It wasn’t unusual to see Ian flirting with a pretty woman, but for some reason, seeing the two of them leaning towards each other over the bar rubbed him the wrong way.
The closer Jake got to her, the stranger he felt. He likened it to an electrical current flowing through his body, which, unfortunately, he had experienced. Comparatively speaking, this instance was much more pleasant.
Who had eyes like that? Layered, like a custom paint job. If he had to guess, he’d say her eyes were purplish with a couple of clear coats of smoky gray on top, the exact hue of the sky moments before a summer thunderstorm. It had to be a trick of the lights, though, because no one could actually have eyes like that. There was no trace of the haunted look he’d seen earlier. Perhaps he’d imagined that, too.
“What was that last order?” he asked, locking his blue gaze with hers.
“Excuse me?”
“The last order I took. What was it?” He fixed her with a level gaze.
“Oh, come on, Jake,” began Ian, but Jake ignored him.
The woman took a breath. He knew, because his eyes were drawn to the subtle rise and fall of the nicely-endowed chest peeking through that jacket.
“Two pints of Killian, one Irish coffee, a Baileys and cream no ice, and two fingers of Grey Goose with a splash of lime.”
The corners of Jake’s mouth twitched. “What’s the secret to pulling a good draft?”
She appeared to consider his question for a moment, then leaned forward. Jake mimicked the movement, putting his ear within inches of her lips. Even with all the noise, Jake had no trouble hearing her low, quiet-toned answer. “Giving it just the right amount of head.”
The twitch became a full-fledged grin.
It was a crazy idea. Jake didn’t tolerate just anybody behind his bar, but he was desperate. Plus, for some strange reason, he liked the idea of having her back with him instead of out in the rowdy crowd. Quite a few of the men were already looking at her as if she was a tasty snack. He rationalized the impulse by telling himself he wasn’t doing it for her, or even him, for that matter; having someone like her behind the bar was simply good for business.
“Right,” he said. “You’re hired. Get your ass back here.”
The smile she gave him lit up the entire room, but it quickly faded when she tried to move. He understood the problem immediately: to get behind the bar, she would have to cross the length of the long bar and around the other end, which, given the current mob, would take about half an hour. She looked at him helplessly.
“Oi, Big John!” Jake barked. “A little help for my new barmaid, please.”
A huge, bearded man shifted next to her; plate-sized hands circled her waist and she was suddenly suspended over the bar. A host of cheers and catcalls went up in the immediate vicinity as Jake grabbed her out of the air and brought her down on the other side.
Jake was stricken by yet another strange sensation as his hands closed around her waist. It was like hitting the sweet spot on a baseball bat, or releasing the perfect three-point shot, knowing it was going to be a total swish without having to look. And his thumbs didn’t skim the underside of her breasts. They didn’t. Because if they did, he’d have to think about how full and firm they were against his fingers, and that would be bad.
“What’s your name?”
“Taryn.”
“Taryn,” he repeated. He looked down at the Celtic cross strung around her neck. “A good Irish name. I’m Jake, that’s Ian.” He tilted his head over to the younger man, who inclined his head to her in an old-fashioned gesture.
“Any tips you make are yours to keep,” he said, relegating thoughts of small waists and firm breasts to the back of his mind as he took her leather jacket and backpack and hung them behind the bar.
“First order of business, take care of your ride,” he said, jerking his head toward the small mountain that had just heaved her over the bar. “Sam Adams draft.”
She smiled right back at him, an innocent-looking grin on her face. But he saw the fire flickering in her eyes. “How much head?” she asked so that only he could hear her.
“Impress me,” he said simply. Her grin widened. She grabbed a frosted mug and twirled it around her fingers like a six shooter before tipping it beneath the spigot, leveling out near the top with a thin layer of foam. He was impressed, but he’d be damned if he’d let her know that just yet. He wasn’t a total pushover for smoky, gray-purple eyes and the most delectable ass he’d ever seen. He gave her a brief nod. “It’ll do.”
“On the house, John,” Jake called as he moved to the far side of the bar.
“Fuck,” he heard the big man mumble. “I’ll do that for free any time.”
The rest of the night passed in a blur. After the first hour or so, Jake began to relax a little. The woman was good. Really good. Only once did she have to ask how to make something – and that was a Jake’s original so he couldn’t really fault her for that. She was fast on her feet, and friendly with all the customers without overdoing it.
And she never once got in his way. Well, there was that one time she turned quickly with two pitchers and did a full frontal on him, but he could hardly complain about that, because he had deliberately hesitated behind her, his eyes drawn to her hips. She absorbed the blow well and hadn’t spilled a drop.
Oh, and there was the time he leaned over her to grab a twenty and she backed her ass in to his rock-hard erection, but again, he really couldn’t muster a legitimate complaint about that.
No, the biggest problem Jake had was trying to keep Ian away from her long enough to do his job, but even that worked to their advantage. She was a good sport, dancing with Ian, mixing drinks with him, putting on a good show. The customers ate it up. Even Jake found himself laughing and shaking his head at their antics a few times. But what really had Jake smiling was that despite everything, Taryn seemed to be resisting Ian’s charms. More than once he’d seen her sidestep smoothly to avoid contact, or duck beneath Ian’s arm to get around him.
He didn’t know why that pleased him so much, but it did. Taryn was gorgeous, and obviously skilled in avoiding unwanted contact with a laugh and a smile that got her point across without publicly humiliating herself or Ian.
Unfortunately, Ian loved a challenge. The more Taryn avoided his advances, the harder he tried. It became an obvious battle of wills. Jake knew who he was rooting for.
When last call came at two a.m., the bar was still packed. Jake finally escorted the last patron out at three-fifteen. He locked the doors and turned to find Taryn already wiping down the bar. She was a hard worker, he had to give her that. Ian was curiously absent.
He watched her for a few minutes, finally allowing himself a good look without fear of being caught. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t find a single thing about her that didn’t make him want to bend her over the bar and take her right then and there. It was unnerving.
Her hair, a beautiful shade of blonde that made him think of sunlight shining through honey, was pulled back loosely into some kind of massive clip-type thing, exposing a neck that he longed to put his lips to. Her simple white blouse was unbuttoned just far enough to give anyone taller than five-five (which included him by about ten inches) a peek at something lacy and pink. Full, round breasts curved in sharply to a tiny waist, easily visible whenever she turned a certain way.
His hands tingled as he remembered how they had wrapped around that waist a lifetime ago when Big John held her out to him like a doll. Then his dick remembered how that tight, curvy ass felt against it, even with two layers of denim between them. He was in big trouble.
“You did great tonight,” he said finally when she glanced up and caught him staring. Busted.
The smile she gave him made him feel as if liquid sunshine had just been injected into his veins. “Thanks,” she said. “I had a lot of fun.”
“You think that was fun?” he asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow as he flipped and lifted chairs up onto the small tables. It gave him a great excuse to turn away from her in the hopes that she wouldn’t notice the raging hard-on he now sported. Even letting his shirt hang loose outside his jeans might not hide his attraction. It was a genius move on his part, he thought, reverting back to the lessons he’d learned in his adolescent years. “What kind of life do you lead, anyway?”
She laughed, filling the empty bar with a full, musical sound. “You want these hand washed?” she asked, holding up a few of the dirty glasses. It did not escape him that she hadn’t answered the question.
“Nah,” he said. “Got a machine for that. I just hand-wash them when we’re slammed. Load up one of those bins there and I’ll carry them back.”
His heart skipped a beat every time she bent over to carefully place an emptied and rinsed glass in the bin. Damn, she had one of the nicest asses he’d ever seen. His large hands twitched with a sudden urge to fill his palms and see if it felt as good as it looked. His mind raced, trying to determine if there was some way to do so without being too obvious, and came up empty.
“Here, give me that,” he commanded, lifting the heavy bin. Okay, so maybe he was showing off a little. Usually he left that sort of thing to Ian. Taryn, though, barely seemed to notice. He stood there for a moment, holding the bin as if it weighed nothing, letting his biceps and pecs bulge. “You worked your ass off tonight,” he said. “Take a load off while I carry these back.”
She looked longingly at one of the stools but shook her head. “I’m afraid if I sit down I won’t get back up.”
“I’m sure we can figure out something to get you moving again,” he said with a rakish grin, while at the same time wondering what the hell was wrong with him. He had butterflies in his stomach, for Christ’s sake. Her eyes widened just a bit, and if he didn’t know better, he swore the prettiest pink tint flashed in her cheeks before she turned away and grabbed the broom.
When Jake returned ten minutes later, there was no sign of Taryn. There were, however, familiar noises coming from the back room: the unmistakable sounds of Ian taking a woman.
No, Jake thought to himself as his heart fell. Not her. Not Taryn.
He shouldn’t have been surprised. Ian was the male equivalent of chocolate to women. They loved him, gorged themselves on him. And Jake hadn’t missed the raw hunger in Ian’s eyes as he’d flirted shamelessly with her over the course of the night. Taryn put up a good fight, but Jake hadn’t seen a woman yet who could resist Ian for long. And Ian wanted Taryn. She didn’t stand a chance.
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