Authors: Erin Nicholas
With that thought, she headed for the bar.
He should have known.
The strange woman behind the bar who told Josie, the hostess, that she was “just fine, thank you”, was Sabrina.
“Miss being surrounded by liquor bottles and the smell of beer?”
“I’m auditioning.” She didn’t look surprised to see him. She didn’t even look up from measuring a clear liquid into a blender.
“For what?”
“You need a bartender. I saw the sign up front and heard you say Luke was interviewing someone the other day.”
“Maybe we hired that person and don’t need any more help.”
“That’s why I’m auditioning. I’m going to show you I’m better than that person.”
“You don’t even know who it is.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
He shook his head, fighting a smile. “You could re-think the stripper thing, though. That’s something we haven’t tried here.”
“How about in about three months? That should be attractive.” She looked up and smiled at him as she patted her stomach.
His own stomach clenched. Shouldn’t being pregnant make her less appealing to him? It wasn’t working that way. At all.
Great.
“You know how to do more than pour beer?” he asked, looking at the blender she was adding ice and some green liquid to.
“Well, gee, if I could just find the directions to how to use the bottle opener, I’d be okay.”
He caught himself before he smiled.
“You’re trial period starts today. You have three days to prove that you know what you’re doing. You’ll start at thirteen dollars an hour. Here’s a book you might find helpful.” He tossed a paperback book toward her. She caught it easily and turned it over to look at the cover. It was a recipe book—page after page of drink recipes.
“Trial period?” She propped a hand on her hip. “What if I don’t do well?”
“Then I guess you’ll have to find another job.”
She gaped at him. “You would seriously not hire me?”
He sighed instead of smiling. “I have a business to run, Sabrina. People come here expecting something and I make sure they get it. If you can’t handle the job, I can’t hire you. It’s up to you.”
“Be back here in thirty minutes,” she said, putting the top on the blender. “You’ll be sorry you ever doubted me.”
Then she hit the on button, drowning out anything he would have said in reply.
Twenty minutes later, Marc headed back for the bar. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone—even the CIA under threat of imprisonment—but he’d been unable to concentrate on anything else since leaving her.
Which in and of itself was a problem.
He couldn’t give her a job here if it was going to distract him this badly. He had a kitchen to oversee, a business to run. They were known for their food—specifically his own concoctions and their desserts. He couldn’t get sloppy.
But maybe it was that he was afraid Luke might find her.
He had been in his office with the door shut most of the morning. Then he’d headed out to meet with a new glassware supplier. But he’d be back eventually. And she’d be here. In Justice.
Luke would spend time with her again at some point.
That reality shouldn’t make Marc antsy.
He rounded the corner and saw she was alone at the bar. She was pouring something pink into a glass.
Almost every glass from the bar was full, each with something different. Jars and bottles and cans littered the counters behind the bar, empty of their ingredients now. Sabrina herself was covered with streaks and drops of all kinds of liquor, fruit juice and a few unidentifiable ingredients.
“How’s it going?” he asked, carefully keeping his expression neutral. If he laughed, she’d be furious.
“Fine.” She glanced around her, then down at her clothes. “I guess.”
“What are you doing?” he asked.
She spread her arms wide, encompassing the whole bar and all of its many containers. “Using the book you gave me.”
“You made every single thing in there?” Marc took a seat on one of the barstools.
“The complicated ones. You’re going to sample each. Then you’re going to decide if I get the job or not.”
“You have three days.”
“I don’t want three days. I want you to decide today.”
It wasn’t exactly his terms, but he should have expected that. And he liked her grit. “That’s risky. I can’t base the decision solely on mixing drinks.”
She pushed her hair back from her face with the back of one sticky hand. “What else?”
“You’ll have to wait on some customers while I watch and assess your style.”
She frowned at him. “They’ll be people I know.”
“Yes. Were you hoping to only wait on strangers? Because in that case this is not the right job for you.”
“No, of course not. I was hoping to avoid facing the whole town so soon. But I can’t really say why.” Her brow wrinkled into a confused little frown. “Might as well get it over with, I guess.”
He hated her look of insecurity. He much preferred her looking irritated. “So, you’re doing all of this—” he swept his hands over the top of the bar indicating all of the drinks she’d made, “—to impress me.”
She frowned. “I…” she said slowly. “I’m doing it to show you that you should give me the job.”
“Because I’ll be your boss. You basically need to impress me.”
It was obvious she didn’t like his choice of words. One eyebrow up, she crossed her arms. “I suppose.”
“I think I’ll like being in charge of you.” He picked up one of the drinks closest to him and peered at it as if he was extremely intrigued by it. He sniffed it, swirled it around and then sipped from it. It was very good. But he was mostly interested in getting Sabrina riled up.
He had no reason other than that it was fun.
“In charge of me?” Sabrina repeated. “I think I might need some examples.”
He picked up another drink and tasted it, licked his lips—it was also quite good—and then replaced it on the bar before answering. “The most obvious that comes to mind is your attitude. I have a strict policy about insubordination.”
He chose an orange frothy drink a few inches away, pretending rapt interest, as if the drinks were much more interesting than the conversation they were having.
When Sabrina didn’t reply, he risked a glance at her face. She looked more suspicious than annoyed. “Basically you’re saying that I have to do everything you tell me to.”
That
sounded appealing and, unfortunately, sexual. He was sure she didn’t mean it that way, but that was how his mind took it. “Basically.”
She propped one hand on her hip. “And what happens if I don’t?”
He dipped his finger into a glass on the end of the bar and tasted the concoction before glancing up. “Punishment, of course.”
When he glanced at her, her cheeks were pink. “How do you punish your current employees? Because I’m pretty sure a lot of them don’t like you.”
He grinned. “They don’t have to like me. They have to do what I tell them to.”
“What kinds of things are you going to tell me to do?”
Oh, this was too fun. And easy. If he wanted to shock her, or tease her—or seduce her, he could come up with all kinds of things.
Of course he didn’t want to do any of those things.
Sure and he planned to walk on the moon next month.
“Get me coffee, for instance.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Uh, huh. I hear arsenic dissolves nicely in hot liquid.”
He would not smile. But it was tough. “Wash my apron.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You should know that I have a condition that manifests by spontaneously sewing pink ruffles on things.”
“Alphabetize my recipes.”
“The only letters I know are F and U.”
He moved around the end of the bar, smiling in spite of himself. “How about inventory? I need someone to count my mushrooms.”
“Yeah, once you run out of fingers it gets tough doesn’t it?” She didn’t move away from him as he came to stand directly in front of her.
“You have to handle them just right. Not everyone can do it the way I like.”
“Are we still talking about mushrooms?” she asked.
Not exactly. He smiled. Sexual innuendos with food were easy. There were a million.
As important as food was in his life, it was surprising that he’d never been that into using it during sex. Not even chocolate syrup or whipped cream.
But he wanted to lick whatever that blue streak was off her cheek. And if there were any that had dipped under the neckline of her white T-shirt…
“Do you like mushrooms?” he asked.
“I like…mushrooms…
so
much,” she purred.
It occurred to him to worry, but he loved the way she was tiptoeing her fingers up his chest.
“But I’m thinking I’d be good with a mallet.”
She was such a smart ass.
He lifted a finger and ran it through the blue streak. Then he sucked it clean. Sweet, tart and delicious.
“Mmm.”
She didn’t move away from him. “Raspberry.”
“What do you put it in?”
“This one. It’s a Magic Pixie.”
He sipped. It was great. But— “That’s not in the recipe.”
“I know. My invention. Or addition at least.”
He couldn’t help but admire that. He was a chef. Combining flavors to make them even better was his passion.
“But that’s not the recipe.”
Her eyebrows went up. “So? It’s better.”
“You have to follow the rules. No insubordination, remember?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Rules don’t always make things better.”
“They generally make things safer.”
“Raspberry syrup is dangerous?” She smiled.
“On you it is.”
“I—”
But her response was cut off as he dipped his head bringing his lips to the corner of her mouth, then flicked his tongue out and licked up the little bit of syrup there.
With a small sigh—resignation or surrender, he wasn’t sure—she turned her head, just ten degrees to the left, and their lips met.
Then she opened her mouth and Marc’s groan was absolutely in surrender. He slid his tongue deep along hers.
Fire exploded in his chest, lust shot straight to his groin, and he cupped the back of her head at the same time she opened her mouth wider, accepting him deeper.
Her hands went to his chest, gripping his shirt in both hands and he felt her go up on tiptoe. He slanted his mouth, tasting her, relishing that she returned every stroke. His hand lifted to cup her breast and she moaned. The hard tip of her nipple seemed to brand the center of his palm.
“Tell him I’ll call him back.”
Luke
.
Marc’s head came up quickly. Luke was coming down the hall toward the bar.
“About three,” Luke called to whoever he was talking to—likely Josie.
Marc managed to let go of Sabrina, step back and straighten his shirt before Luke strode into the room.
Sabrina looked dazed. And well-kissed.
Her lips were swollen, her cheeks flushed and she was breathing hard. She was also staring up at him and looking like she was more than ready to drive right back in. Which would be great, if not for—
“I’m glad you’re both here.”
Luke.
Marc turned to face his friend. He moved a few inches away from Sabrina, aware that they were standing way too close to look casual.
Luke didn’t seem to notice. Hell, he probably couldn’t see around the huge bouquet of roses—easily three dozen—that he carried.
“I bought you a car,” he announced.
Sabrina looked from Luke to Marc and back. “You bought
me
a car?”
“And I’ve been thinking.” He looked serious and determined.
“Wait,” Sabrina interrupted. “You bought me a
car
?”
“Yes.” Luke looked impatient. “It’s nothing fancy, but will get you around.” He handed her the keys.
She didn’t even glance down at them. “Luke, you didn’t have to—”
He cut her off. “You need things. Like the car. And that got me thinking.”
“About what?” Sabrina seemed to be ignoring the overwhelming bunch of flowers that were so obviously for her Marc felt like laughing.
Except that his best friend giving an obscene arrangement of flowers to the women he’d been making out with was
not
funny.
“The weather, I’m sure,” Marc muttered sarcastically. What else could Luke have possibly been thinking about all day other than
her?
“This whole thing. There’s only one solution,” Luke said.
For a moment Marc worried that Luke meant him kissing Sabrina. But her sigh and “What solution?” somehow bounced him back to reality, where Sabrina was home and pregnant. Marc supposed he was simply more used to the idea.
“You said the baby’s father isn’t in the picture. And never will be.”
“That’s right,” she said. “Never.”
“Then the only thing left to do,” Luke said, “is claim the baby is mine. We’ll get married.”
Silence stretched.
Marc wasn’t sure what to do. His instincts shouted
No!
and he wanted to shove Luke back away from Sabrina. He stood ten feet away, separated by a bazillion roses, and it seemed too close. Which should have concerned him. Instead, the expression on Sabrina’s face concerned him.
She looked like she might cry.
“Are you sure?” she finally asked.
Luke simply nodded. Marc’s stomach knotted.
“I’m sure. We’ll get married, you’ll be financially stable, you’ll have a home, the baby will have a father.”
“Luke, come on,” Marc said. “You’re overreacting.”
Except that he understood. This was a way for Luke to bind Sabrina to him. Really bind her. Forever.
Marc’s heart rate kicked up.
“She needs to be married.” Luke finally looked at Marc. His gaze flickered down over the front of Marc’s shirt then back to his face. “I’m the best choice for her.”
Marc looked down. Splotches and streaks of color—liquor and juice—painted the front of his shirt. Much as they did Sabrina’s. Damn. That was going to be hard to explain. Luke wasn’t an idiot.
But why did he have to explain?
She certainly hadn’t pushed him away.
And she wasn’t Luke’s.
Not yet.
“She doesn’t
need
to be married, that’s ridiculous.”