Hot Tycoons Boxset: A Contemporary Romance Boxset

by Emelia Blair

  A sweet rose smell.

  I look down into the most stunning eyes I have ever seen. Light forest-green eyes give me a dazed look, and when her knees weaken, I hold her up against me.

  She is a tiny thing with dangerous curves that make my hands twitch, and I have to get them under control.

  Seeing the large bruise forming on the side of her face, I feel my blood stir, cold fury racing in my veins. “Shit. Let me take you to the ER.”

  She looks disorientated and winces with the pain. “It hurts.”

  Her eyes are clouded with pain, her voice a sweet murmur.

  Agatha pushes me aside, breaking the spell I am under. “I’ll take her. You go help Zayn.”

  I let her take the woman’s arm and lead her outside and wonder how much I will be paying in damages to the woman.

  She is most definitely going to sue.

  But I wouldn’t mind seeing her again.

  I frown down at the unconscious man passed out at my feet and then step over him, looking over in Zayn’s direction.

  He has successfully tossed the other man out on his ass. When he steps towards me to do the same to the other one, I shake my head. “I got this. At least now I know why you insist on acting as a bouncer at your clubs. You’re a pro.”

  My tone is light, but I am still angry that a woman was hurt in my bar.

  As I get rid of the other man, Zayn settles into the only undamaged chair at the bar. “At least that got rid of Agatha.”

  I shake my head, and my mood lightens.

  However, as the staff rushes to clean up, I find myself thinking about the woman who was such a perfect fit in my arms.

  It is the next evening; as I clean one of the glasses, I see a familiar figure step into the bar.

  Narrowing my eyes, I see the injured woman gingerly look around before taking a seat at a corner of the bar.

  Her long brown hair is down today, and part of it covers her face, presumably where the bruise lays. She wears a thin cardigan, a pretty blue color, over a long blouse and a pair of jeans.

  I didn’t notice what she was wearing yesterday, but she looks so prim and proper today that it makes me want to corrupt her.

  Down, boy.

  It is quite early in the evening, and there are only a handful of customers. I move her way, casually, and ask, “What can I get you?”

  She looks up, startled at hearing my voice.

  Then her whole face brightens in a way that makes me blink. “Hi. Hey. You’re the nice guy from yesterday. You offered to take me to the hospital.”

  I find myself nodding, taken aback by her bright smile. “How’s your face?”

  Her smile wilts a little bit, and then she moves her hair to a side to show me. “I covered it with makeup to hide it. Everyone at school kept asking if somebody had beaten me up. I told them I got in a bar fight, but they didn’t believe me.”

  I have to struggle to hide my amusement at the disappointment in her voice. “Well, to be fair, you weren’t in a bar fight. You were one of the casualties.”

  Then I remember her words and I frown. “School? You’re a student?”

  Am I supposed to ask for her ID?

  She does look pretty young.

  She grins at me. “I’m a teacher. At Red Brick Public School. I teach the tiny tots.”

  I glance at where her bruise is supposed to be. “How bad is it, though? Does it hurt much?”

  She touches it gingerly. “No stitches, thank God. Your friend was very kind. She stayed with me throughout and then dropped me off at home. The doctor said I might have a minor concussion, but that’s it. Agatha offered to stay the night and watch over me, but I told her she didn’t have to. It looks worse than it is.”

  I wonder where she manages to find the chance to catch a breath in her entire explanation. However, I do have to hide a smile at how young and eager she is.

  “Well, that’s good,” I tell her easily. “I was worried.”

  She blinks. “You were?”

  Before I can say anything, she continues, as if struck by a realization. “Of course. You’re the bartender. You didn’t get in trouble with your boss, did you? You know, about the bar fight. Because I can talk to him for you. I’m good at talking to parents, and a boss isn’t any different. It might be a little hard if he’s intimidating.”

  I struggle to control my laughter and maintain a sober face. “Not at all. My boss is very understanding. But thank you for the offer.”

  “Oh, that’s good then.”

  I nod, trying to maintain a composed façade. “What’s your name?”

  “Sarah Rivers,” she pipes up, grinning. “I mean, it’s just Sarah; with an ‘h.’”

  Oh, she is absolutely adorable.

  “Okay, Sarah with an ‘h.’ What can I get you to drink?”

  Now, she frowns. “Ah, do you have something that is non-alcoholic?”

  I blink at her. “You came to a bar, but you don’t want alcohol?”

  She gives me a nervous smile. “Is that weird?”

  I smile at her, wanting to reassure her. “Not at all. I am just surprised. How about some apple juice? Or I can get you a root beer?”

  She shifts in her seat. “I’ll have the apple juice, please.” Then her voice lowers, “I can’t hold my alcohol. I’ve got very low tolerance.”

  I pour her a glass of the clouded liquid and then add a slice of apple and a tiny umbrella. Leaning against the counter, I watch her delighted expression, and I chuckle.

  “So, what’s a pre-school teacher doing in a bar when she doesn’t even drink alcohol?” I ask, expecting a long jumbled-up explanation as her other two had been.

  What I am not expecting is that pretty smile to fade away and her expression to become shuttered. She moves her shoulders in what is an attempt at a casual shrug.

  “I thought it would be a nice change.”

  Change from what, I wonder.

  Her body language is just screaming that she is hiding something, but I let it go. It is none of my business.

  As another customer catches my attention, I move over to them but keep glancing in Sarah’s direction. Her shoulders relax once I move away, and I wonder at that.

  She is small, but I know the curves her prim attire conceals, and my eyes drift over her form again as she flicks the little umbrella I added. I grit my teeth to calm down.

  She is just some pretty teacher.

  But even as I think that, I know that it has been a long time since a woman has stirred my lust like this. She exudes vibes of innocence, and my dark nature begs me to corrupt her.

  I frown into the drink I am preparing.

  A woman like her has no business in a place like this.

  The only reason I sometimes choose to bartend is because, unlike Philip and Ian, I can’t contain myself in the suits and offices that are like second nature to my childhood friends.

  I grew up on the streets of Dublin.

  I worked odd jobs, stolen picked pockets, anything I had to do to survive.

  But then, I had another mouth to feed as well.

  I shake off the memories, not wanting to remember. The hollowness in my chest makes me want to break something, to destroy.

  I mix the drink I am preparing with careful precision, my eyes cold.

  Out of my four friends, I am more of a fighter. Zayn comes in a close second. We were both raised in harsh environments, but where I cover the violence that simmers beneath the surface with an amiable mask, a light-hearted persona, Zayn embraced his dark nature.

  He is a man of few words, sarcasm his language. He lets out his beast when he chooses to oversee his clubs. My quip about his being a bouncer is to serve as a warning as well as a reminder to get himself under control.

  Bartending relaxes me.

  This bar is still an experiment, so I often show up to keep an eye on things.

  However, I never noticed Sarah till now.

  Putting the drink in front of the customer, I check my phon
e and see that I am due at the restaurant tomorrow night.

  I glance in the direction of the young woman sitting at the bar, looking around the room as if searching for somebody, and I purse my lips.

  A little rescheduling might be in order.

  2

  Sarah

  I tug at my cardigan, a little nervous.

  The bartender is looking my way again.

  Yesterday was a waste of time. I haven’t managed to find Roy. However, I am determined not to give up.

  I know he frequents this bar. I know because Bryan often came here. I once dropped him off at this very location.

  My hand moves to the side of my face, and from the corner of my eye, I see the hot bartender stiffen.

  Today is my fourth day here. After the conversation with him a few days ago, when I became a little short with him because of his prying, he has not approached me at all.

  But today, he placed a glass of apple juice in front of me when I had sat down.

  I sigh and absently twirl the umbrella in my drink.

  It is pink today, just like my cardigan.

  I wonder why he is staring at me. There is nothing malicious in the way he looks at me, just this strange gleam that makes me fidgety.

  “Is something wrong with your drink?”

  I lift my head in surprise to see a black button-up shirt in front of me.

  “My eyes are up here,” he says, amusement in his tone, when I keep staring at the way that shirt looks on his chest.

  My cheeks turn red. “Sorry!”

  He is grinning. “So, your drink? Is something wrong with it?”

  I shake my head, mutely.

  He looks baffled. “Ah, you haven’t touched it. Do you want something else?”

  “No,” I say, hesitantly.

  When my stomach rumbles loudly, he raises a brow but doesn’t say anything, instead nudging a menu towards me.

  I look down at it and sigh at the prices. “It’s okay. I have food at home. I really shouldn’t spend more money.”

  He leans on his elbows on the bar, his forearms resting on the wood, and winks. “How about I give you the employee discount?”

  I chew on my lower lip.

  I am very hungry.

  But then I sigh. “I’ll take the cheapest burger, but no discount. It’s not fair to the owner after all the work he’s probably put in. I can pay.”

  He gives me a strange look but says nothing.

  I watch his attention get diverted by a new customer, and he asks me to wait.

  I don’t have anywhere to go.

  So I watch him.

  He is very handsome, I muse. His hair is styled back but it is a lovely dark color, and his light blue eyes are very distracting. And when he smiles, the dimple in the right cheek makes my abdomen clench.

  I saw him roll up his sleeves yesterday, and I saw the tattoos on his arms. I am not a huge fan of tattoos. God knows Bryan has enough of them. But on this sexy bartender, the tattoos seem to belong.

  His hands are big, his fingers long, and as I watch him mix a drink, my cheeks turn red imagining him doing something else with those fingers.

  He catches my eye while I am grinning like a loon and he chuckles, making me blush again and divert my gaze.

  I hope he doesn’t figure out what I am thinking.

  However, he doesn’t approach me.

  When I look up a few moments later, I blink when I find myself staring at an entirely different guy.

  He sees me looking and comes over to ask if I want anything, his accent thick.

  I look around curiously. “Uh, where’s the other guy? The one who was here before you.”

  The man has a German accent, and he gestures with his shoulder towards the kitchen. “Gone to do something.”

  He returns to dealing with some new customers, and I sip at my apple juice and glance at the newcomers.

  I don’t know any of them.

  My eyes go to their wrists, looking for the tattoos that would help me identify them. However, one of the men has his sleeves buttoned, hiding his wrists from sight, while the other two are shrugging off their jackets and I glimpse their bare wrists.

  Disappointed, I return to my drink.

  Bryan once showed me his snake tattoo on his wrist when completely drunk. He told me that it symbolized that he was a man. I never thought much about his words till the day I found out that he joined one of the local gangs.

  The young boy that I raised by myself after our parents’ deaths ultimately had joined a gang. I never knew what pushed him or how this happened. I thought he was content and happy. It ate at me that while he lived with me, I never once realized this.

  I move the straw in my drink in small swirls, my thoughts dark. I always wanted a better life for him. I helped him get a scholarship to a medical school. He is still enrolled there. His grades were falling recently, but I chalked it up to his situation with Ruby, his girlfriend, and our neighbor.

  Nobody anticipated that Bryan would get her pregnant.

  However, he had, and a week after he expressed his desire to be a good father to his child, he had up and disappeared.

  Hearing my phone vibrate in my purse, I take it out and stare at the caller ID. With a lot of guilt in my heart, I turn it off and tuck it back into my purse.

  I can’t let Seth know what I am trying to do.

  Seth will drag me back home and try to find Bryan himself. But he dosen’t know the person I am looking for. And I don’t want to drag him into this.

  He and I grew up together in foster care. And once I managed to get out and took Bryan with me, he helped me with Bryan.

  He is a good man.

  I can’t get him in trouble.

  I sigh and feel my stomach rumble again.

  A second later, I see movement in my peripheral vision, and a huge plate appears in front of me, making me blink and look up.

  The bartender with the dimple and the wild Irish accent is back. He is grinning at me, and I look down at the burger he placed before me. The bun is huge, with a thick beef patty that looks tantalizing. A splash of vegetables that add color and flavor top it, and a toothpick holds the whole burger together. There is a huge bunch of fries next to it, and he puts down a tall glass with a pink-colored milky drink.

  “I didn’t order that.” I blink at the strawberry shake.

  He leans on the counter. “That’s on the house.”

  I feel a little nervous. “Won’t you get in trouble for that?”

  He gives that small smile, his eyes laughing at me. “I doubt it.”

  Then I poke the burger and glance up at him, doubt clear in my eyes. “This is a simple cheeseburger?”

  He chuckles. “It’s a burger.”

  My stomach rumbles again, and my cheeks turn red. “Thank you. I am really hungry.”

  “Enjoy your meal,” he tells me and goes to the man who replaced him and says something to him.

  I bite into the burger, and the burst of flavor in my mouth nearly makes me moan. It is the most delicious burger I have ever eaten. I chew slowly, wanting to enjoy and savor each bite.

  I am so intent on my meal that I don’t notice when the bartender stops working and just starts watching me. It is when I look up and see the dark look in his eyes that my heart skips a beat.

  I don’t know what that look means, but it makes me tighten my legs together.

  He comes over to me and asks, “Enjoying your meal?”

  I nod, chewing on a fry. Then, feeling a little bad that he is working while I am eating, I awkwardly offer him a fry. “Would you like one?”

  He laughs.

  The sound of his laughter is rich and full, and I swallow.

  “So, is that a no?”

  He shakes his head, still chuckling, and then reaches out to pluck a fry off my plate. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you.”

  “I didn’t know you served such good food here,” I tell him, starting to relax when his attention is no longer d
irected at me.

  “We’re still working on the menu,” he tells me, casually. “So, it’s not an open one. We usually have a few customers who have lunch here.”

  “Oh.” I look down at my unfinished burger.

  Then, I beam up at him. “Well, it’s really good! Your chef is amazing. I can’t cook at all. I’m terrible at it. I once tried to boil pasta, and I set it on fire.”

  His eyes widen, fractionally. “You set pasta on fire? In water?”

  “Well, I put it in the water, and then I covered it like the book said and turned the stove on to full capacity.” I frown. “I don’t know what happened. I went to check on it an hour later, and it was on fire.”

  The man looks like he is about to choke on his laughter and I wince. “I can boil an egg, but that’s about it.”

  “How do you survive then?” he asks.

  “Bryan is much better at cooking than me,” I admit, with a sheepish laugh.

  He cocks his head, stilling. “Bryan?”

  My smile falters at the thought of my missing twenty-one-year-old brother. “Yeah. Um, he’s my little brother. He lives with me.”

  “Oh, what does he do?” the bartender asks, watching me intently.

  A sharp pain hits my chest, and my voice comes out low, “He’s a medical student.”

  His eyes narrow and he asks. “Are you okay?”

  I nod my head, a jerky movement, and even I know that my smile is forced. “Ah, he’s been away for a while, so I just miss him.”

  That isn’t completely a lie.

  When he opens his mouth, I quickly ask, “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

  He gives me a warm smile that makes me feel all tingly inside. “Fergus.”

  “That’s a nice name,” I find myself saying.

  Mentally, I groan at how lame that sounded.

  He grins at me. “Thanks.”

  It is the way he watches me, his light blue eyes so focused on me that it makes me self-conscious. He seems to be aware of the effect he is having on me, and the corner of his mouth twitches.

  I shift in my seat. “So, uh, do you have any siblings?”

  Great. Go right for the personal questions.

  I suck at this.

  For a moment, he is silent, and I see the flash of grief on his face before he hides it under his friendly mask. “I used to. My sister. She passed away.”