Bewitching: His Secret Agenda

by Carla Neggers

  “Sorry, no can do,” Allie said before Dean could respond. “We’ve already had last call.”

  “Come on, Harry,” his tall buddy said, glancing warily at Dean. “Let’s get back to the hotel. We’ve got a twelve-pack there, remember?”

  Harry—did people still name their kids that?—stood and shoved his companion into the bar. “Back off. I want my beer here.”

  “I’m giving you ten seconds,” Allie said, making her voice as cold as the weather outside despite the uneasiness in her stomach, “then I’m calling the cops.”

  Harry puffed up his chest, swaying with the effort. “I’ll go when I’m ready to go.”

  Both of his friends began talking at once, trying to convince him. Before Allie could pick up the phone to call in the cavalry—namely Jack—Dean sighed and tossed down his cleaning rag. She grabbed his arm.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  He looked at her as if she’d been drinking the disinfectant solution. “I thought I’d convince young Harry and his followers to go home.”

  “But there are three of them.”

  He gently peeled her fingers off his arm. “I appreciate your concern, but I think I can handle the Three Stooges here.”

  Then he walked around the bar. She bent down and picked up the Louisville Slugger Dillon had made her promise to keep under the bar for protection. Her hands shook as she wrapped her fingers around the handle.

  If she had to hit someone with this thing she was going to be mighty ticked off.

  Dean, in no particular hurry that she could see, sort of...ambled...up to Harry and his friends. The kids flanking Harry took a step back. Must be Dean’s sheer size. It couldn’t be his fierce demeanor. From what she’d seen of him, the guy was so easygoing she was surprised he didn’t slip into a coma.

  “You’re ready now,” Dean said quietly.

  Harry held on to the bar as if trying to remain upright. “What?”

  “You said you’d go when you were ready. You’re ready now.”

  “Says who?”

  Allie blinked. Had she somehow been transported back to grade school? No, they weren’t a couple of ten-year-olds calling each other names. They were two very large, fully grown men facing off in front of her.

  Dean kept his hands loose at his sides. “Bar’s closed.”

  “Back off.” The guy punctuated his statement by shoving him in the chest.

  Dean took a step back to keep his balance, and Allie tightened her grip on the bat, her pulse skittering. But instead of losing his temper, he looked at Harry’s friends. “You’d better get your buddy out of here before he lands all of your asses in jail.”

  Harry sneered. “Why don’t you go back to the range or wherever you came from?” He leaned forward and knocked Dean’s hat right off his head.

  Oh, Harry, that wasn’t a smart move.

  “Kid,” Dean said with a quiet intensity that made her shiver, “you have a lot to learn. The first of which being don’t ever touch another man’s hat.” He stepped forward. The two smarter ones backed up. “Now, you’ve got two seconds to get your butt out of this establishment—”

  “Or what?” Harry asked, with more beer-induced bravado than brains.

  Dean actually grinned. A dangerous and—okay, sexy—grin that said please give me an excuse so I can smash your head in.

  Not that she blamed him. After all, Harry had knocked his hat off.

  “Or else I escort you out personally,” Dean said, making no doubt that it wasn’t a statement, but a promise.

  The two men stared each other down. Tension filled the room; the threat of violence permeated the still air.

  Allie cleared her throat. “I hate to interrupt this testosterone battle, but do you want me to call the police?”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Dean said, never taking his attention off the kid. “Will it, Harry?”

  “No,” Harry grumbled after a moment. His friends, sensing their chance, took hold of his arms and started pulling him backward. “This bar sucks, anyway.”

  She loosened her grasp on the bat. Crisis averted. Thank God.

  Or it was until Harry wrenched free of his friends and swung wildly at Dean’s head.

  She gasped and raised the bat to her shoulder, but Dean didn’t need her coming to his rescue. In one smooth move he stepped to the side, pulled his arm back and punched Harry. Allie grimaced at the crunching sound of bone hitting bone as Dean’s fist connected with the drunk’s nose.

  Harry groaned and slid to the floor in a heap.

  Allie’s palms were so sweaty the bat slipped out of her grip and hit the floor with a loud bang. But nobody seemed to notice. Harry’s friends stared wide-eyed at Dean, and Harry...well, poor Harry wasn’t doing anything except bleeding. While Dean stood there, big and imposing and a little scary, with his hands clenched.

  He then raised an eyebrow at the two friends. They both shook their heads.

  Holy cow. The man was like some Chuck Norris wannabe. No wonder he’d patted her on the head when she’d tried to talk him out of confronting Harry and his buddies. From what she’d just seen, she wouldn’t be surprised to find out he could’ve taken all three of the younger men at the same time.

  Her initial reaction to Dean had been right. There was way more to him than met the eye.

  Dean snatched up his hat, sat it on his head and knelt next to Harry, who had come to enough to moan. “Another thing you need to learn,” he told the kid cheerfully, “is not to start a fight you have no chance of winning.”

  * * *

  WHY DID HE ALWAYS GET stuck working with the softhearted ones? In the past year he’d done jobs for both an inner city teacher whose students ran all over her, and a youth pastor in a small town who wanted to save the kids in his flock from the fires of hell. Too bad the kids were more concerned with having fun than being saved.

  Dean shook his head and picked out two bottles of tequila from the supply closet. Once Harry had come around, Allie had hovered over the kid. She’d given him ice for his swelling and cut nose, asked if he needed some pain reliever. Then she’d spoken in depth to Harry’s friends, making sure one of them was sober enough to drive. Luckily, the skinny kid was the designated driver or else she probably would’ve made Dean play chauffeur.

  “Did you have to punch him so hard?” she asked as soon as he came back into the room.

  “Next time someone takes a swing at me,” he said as he added the tequila to the stock behind the bar, “I’ll politely ask him to stop.”

  She crossed her arms. “I just hope he doesn’t try and bring you up on charges of aggravated assault. You can claim self-defense, but he might counter that you used excessive—”

  “I have a right to protect myself.”

  “Sounds like you know your law.”

  “I know my rights,” he said, keeping his cool. “You’re the one who’s talking like a lawyer or something.”

  She blushed. “That’s because I am a lawyer.”

  Even though he already knew about her past as a defense attorney, he played along. “You’re a lawyer and a bar owner?”

  “No.” She picked up a rag and wiped off the already clean bar. “I...changed careers about a year ago.”

  He leaned against the counter. “Is your career change working out for you?”

  She glanced up at him, a loose strand of hair curved over her cheek. “Oh, yeah. It’s been great. Really, really, really great.”

  Uh-huh. All those reallys weren’t fooling anyone.

  “Were you any good?”

  Her eyes grew sad for a moment. “Yeah. I was very good.”

  He watched her carefully. “Must’ve been hard to give it up.”

  The corners of her mouth turned up in a fake smile.
“I needed a change.”

  And if that was the truth, the next time some drunk took a swing at him, Dean would let him connect. “What kind of law did you practice?”

  “Criminal. So, I take it you excelled in the marines?”

  After a moment’s hesitation, he decided to go along with the change in subject. He knew when to let something drop and when to push. Besides, he had plenty of time to get to know Allie. To learn all of her secrets.

  Using the broom she’d brought out, he swept behind the bar. “Why do you say that?”

  “Uh, because of the way you flattened poor Harry. You must’ve gotten an A+ at hand-to-hand combat.”

  “Poor Harry?” Dean shook his head, kept sweeping. “First of all, subduing a drunk civilian doesn’t take much skill. Secondly, weren’t you the one who wanted poor Harry’s butt hauled off to jail?”

  She sprayed disinfectant onto the work areas behind the bar. “I wanted to scare him. I didn’t realize you were going to go all Walker, Texas Ranger on him.”

  “I’ve worked in a lot of bars. Was a bouncer in a few of them and have dealt with plenty of drunken idiots.” True. Sort of. “And believe me, after a man’s been swung at enough times, he’d better be smart enough to learn how to duck. Or how to fight back.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Now you sound like Jack.”

  Jack Martin, the police chief brother. And, according to the information Dean had from the cute redhead who worked the desk at the motel, the first Martin sibling to run back to Serenity Springs from New York.

  “Jack must be a smart man then,” Dean said, picking up the dustpan.

  “He is. He’s great.” She took the broom and swept the dirt into the dustpan he held. “But if he asks, I’ll deny I ever said that. As a younger sister, it’s my duty to bug, tease and annoy him mercilessly.”

  “I’ll have to call my mother and thank her for not having any daughters.”

  “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

  He dumped the dirt into the trash can. “I have two younger brothers, Ryan and Sam.”

  “You’re from Dallas, right? Is that where they live?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You must miss them.”

  His fingers tightened on the dustpan’s handle. He did miss his brothers. Missed his entire family. It’d been almost two years since he’d walked away from them. But he still couldn’t forgive them. Not yet.

  And he’d never be able to trust them again. Especially Ryan.

  “Looks like we’re about finished here.” Hey, he could change the subject just as easily as she could. Yes, the best way to get someone to trust you was to pretend to open up to them yourself. But damn, he didn’t want to have this particular conversation now.

  Or ever.

  Besides, the bar was too small, too intimate when they were the only people there, to talk about family. It was too easy to forget he was working.

  “Oh. Right. Hold on.” She opened the cash register, counted out some money and handed it to him. “I can’t thank you enough for helping me.”

  “Something tells me you would’ve handled things on your own.” He tucked the bills into his pocket.

  She stepped closer to him. “What would it take to convince you to give up that job in Saranac Lake and work here instead?”

  His heart picked up speed. He loved it when a plan came together.

  “Why would I want to do that?”

  “Saranac Lake is farther north. It’s much colder up there than Serenity Springs.” She laid her hand on his arm as she spoke, her fingers warm on his skin. He stood stock-still, his pulse drumming in his ears. His scheme was working almost too well. “Plus, I’ve been up to the Valley Brook. It’s very fancy. You’d have to wear some dorky uniform.”

  “For what they’re going to pay me, I’d wear a clown suit.”

  She inhaled sharply, as if bracing herself, and took her hand off his arm. “How much did they offer you?”

  Since he really didn’t have a job offer, he made up a figure he thought was reasonable. But when he told her, she winced. Then she swallowed and lifted her chin. “I’ll match it. So, what do you say?” she asked hopefully.

  When she smiled at him like that, his head buzzed. His hands itched to dive into her thick mass of hair.

  Ah, hell. What he was going to do next could lead him into a whole mess of trouble.

  It’s for the job, he assured himself. To convince her he was just an easygoing cowboy with nothing more on his mind than his next paycheck.

  Which was total crap, but he’d hold on to that justification for as long as possible. Because he wanted to touch her, to kiss her before they went any further.

  Before there were too many secrets and lies between them.

  “I’ll accept the job,” he said gruffly, “in approximately five minutes.”

  She laughed. “What? That makes no sense.”

  “It makes perfect sense.” He edged closer to her. She took a step back. Then another, until she was pressed up against the bar. “You see, after I accept the job, you’ll be my boss.”

  “You have a problem with me being your boss?”

  “Not at all.” He settled his hands on her waist. She tensed, her palms going to his chest. “But once you’re my boss, certain...actions on my part would be inappropriate.”

  “They might be inappropriate even if I’m not your boss.”

  But she hadn’t pushed him away—or hauled off and slapped him.

  So, he was still in the game.

  “They might be.” He tugged her warm, lithe body against his, crushing her hands between them. “I need those five minutes.” He ignored how true that statement was—and how much it endangered his job—as he pressed his mouth against the rapidly beating pulse at her neck. She gasped. He rubbed his cheek against hers and leaned back so he could look into her eyes. His voice barely a whisper, his mouth hovering over hers, he asked, “What do you say?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ALLIE WANTED TO SET DEAN straight on how things worked at her bar. She was the boss and she didn’t go around letting her employees put their hands on her. Or kiss her neck.

  Her fingers curled into his chest. He was so warm. Solid.

  He slowly lowered his head, but she pushed against him.

  His eyes met hers. She blamed her lack of willpower on the intensity in his gaze. How could she worry about mistakes when he seemed so...sexy, yes...but more importantly, so steady?

  She slid her palms up to his shoulders. “Okay,” she breathed, linking her hands behind his neck and pressing against him.

  Finally, his mouth brushed against hers, a featherlight kiss that drove a tingle of awareness and sharp, aching need through her body.

  He pulled back and stared down at her. Okay, so curiosity had got the better of them.

  No harm done.

  She smiled up at him as she stroked the back of his neck, the silky ends of his just-this-side-of-too-long hair. “We still have at least four minutes left. I think you can do much better than that.”

  Humor lit his eyes even as they darkened with desire.

  And she knew that his desire was real—even while she suspected it was as unwanted for him as it was for her.

  Then he kissed her again. He kissed like he’d done everything else so far this evening. Slow. Easy. And with great skill. As if he had all the time in the world to learn the texture of her lips, the taste of her, the way she fit against his body. His tongue swept across the seam of her lips. But not even the rasp of his tongue against hers could break the spell he’d put her under.

  She groaned and pressed her breasts against the solid planes of his chest.

  He wrapped one arm around her waist and lifted her so that her high heels came off the flo
or. He slid his other hand into the hair at the nape of her neck, his fingers loosening the knot she’d tied it in as he massaged her scalp, tilted her head and deepened the kiss.

  Dear Lord, she hadn’t realized one simple kiss could be so...dangerous. To her peace of mind. Her sense of what she could and could not control.

  And most importantly, to her willpower.

  Then, as if a switch had been flipped, the danger passed. Though he still held her flush against him, she had the sensation of him pulling away. While she would’ve sworn his earlier kisses had been driven by passion, the touch of his lips on hers now felt...deliberate. Practiced.

  Contrived.

  She pulled back, breathing hard—definitely harder than a fully clothed, vertical kiss warranted. Allie frowned.

  Dean stepped away. His jaw was tight and his chest rose and fell with his own heavy breathing. And while she told herself she was being ridiculous, that like always, she was reading way too much into things, she couldn’t help but think there had been something real and honest about what had happened between them when they’d first kissed.

  She swallowed and tucked her trembling hands behind her back. “Well, I guess that’s it for now.”

  He nodded. “We could always move our agreement back a few more minutes,” he said, his tone serious.

  Despite the fact that there was nothing funny about this situation, she laughed. At herself for being such a complete fool. Because even though her instincts were screaming at her not to trust this man, she was tempted to step back into his arms. “I think we’d better stick to our original agreement,” she said.

  “You’re right.” He put his jacket on. “When do you want me to start?”

  “Tuesday. Your regular shift will start at seven, but I’d rather you come in around six so we can get all your paperwork filled out.” She tossed the cleaning rags into the small laundry basket she kept stashed under the bar. “You’ll get two fifteen-minute breaks and a half-hour lunch break. All employees get one meal on the house—”