Isabelle Ballantine sucked in a breath as the man she'd been
lusting after for weeks walked into the bar. It was hard to
think straight with Adam Marcellus anywhere in the vicinity.
To keep her hands busy—and to keep from
staring—she ran her rag over the mahogany bar one last
time before tucking it into the back of her pants. It was
Saturday night, but Mad Dog's Bar & Grille hadn't picked up
yet. Seven was still too early, but in an hour, they'd be
three deep at the bar and she'd be working her tail
off.
And hopefully making enough to cover this month's
rent and groceries. It was hard to think about bills though
when Adam, with his impossibly broad shoulders, was headed
her way. He definitely had that tall, dark and handsome
thing going on. She wasn't positive, but she guessed he was
six foot two at least. She was five eight and he
stood a little taller than her even when she wore heels.
Something she enjoyed immensely.
"Hey, Izzy." Adam ducked
under the bar hatch.
"Hey yourself." She wiped sweaty
palms on her black pants as he scooted behind her.
He
opened and checked the lower beer coolers. It was impossible
to ignore what his nearness did to her nerves. When he bent
over to rearrange some of the bottles, she shifted to the
side and leaned against the bar. From this angle she had a
perfect view of his sculpted backside. She almost felt
guilty staring at him, but it seemed a sin not to enjoy
something so perfect.
He glanced up, and she could feel
her cheeks heat up at the intense gaze from his startling
green eyes. "Need me to stock anything for you, darlin'?"
His deep accent sent shivers straight to her toes. She
guessed it was Cajun, but wasn't quite sure. He rarely
talked about himself.
She swallowed hard. "No, I've only
had a couple sales. In an hour I'll be calling on you
though."
"I don't doubt it." He chuckled before ducking
back out.
Once he'd disappeared into the kitchen, her
heart rate slowed back to normal. No man had ever had such a
ridiculous effect on her before. Maybe it had something to
do with his smooth accent, or the way his dark hair always
seemed a bit too shaggy, but still looked sexy as sin. Or
maybe it was the way he filled out a T-shirt. Or maybe it
was all of the above. The man had tight, corded muscles to
die for, but not the kind from a gym.
He'd started working
with her less than a month ago. She wasn't sure how she'd
define his position, but he was somewhere between a bar back
and a bouncer. He was sort of a jack of all trades. She'd
even seen him in the back helping put up shelves and doing
other small construction jobs, but so far he hadn't said
much about himself.
They'd hung out a few times, but only
in a group. He always made it a point to sit next to her in
staff meetings or when a bunch of them shared drinks after
work. And she'd noticed she was the only one he called
darlin', but the man hadn't so much as hinted that he wanted
anything more. She'd love to go out on a date with him, but
she certainly wasn't going to ask.
There were some things
her southern heritage simply wouldn't allow.
She still
didn't know what he was doing working at Mad Dog's. It
wasn't something tangible, but somehow he didn't belong.
Like he'd be happier doing something else. Of course, she
was a multi-millionaire's daughter and she was tending bar
so what the hell did she know anyway? According to her
overbearing father, she didn't belong here either.