He gave her a peck on the cheek. “We’re all cool, darlin’.”
She smiled, her stance relaxing a little before disappearing into the staff area.
“So . . . you’re really touchy about your mom,” Joss called down the bar to him as he poured a customer a draft of lager. Joss was anything but sensitive. He shot her a filthy look and she laughed. “I’m just saying . . . this is another side to you. It’s nice.” She shrugged and turned back to her customer.
He shook his head, wearing a small smile. Women. He’d never fully understand them. And that was all part of the appeal.
“And what can I get you, beautiful?” He grinned at his next customer, a mousy-haired brunette with gorgeous big brown eyes.
She blushed. “Two JD and Cokes, please.”
He winked at her. “Coming right up.”
He wandered down the bar to get a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, his gaze roaming over the club. There were more people dancing on the small dance floor at the back of the basement club, and plenty more sitting at tables and standing on the main floor. His gaze was just flitting past the doorway when a woman walked in and his attention automatically swung back to her.
It was the way she walked—sexy, slow, relaxed steps in her high red heels, a seductive sway in her hips that seemed unconscious, and an overall gracefulness about her movements that was incredibly appealing and feminine.
And then there was the way she was dressed.
She looked like some stunning 1940s pin-up girl. Her dark, shoulder-length hair was swept back off her forehead in high, curled waves, and the ends were curled under in a similar fashion. Her black dress might as well have been glued to her body it was so tightly fitted. She was tallish, perhaps not as tall as Jo, but only an inch or so off it in her heels, and she was slim with gentle curves. The square neckline of the dress showed off a very nice cleavage, the cap sleeves accentuated slender arms and the flash of what could be a tattoo on the inside of her upper left arm. The hemline of the dress stopped below her knees, showing off the prettiest, shapeliest calves he’d ever seen in his life.
And now that he had stopped to look, the third thing that froze him in place was her face.
Fuck.
She was stunning.
Big, thickly lashed eyes that he’d bet his life on were dark brown. A small, delicate nose. High, rounded cheekbones. A lush full mouth she’d painted red to match her shoes.
Lust shot through his blood and traveled south.
“You may want to wipe your chin,” Joss’s voice murmured in his ear. “You’re drooling.”
Snapping out of his preoccupation with the jitterbug babe who had just strutted into the bar, Craig scowled at Joss. “Are you just here to take the piss out of me all night?”
She grinned. “When you make it this easy, yes.”
He grunted at her teasing, fighting the urge to laugh, and returned to fixing his customer her drinks.
He worked on, halfheartedly flirting with his female customers and pretending to give them his full attention, when in fact seventy percent of his attention was on the woman.
And he only grew more intrigued as she wandered around the club, assuming an air of casualness while her eyes searched the faces of the punters with a real determination. She was up to something. He just knew it. When she didn’t come near the bar for a drink, his interest only grew as he watched her find a spot behind where Braden and co were sitting, her eagle eyes on the doorway.
For the next hour, Craig watched her as she watched the door.
And he was more than a little surprised by the disappointment he felt when she left the club without ever approaching the bar.
Rain
The sleazy, traitorous, arrogant little bastard wasn’t here.
I tried my best not to look angry, anxious, or out of place at Club 39. The truth was the basement bar on George Street wasn’t really my kind of hangout. It was too trendy and attracted too many yuppie types. Like my sister, Darcy’s, fuckwit of an ex-boyfriend.
I’d never understand what it was she saw in Angus York. She’d been dating him for a few weeks by the time I eventually met him, and I’d been ready to love him since Darcy was so smitten with him. The night we met he said, right in front of her, that I was—and I quote—“Absolutely stunning and incredibly fuckable.” And he did it in this leering, lascivious way that I thought would have prompted Darcy to slap him and tell him to get the hell out of her life. Instead she’d just nodded uncomfortably and changed the subject.
I’d disliked him ever since.
Now . . . now I hated him.
And I was going to find a way to destroy him.
Darcy had told me he loved this bar—he was there almost every weekend. But tonight there was no sign of him. Again.
I sighed, feeling impatient. I wanted to get the plan in motion so it could all be over with. Last night I’d felt like a complete idiot standing at the back of the bar on my own, watching the doorway for Angus. I needed to be more natural.
I needed a bloody drink.
I’d arrived earlier this evening so there wouldn’t be any chance of missing the disgusting ex if he did decide to show up. There were empty seats at the bar but I knew those would fill up soon. I slipped into one, catching the attention of a tall and exceptionally beautiful strawberry-blond bartender.
She smiled prettily at me. “What can I get you?”
“I’ve got this, Jo,” a deep, masculine voice said.
My gaze flickered down the bar and I tensed as I watched the bartender from last night stride toward us.
I’d noticed him watching me last night.
His interest was unsettling, and even more unsettling now that I was up close to him.
He was too good-looking.
Tall, very tall—and I liked my men tall since I wore heels that usually put me at five ten every day. He had thick dark brown hair that he wore in this unkempt, sexy, messy way that was real and not artfully made to look real with hair products. Warm blue-green eyes stared intently at me out of a ruggedly handsome face. He hadn’t shaved in a couple of days and it looked delicious on him.
The girl, Jo’s, quizzical gaze moved between us before she shrugged and moved out of her colleague’s way.
He took her place, his broad shoulders lengthening as he splayed his arms out, palms to the bar. It was as though he was trying to block out anything from distracting me from him.
My gaze ran up his long arms. They were muscled in a way that told me he visited the gym, and I had a sudden longing to see him without the black T-shirt he wore.
Heat flashed through me.
Bugger.
“You’re back,” he said, giving me a flirtatious smile.
So he wasn’t going to pretend he hadn’t been watching me like a hawk the night before. He was either really damn sure of himself or he was a bit of a creeper. I really hoped it was the former.
“I am,” I said, not flirtatiously. “And I’m thirsty this time around.”
His light eyes gleamed at me. “And what can I get you?”
There was no mistaking the deepening of his voice, or the innuendo in it.
I stubbornly ignored it. “Do you have Fuligni wine? A glass of Brunello di Montalcino if you have it.”
His mouth kicked up at the right corner. “Coming straight up, Ms. Bacall.”
I tried to hide my amusement as he alluded to my penchant for the forties era in my personal style. He turned away from me to pour a glass of wine and I drank in his broad back, feeling the lust stirring in my lower belly.
Bugger, bugger.
He turned back to me, his eyes glimmering with flirtation as he slid the drink slowly across the bar to me.
“How much do I owe you?”
“We’ll put it on a tab.” He leaned his elbows on the bar, bringing his gorgeous face closer to mine.
I found myself falling into the blue-green depths of his heated gaze.
Wine!
I snatched
up the glass and took a rather unladylike gulp.
For some reason this made the bartender chuckle. He held out a hand to me as I lowered my glass back to the bar. “I’m Craig.”
Not really wanting to shake his hand, but not rude enough to ignore it, I slipped my hand into his and sucked in a breath when his grip tightened. He pulled me gently forward in the stool.
“I’m Rain.” I tugged on my hand and he released it, but only after brushing his thumb over my skin and making it tingle.
“Rain.” His lips twitched again.
What was it about me he found so vastly amusing?
“Rain Alexander.”
“Rain Alexander,” he repeated. “Stunning name for a stunning woman.”
I cocked my head to the side and studied him. Last night when he wasn’t watching me he was flirting with all of his female customers. Flirtiness just exuded from this man’s pores.
Unfortunately for Mr. Flirt, I didn’t know how to flirt back.
In this case that was fortunate for me because I didn’t want to flirt back!
“You should really stop flirting with me,” I said matter-of-factly.
He raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“I don’t know how to flirt back. I never learned the art of it.”
“I find it hard to believe that a woman as beautiful as you doesn’t know how to flirt.”
“That right there is why I never bothered to learn to flirt. It’s all bullshit.” I shrugged.
Craig laughed. “Okay. I’m listening.”
Glancing around the quiet bar I realized he really was settling in to listen because there were no other customers to distract him. I looked back at him, hoping what I had to say next would offend his sensibilities enough to get him to leave me to my “work.” “Last night I watched you flirt with every female customer. I bet my life on it that you call them all ‘gorgeous,’ ‘beautiful,’ ‘stunning,’ no matter if they’re any of those things or not. So . . . when you say those words to me, they mean absolutely nothing. The flutter I would get in my belly if another man said them to me, that flush of pleasure I’d feel along my skin, it doesn’t happen when a man like you says them to me . . . because the words have become so throwaway, so overused, they’ve lost their meaning entirely.”
I studied Craig as he processed my words, and he seemed genuinely perturbed by them. He leaned farther across the bar and I got a whiff of the delicious, spicy cologne he was wearing, and that flutter his compliments didn’t provoke suddenly awoke in my belly. I flushed and then thanked my mother’s Puerto Rican heritage for my tan skin that didn’t blush.
“See, that’s where you and I disagree,” he said softly, and the low timber of his voice, combined with the heat in his eyes, only wreaked more havoc on my body. “I believe that there is something beautiful about every woman, so when I say they’re gorgeous, or they’re beautiful, I do mean it.”
I liked that. But I wasn’t convinced it wasn’t a line. “You’re a connoisseur of women,” I guessed, curling my top lip at the thought. “You know just the right thing to say.”
His eyes were drawn to my mouth and I shivered at the naked thoughts in his gaze. “I just say what I feel in the moment.” His gaze flicked back up to my eyes. “Right now I’m thinking you have the most luscious fucking mouth I’ve ever seen in my life.”
A shiver rippled down my shoulders and around to my chest. My nipples tightened and their reaction caused that telltale tingling between my thighs.
Oh bugger, bugger, bugger.
I fought hard to mask my reaction and I think I succeeded because Craig narrowed his eyes in thought as he studied me.
I gave a huff of laughter. “What do you want me to say? I’ve already told you I can’t flirt back, and that with someone like you it doesn’t affect me. You don’t make me feel special when I’m just one in a million.”
“You’re very honest, aren’t you?” he murmured, not looking at all disinterested like I’d wanted him to.
“I say what I feel.”
“And I’m trying to tell you I do the same.” He grinned at me suddenly and its boyish charm practically melted my insides. “I’ve decided I’m not going to lose heart. I’ve got all night to convince you.”
I frowned at his tenacity. “You might not have all night. I’m probably going to leave after I finish my wine.”
“No, you’re not.” He leaned over the bar again. “Because you’re here for a reason. You’re up to something.” He trailed a finger along the inside of my wrist and I couldn’t mask my shiver this time. His eyes brightened knowingly and his grin turned smug, arrogant.
I narrowed my eyes and snatched my hand away from his reach. “I just happen to be sensitive there. Don’t get cocky.”
Craig pinched his lips together to stop himself from laughing, but the effort was railroaded by the laughter in his eyes.
I felt an answering tug of amusement at my own lips and I looked away, hoping the absence of his face would stifle it.
“So who are you looking for?”
My gaze snapped back to him at the question but thankfully I didn’t have to answer because a group of girls wandered into the club, laughing and making a lot of noise. They headed straight for the bar.
Craig winked at me and strode away to help Jo serve them.
Even knowing I shouldn’t, I watched him as he chatted and flirted with the girls. Part of me admired the fact that he didn’t suddenly stop flirting with them in order to make some headway with me, but another, much larger, part was disappointed.
The truth was I’d craved affection my whole life, and since much of my childhood was spent receiving so little, I’d become especially greedy in my adulthood. Since my first boyfriend when I was sixteen, I’d longed to be the only female (who wasn’t related to him) to matter to anyone I dated. I wanted to be a man’s whole world. Like . . . he’d die for me kind of love and vice versa.
When I was fourteen, lonely and starving for affection, I’d fallen in love with romance novels, and ever since then I’d hoped for an epic love story of my own.
I wanted to be the only woman he saw.
Unfortunately, that uncompromising need for full-on love had ruined my relationships. My boyfriends never seemed to live up to my expectations. They never bought me presents just because they saw something that reminded them of me. They looked lustfully at other women when they didn’t think I was looking. It didn’t bother them when another man flirted with me right in front of them.
And they should definitely not fuck other women when they were in a relationship with me. My second-to-last boyfriend, Gary, didn’t seem to understand that one at all!
Maybe what I wanted didn’t exist.
Maybe I was wrong to be so fixated on finding the perfect man for me.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
But that didn’t mean I didn’t think it wasn’t reasonable to believe that a man who seemed overtly interested in me should refrain from flirting with other women while he was flirting with me!
I scowled at Craig as he said, “That’ll be ten eighty, gorgeous,” to the perky brunette eyeing him like he was bloody David Gandy.
I was right. He called every woman “gorgeous” and “beautiful.”
I’d lied to him before when I said I hadn’t felt anything when he called me beautiful. I had felt the heat of it. But that heat suddenly burnt out and turned to ash. I didn’t like the taste of it and I sipped at my wine and looked away, hating the disappointment I felt.
I stared at the door, willing Angus to appear. If he would just show up I could put my plan in action, ruin his life like he’d ruined Darcy’s, and forget all about the handsome bartender who I’d subconsciously let play me like he apparently played all women. I’d been hurt before by men, but since I’d never been in love, it was a hurt that had only lasted a little while. It wasn’t anywhere close to the hurt that Darcy was feeling. My sweet, beautiful, kind sister, who had already seen enough pain in this life. Angus ha
d cut her open. I didn’t want to be cut open like that, which meant the next time I chose a man I’d pick one who treated me like I was the only woman in the room.
“You never answered my question. Who are you waiting for?”
My head jerked around at his question and my thoughts must have still been obvious in my eyes because Craig’s expression softened to concern. He reached for my hand and murmured, “Darlin’?”
I pulled my hand away before he could touch me and hid the sadness I’d allowed him to see. “I’m not waiting for anyone.”
“Liar.” He gave me a mock-disappointed look and heaved a weary sigh. “I guess I’ll just have to stand here and badger you all night, then.”
“Please don’t.”
As if he sensed the sincerity in my plea, he pulled back a little, giving me space, at least physically. However, he didn’t walk away. “Why are you here, Rain?” His question was serious, all flirtatiousness having ebbed away in reaction to my demeanor.
I smirked. “If that’s a philosophical question then I can honestly say I have no bloody clue why any of us are here. If it’s a literal one . . . I’d tell you to mind your own business.” I added a little smile to lessen the blow of my words.
He gave me a small smile back. “Then I’ll ask you an easier question. How old are you?”
I sighed, realizing he really wasn’t going anywhere. “I’m twenty-four. How old are you?”
“Twenty-five. Where were you born?”
I frowned at the quick-fire question. “Inverness. Where were you born?”
“Edinburgh born and raised. What do you do for a living?”
I cocked my head to the side and studied him. “Are you planning on writing my biography?”
He gave me this mysterious little smile but said nothing else.
“I was told not to talk to strangers.”
“But I’m not a stranger.” He leaned on the bar again, seeming unable to maintain a distance between us. “My name is Craig Lanaghan. I’m a full-time bartender and I hope to own my own bar one day. I have two sisters, Jeannie and Maggie. Jeannie is engaged, Maggie is at university, and with her nest empty my mum has decided to start Internet dating and I hate the very fucking idea of it. I’m a pretty laid-back guy, I like chilling with my friends on my down time, I like the color blue, I like crime novels and foreign martial arts flicks. I never say what I don’t mean, and I never let a woman think I’m offering her more than I am.”