The words sent a shiver down my spine, though I didn't know why. I had no problem with angels, even if they didn't fit into the pantheon I worshiped. I was an old-fashioned witch, taught by my Greek grandma, on my mom's side, to worship the “true gods.” Her words, not mine. I believed that religions were more about beliefs than truths. If it was true to you, then go with it. But I'd also been influenced by my dad's family. They were Creole Catholics with a touch of Voodoo thrown in. You'd be surprised how well Catholicism and Voodoo mix. Anyway, I was cool with angels but whenever someone mentioned the word, I got that shivers.
“No problem,” I said as Julie headed off with the drinks.
I put Get Over It away and locked the potion cabinet, then slipped the key back into my pocket. The bar was packed since it was Saturday night, and I had to get back to work. My other bartenders were busy filling orders and the wait staff was bustling back and forth between tables.
I prided myself on having a safe, comfortable environment. The music was kept at a low level, promotingconversation and the scattered tables had padded couches and wide chairs around them instead of wooden seats. We did have dancing and occasionally live music but it was in a soundproof back room. Up front, everything was mellow and classy with jewel-toned velvet, polished wood floors, and potted plants for hints of lushness. Hair of the Dog may have a dive bar name but it was far from one.
Why not name it something classier? Something witchy? Because the name came to me in a dream, and when I woke up, I thought it was perfect. After all, I opened the bar as a modern way to offer the public my potions—remedies. Sure, people got drunk in my place, but never too drunk. I had the Hair of the Dog special for that, and it was on the house for anyone I spotted stumbling. Within a month of opening, the locals had learned to go elsewhere for a hard night of drinking. But if they wanted a good time without worry, they came here. And guess who likes that? Women. And guess who likes women? Men (and lesbians). So, they all came to Hair of the Dog, and most left in a better condition than they arrived in. But there was always an exception.
And there he was.
The man came striding in as if he were on a mission, and I mean that literally. With his short dark hair and muscular build, he looked like a military man. But not your average grunt. This guy, if he had been in the military, would have been in the special forces. Special and deadly were written all over him. The closest base was Fairchild Air Force Base, and I suppose he could have been a pilot, but that didn't feel right to me. He seemed too grounded. This was a man who liked prowling the earth, not shooting across the sky. No, Katy Perry could not convince him to be a firework, not in a million years. Set them off, certainly,but he'd never lose his control enough to explode . . . okay, I was taking that a little too far.
I cleared my throat and looked away from him. I shouldn't fantasize about my clientele. Especially not Mr. Dark and Brooding. He came for one reason and one reason alone—to get laid. Oh, yeah, the ladies were already sitting straighter in their seats, some surreptitiously checking their make-up. Even Ms. No-One-Is-Better-Than-Craig took notice. Although, that could have been my potion starting to work. Maybe a combination.
One look at him sent hearts atwitter, but I knew better, knew his type. Not his type of woman but that type of man. He didn't have a type of woman. He was very open to any type, as long as they were beautiful. And he was on a mission all right—to find a new woman, one he hadn't slept with before. He did not look back.
I'm not saying he was a one-and-done kind of man. From what I'd heard from women he had left, he usually stuck around for a week or two before he told them it wasn't working. What I couldn't figure out was if he was just an asshole who got bored easily or if he was after “the one.” I'd met a few men like that, men who were searching for their perfect mate and who thought they could determine if a woman was that mate within a short time. If the woman didn't fit the bill, they moved on. Actually, I'd met some women like that too. But the way this guy was working my bar, I'd give him another round or two before he ran out of stunners and had to settle for less than gorgeous or move on to another watering hole.
Sure enough, he looked around, frowned, then his big shoulders moved in a sigh. The hottest women in the room had already seen his bed. That gray stare shifted to me.
I froze like a fucking rabbit.
The guy had never looked at me. I got the feeling that it was one of those don't-crap-where-you-eat kind of things. But the predator had run out of food and was ready for a nice, satisfying poop. Oh, that's awful. I apologize. But he did have an air about him that said he'd be moving on after he got through me. His stare widened and his lips parted. Those gray eyes caught the light from the bar and glittered, turned silver.
Holy. Shit.
I swallowed past the dryness in my throat and pulled out my key. In a rush, I bent and opened the potion cabinet, like a soldier rapidly trying to reload. I needed something to boost my willpower because this guy was about to test it. Just a little dash of Know Your Worth should do the trick. Men only got the better of you when you lost sight of how special you were.
I disappeared below the counter and swigged straight from the bottle. I had just finished capping it when I heard the thud of someone settling on the bar just above me. I put the bottle back and locked the cabinet.
“Are you sneaking a drink?” a deep velvety voice asked, a twinge of amusement in it.
I grabbed the glass of ice water I kept under the bar and stood up. By the time I faced him, I had a cool grin in place and a layer of magical armor over my heart. No one would get in unless they were worthy. And this guy wasn't worthy.
Still, that didn't stop me from noticing how much his looks improved by proximity. With most people, it was the opposite. The closer you got, the more you saw their flaws. This man had no flaws. He looked as if he'd been made by the gods,every hard curve smoothed by a divine hand. His complexion was even, his pores small, and he even smelled like heaven—a masculine, musky heaven for angels who liked to screw demons on the side.
I shook my glass of water at him before I replaced it. “Hydration is important.”
“Ah, yes.” His stare slid down, over my T-shirt with the bar's logo, and further, as if he could see through the bar. “And here I was thinking you were naughty. What a shame.”
Damn. The man was a slick talker on top of all that? That just wasn't fair. But my potions are top-notch, and his sexy voice and sexy words and sexy . . . everything didn't affect me. Well, not enough for me to get past his past.
“What can I get you?” I asked.
He reached across the bar and touched my face. I was so shocked that I nearly jumped back, but before I could, he slid the errant curl off my cheek and over my ear. “Looks like the heat is getting to you.”
“Excuse me?”
He grinned and even with the potion in place, my heart raced. It was a hell of a smile. “I was trying to nicely say that your hair is sticking to your sweaty cheek.” He chuckled. “Sorry. I shouldn't have mentioned it.”
“You shouldn't have touched me,” I said.
He blinked, his whole demeanor going blank. I was probably the first woman to react poorly to his flirtation.
The thought made me internally dance, and I barely held back my grin. I'd do this for all the ladies he had loved and left heartbroken. Not that my wallet minded his behavior. I had made a pretty penny off the women he scorned.
“Ouch,” he finally said. “Have I offended you?”
