks, long after the holiday revelers had shuffled out to their cars, and a few hours after the Fourth of July became July 5th, Gigi savored the quiet of her empty bar. This time last summer, her crew of bartenders had turned the herculean task of cleaning up into another party of sorts. Last year's crop of summer staff had taken forever to close down for the night, partially because of the larger than average crowd, and partially because they hadn't been cleaning as they went, while they were working. Gigi blamed herself for the delay, although she didn't begrudge the younger employees their happiness. She believed in hiring energetic people who loved the job, but sometimes her staffing decisions led to fun-loving inefficiency.
These days, her bartenders were a more established bunch, with families waiting at home or places to go once their shifts were over. They lived by the old bartender saying—time to lean is time to clean—and used their rare moments of downtime to keep the bar and their stations clean. They made short work of closing out after last call and went their separate ways for the night.
Now, seated in her favorite spot at the far corner of the bar, Gigi pushed aside the remnants of a very late dinner. A glass of water stood neglected and sweating in the center of a sodden cocktail napkin, and she finished matching the figures from a long, curling band of paper to the spreadsheet on her iPad.
From the kitchen, distant clinking sounds announced the end of another dishwasher cycle. Noah would be pulling a tray of dishes and glasses out of there now and preparing for what would likely be the last cycle for the night. Something about hearing him move back there, tucking the kitchen in for the night, comforted Gigi. Over the last two months, he'd more than proven that he could take excellent care of her business and, as she'd feared, she wanted him to stay as much as Heather did.
Noah strode through the kitchen's swinging door, drying his hands on the tail of a once-white apron. She folded her hands on the bar and watched as he approached her. If she didn't know he was a damn good barback, she would never have guessed it to look at him. He moved briskly, his eyes taking in the details of the familiar room as if he were preparing to take command. He looked like the man in charge.
"Last call for the dishwasher," he said.
His big hands dwarfed her plate and fork. A favorite fantasy swam to the surface of her mind, and the thought of his broad, rough hands on her thighs and her ass set arousal smoldering stubbornly within her. Those palms and long fingers would steady her as she rocked the slick petals of her pussy toward his waiting mouth. Her own mouth watered.
He moved to take her glass, and some mischief she couldn't suppress made her reach for it first. Slowly, she pushed it away from him, leaving a trail of cool water on the bar. When he leaned toward it, she tugged her drink further away.
He could have it when he asked her for it.
His gaze followed her hand at first. Then his eyes met hers.
Everything went still, just the way it had in the storage room a few weeks before. The same weird energy crackled between them. She met his stare with her own, facing down the intensity that radiated from him. She felt the power that had driven him through the blazing heat and desert dust, and her very essence sang with the need to mate that strength with hers.
He was still, the plate in one hand and the other on the bar near her glass. Motionless, he waited for her.
He needed her direction. Her permission.
Jesus, why can't you just work in your office?
The tension between them shuddered and then broke.
"I've got it," she said. She tried to smile. "I haven't done it for a while, but I think I can manage one glass."
His hard mouth bent into a grin, an expression that was just innocent enough. He nodded and took the plate into the kitchen to join the rest of the dirty dishes.
Gigi watched him go and swallowed hard before reaching for her water. The cool drink soothed her suddenly dry mouth.
He knew. Somehow he knew she'd been teasing him… and why.
Damn. Good thing Noah had somewhere else to be come September. She couldn't face this every night forever. Everyone would have to work a little harder without Noah, and they'd all hate her for a while. But Gigi would rather deal with a little extra work than go on fighting whatever this was between them.
The overhead fans did little to stir the air, and while the empty bar smelled freshly cleaned, it felt like a thunderstorm was about to erupt. It felt like he was still here.
She toggled the iPad into standby and slid off the stool. She wasn't going to get anything done out here. She poured a fresh water from the gun and mopped up the wet spot left by her glass.
* * *
The wooden patio on top of the bar offered little in the way of scenic views. It faced the back of the building, not the beach, and from its ancient Adirondack chair, she could look down into the parking lot and the dumpster. Beyond her building and the hair salon, the neighborhood crept up the hill into the suburbs. She could make out a couple of beach house backyards. Muffled rhythm thumped from a screened-in porch in the distance.
How many summer bartenders had found their way up here for an after-shift beer? All of them, probably. The thought made Gigi chuckle. The privacy provided a much needed escape from the commotion of the bar, and it wasn't a bad spot for a drink with friends. Or a hookup.
Her iPad lay next to a candle she'd found on the weathered wooden table near the door. The lights hadn't worked up here in years. Seeing a candle here, as she did every time she went to the patio, reminded her that she needed to get someone to fix the lights before someone burned the place down.
Maybe she could get Noah to handle it.
Her traitorous mind fluttered around thoughts of drinks and hookups in the dark before heavy steps on the creaky wooden stairs captured her attention.
"Here you are." Noah's voice liquefied something low in her belly. "I didn't know where you'd got to."
"I came up for a little fresh air. I thought I'd be back by the time you finished."
He came out onto the patio, making the boards protest beneath his weight. "Well, it's all done downstairs. You need anything else?"
Gigi breathed deeply of the hot summer air. That question.
"No, I'm sure it's fine. I hope I didn't keep you too long; I'm
sure you have places to be tonight."
"Me?" Noah chuckled. "No, I'm not going anywhere."
"No?" She gestured at the other chair with the bottle. "You want to sit down for a minute?"
Noah dropped onto the other Adirondack chair with a barely suppressed groan.
"That's a blessed feeling, isn't it?" She leaned back in the chair. "Sitting down after barbacking a double shift."
"God, yes." He stretched his arms over his head, arching his back until the joints popped.
"You want a beer?" She glanced over the shoulder toward the mini-fridge. "Might have two more back there."
His body reclined in the chair. "No, I'm good."
"You sure? Not even to thank you for your service?"
He lifted one hand toward her, as if to ward off incoming beer. "No thanks necessary."
She turned to watch him in repose. She could hardly make him out in the dark, but the sound of his sigh squeezed her heart. Their conversation in the storage room arose in her memory.
No one went to Afghanistan for free beer.
"So how do you know how it feels to sit down after barbacking all day?"
More pleasant memories made her smile. "I was a barback. Dad always wanted me to take over the bar, but he refused to just hand me the job. He started me at the bottom of the totem pole."
"Which is my job."
"Yes, sir. You can't bartend here until you're twenty-one, and you have to be eighteen to serve alcohol as a waitress. But you can barback as soon as you can start working."
He chuckled. "I have a new respect for you."
"I loved it. I kind of grew up here anyway." She turned over onto her side to face him. "I mean, you've been here. This place is a lot of fun, even if you're working, right?"
"It is a pretty good time."
"Right?" She drank from the beer. "A far cry from what you used to do."
"You'd be surprised. This is a much less dangerous team. But I was part of a team, with specialized skills. We each knew our part. We each exceeded expectations. We anticipated the enemy's next move."
She swallowed the beer hard, trying not to laugh.
"I mean, not the enemy—"
"No, no, I've been here on bad days. Sometimes it is like we're not on the same side at all. In fact, Dad used to say that's where we made mistakes, when we start thinking of them as friends before customers."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah. I'm responsible for everyone in the place. I have to make sure no one gets out of hand, no one's in danger. I cut people off. We're usually on the same side, but when we're not, I have to know it and stand by it."
"I hadn't thought of it like that."
"Well, good." She smiled at him. "That's part of the job, too." She put the empty bottle next to the chair and sat up, elbows on her knees. "Still. Not that I'm ungrateful, you're the best barback I've ever hired. But I'm sure you didn't come back here from Afghanistan to shovel ice and fill dishwashers."
He was quiet for a few seconds. She waited, giving him the space to answer or decide not to.
"Well, if it's any consolation," he finally said, "I'll be doing plenty of hauling ice in Florida. The job is on a fishing boat."
"Ah."
"Not as many college girls out there."
"Is that a pro or a con?"
He laughed. "No comment, boss."
They looked out into the darkness. Firecrackers popped in the distance, and a lone bottle rocket arced through the sky in a shower of sparks.
"I'm right where I need to be right now," he said. His voice was quiet in the dark. "This is exactly where I need to be."
"Good." She was almost whispering, grateful for whatever peace her bar had given him. "Good."
Another bottle rocket squealed in the dark before popping.
"I guess we should go," she said.
He rose from the awkward chair with ease and offered her his hand. She slid her hand into his warm, work-roughened one and let him pull her to her feet. Inches away from him now, she felt that electricity again, a heavy thickness in the air between them like the heat before a thunderstorm.
This time, she gave in to the magnetic force.
Her fingers resting lightly in his, she swayed toward him. Her arm wound around his shoulder and she lifted her face to his an instant before his mouth settled on hers.
Moving as one, their lips parted. She pressed her palm to the back of his neck, where the summer heat and hard work had made the skin sticky with sweat. She claimed his mouth with her tongue. The perfect satiny skin of his lips gave way to the heat of his mouth, and her tongue traced the back of his teeth, the hard shelf above and behind them. He released her hand, freeing her to embrace him. His arms wound around her waist and he pushed into her kiss, taking her mouth boldly.
Yes.
She lifted her chest up to meet his. The contact with his hard body brought her nipples to taut peaks.
She took his face in both hands and pushed herself just far enough away to breathe.
"That night, in the storage," she whispered. "Did I imagine that?"
He shook his head. "No."
She rocked her pelvis against his, her body landing against the stiffness in his pants. "Am I crazy for wanting to act on that?"
"You don't seem crazy to me."
"Good." She took a step away from him and traced a line down his chest with her fingernail. "Take off your shirt."
She took a step away from him, then another, before sliding her hands into her back pockets. For a moment, they stood there in the dark, watching each other in silence.
"Come on," she said. "Take it off."
He crossed his arms in front of him, grabbing the bottom of his shirt and then peeling it off. Smoothly, he pulled it over his head, and he stood, holding it loosely in one hand. He watched her with an enticing mixture of caution and defiance in his eyes.
Gigi's insides fluttered with an excitement that she hoped her face didn't reveal. She'd expected some measure of hesitation from Noah, if not outright resistance. She'd thought it would take more than a simple command to bend him to her will. And yet here he was, bare chested, waiting for her instructions.
She approached him slowly. Her footsteps creaked on the weathered wood as she surveyed him. She drank deeply of the sight of him, the body she'd only been able to imagine beneath those clothes.
Her fingertips found his chest again, and she lightly raked her nails down to his stomach. His abs twitched at her touch, making her smile.
Ticklish. Nice.
She wanted to be behind him now, knowing her presence would trigger his reflexes. As she predicted, the muscles in his strong back went taut, and she could see the column of his neck in stark relief in the dim light.
Damn.
Wary, he turned to look at her over his shoulder. She spread her fingers over a big shoulder blade to reassure him, the way one might try to calm a skittish horse.
"Is this a little weird?" Her voice was almost a whisper.
"A little," he answered. His mouth curled into a half-smile.
She wound her arms around him, pressed her body against his back. Her soft midsection met his tight ass. Her hands smoothed the coarse hair that dusted his chest.
She longed to touch her lips, her tongue, to the base of his thick neck. To feel the bone there. Caress his earlobe with her mouth to see if he was ticklish there as well.
Not yet. Not now.
Instead, she whispered to him. "Do you like it?"
His head fell back toward hers, and his chest expanded into her hands. His surrender sent a thrill surging through her.
"Mmm," he said, his voice rumbling through her. "I like it."
She went on touching him, this man who gave his body over to her. She ran her hands through that short, sand-colored hair, and found it almost wiry beneath her palms. She stroked him as if he were an animal, a prized, well-bred beast born to serve her. She let one palm rest on his throat, where the pulse beat steady and strong, and t
raced his lips with the other hand.
She tucked her fingers inside his mouth. He curled his tongue around them, closing his mouth and sucking at the sensitive flesh.
Her insides went liquid and she let her body undulate against his, let him feel how well he pleased her. Her own lips parted of their own accord. She longed to taste him, to lick and suck the skin salty with sweat.
She pulled her fingers free and squeezed his shoulders.
"Come here," she said. She led him to the chair she'd struggled out of a moment before. When she pointed at it, he lowered himself into it. She studied the flex and release of his muscles.
Casting a shadow over him, she steadied herself on the chair and straddled him. Before he could reach for her, she went for his cock. Her hand rested on the long, stiff bulge beneath the zipper of his pants.
He'd feel so good inside her. Big enough to make her greedy flesh stretch for him. He liked this, the possessive way she touched him. His hips bucked up toward her and he closed his eyes, silently asking for more.
"You have a condom, Noah?" She sat on his lap to rub his erection through his clothes.
His body went still. He opened his eyes and shook his head.
"No?" Her arousal began to recede, leaving her frustrated and achy.
He shook his head. No condom.
"That's very disappointing, Noah."
He groaned. "No shit."
She put her fingers to his lips to silence him, but not before his response made her laugh.
"I think this will be hardest on you, though," she said. She turned around so that her back faced him and lay down on top of him. Then she looked at him over her shoulder, sweeping her hair out of the way. "You're going to make me come. And if I come hard enough, I'll see you're taken care of." She made herself comfortable on him, grinding her ass into his hard-on. "You really ought to remember to carry a condom, Noah."