I gritted my teeth and concentrated on pouring the beers, sliding one at a time across.
“Twenty-five dollars, thank you.”
He handed me a fifty-dollar bill.Hatewas scrawled across his knuckles. It wasn’t a professional job.
“You can keep the change.” His eyes shifted deliberately, suggestively, to my breasts. “Come join us after you knock off, babe.”
I bristled, grabbed the change, thumped it on the counter, and held his sleazy gaze. “Don’t call me babe.”
He grinned. “What would you prefer I call you . . . babe?”
Laughter rose from the group.
“Listen, you piece?—”
“Amy,” Shelley interrupted sharply. “Grace needs your help down the other end.”
I’m not sure where she came from, but she seemed to have an innate ability to turn up at just the right time—or in this case, the wrong time. Reluctantly, I relented and moved away, the abuse I wanted to hurl at him tucked behind my clenched lips.
The group headed to the pool table. It was clear they did weights, but all were covered with more fat than anyone who bothered to keep themselves fit. The smallest and slightest of the group was the only exception; his carved muscles strained under a black T-shirt, and there was not an ounce of fat on him.
Shelley called Clint over. “Serve them at the table—keep them away from the bar.”
“No worries, Shell,” he said, not in the least concerned.
“We’ll need to keep an eye on them.” She regarded them warily. “They look like trouble.”
“Are they from around here?”
“No, I’ve never seen them before. Matt said a group just booked rooms down the road. Some security company, apparently. I guess that’s them. I’ll call Karson in case there’s any problems.”
Karson and Ethan arrived a few minutes later. They strode through the bar, their eyes analyzing the men. A few girls threw them seductive smiles, but both men ignored them. Ethan headed to his usual seat, and Grace handed him a whiskey. Karson made his way over. His black shirt was unbuttoned enough that I could just see the beginnings of his hard, muscle-laden chest, and I caught the dark edge of a tattoo.
His gaze was intense, tingling my skin. “Is everything alright, Amelia?”
“So far.” I looked across. They all stood around an old whiskey barrel, the loser of whatever game they were playing having to chug his beer.
“Chug, chug, chug!” they chanted, behaving like high school boys, not grown men. Scar-face shot down the beer in a couple of huge gulps, slamming the empty glass back onto the barrel top with a tremendous sigh of satisfaction. The rest roared with laughter.
I turned my attention back to Karson. “Thank you for returning my car, and for the globe—I love it.”
“My pleasure.” He gave a small, pleased smile. He opened his mouth like he was going to speak but paused, then closed it again.
The silence probably went on for a couple of seconds, but it felt like a good half hour of awkward, teenage-variety silence. Both of us stared at each other. Words evaded me, and it seemedlike they evaded him too. I thought about mentioning his late-night visit, but it didn’t matter; it wasn’t a big deal.
Just say something.
“You came in,” I blurted.
“Because, you left your door unlocked,” Karson growled, “anyone could have come in and done . . . He shuddered. My tough violent boss, shuddered. “Something terrible to you. I knocked, and when you didn’t answer, I became concerned. I heard you snoring, and I popped the box down and left immediately.”
Oh god, no . . .Mortification climbed to my cheeks. “I don’t snore.”
His lips twisted as if he was trying not to smile. “Either that or a new train line has gone in.”
I laughed. “Stop it.”
He stilled, his eyes fixed on my lips as if in a spell.
