Worth Fighting For (Fighting to Be Free 2)

Toby laughed. “Stop flirtin’ with my staff, I’ve told ya before. What ya like, ’ey?” he scolded Chuck, rolling his light green eyes playfully. Toby was a born-and-bred south Londoner—a cockney, if you preferred the term. His accent, like everyone else’s around here, was a little hard for me to understand at first; a cockney’s seeming inability to pronounce their h’s or finish a lot of words was confusing to say the least. But after almost two years in London, I was now practically immune to it. In fact, I actually quite liked it. Well, apart from the fact that half of the rhyming slang still went over my head.

Chuck held his wrinkled hands up in defense. “Not my fault you ’ired the prettiest American barmaid in town, is it?”

I scoffed at that. “I’m the only American barmaid in town.” This earned a laugh from everyone and so I turned to Toby. “Seeing as it’s not busy tonight, you want me to do a stock take or something? I’m bored out of my mind.” Doing inventory would keep me busy for an hour at least.

He shrugged, still grinning, and swept a hand through his light brown hair, pushing it off his forehead. “Yeah, that’d be good. I gotta put in an order with the brewery tomorrow, so that’d save me doin’ it in the mornin’. Thanks.”

“No problem,” I replied, already turning on my heel and heading toward the back hallway to grab the stock-take sheets.

On the way through to the cellar, I noticed that next week’s schedule had been pinned on the bulletin board. Stopping to check my hours and day off, I frowned when I saw my name down next to the day shift on Saturday. I’d specifically told Toby I couldn’t work that day. As if on cue, Toby stepped through the curtain and reached into the box of crisps, pulling out a pack of cheese and onion.

“Toby, why am I down to work next Saturday? I can’t work that day, I have plans,” I stated, pointing at my name in the box.

He frowned and walked up behind me, looking over my shoulder. “Change your plans.”

“I can’t.” I turned to face him, setting my hands on my hips. “You’ll have to change it and get someone else in instead.”

Raising one eyebrow, Toby turned the corners of his mouth up into a playful smile, and his eyes twinkled with mischievousness. “I’ll get someone else in to cover if you have sex with me tonight.”

I gasped, my frown deepening. “That’s sexual harassment!”

He shrugged, grinning as he turned on his heel. “Report me, then.”

“Maybe I will!” I called, smiling at his retreating form before turning back to the schedule sheet. Pulling out my pen, I crossed out my name and wrote his instead before heading down to the cellar to complete the stock take.

When I heard the last order bell chime just before eleven, I scribbled down the final few numbers on my sheet, noting how many packets of salted peanuts we had, and then headed upstairs again.

The bar was almost deserted; only six people remained. Toby had already collected most of the glasses, setting them on the bar to be washed. “That’s time, ladies and gentlemen. Drink up. Don’t you ’ave ’omes to go to?” he joked, stacking stools on top of tables so the carpet could be vacuumed in the morning.

A few of the patrons groaned and asked for a lock-in, but the tired circles around Toby’s eyes were evident for all to see, so they didn’t push it too far.

As the last couple left the bar, Toby locked the heavy doors behind them and turned back to me. “Get the stock take finished?”

I nodded. “Yep. All done.”

He yawned, stretching his arms above his head as he walked back around the side of the bar. “Thanks.”

I pulled open the dishwasher, setting a couple of glasses inside. As I reached for another couple, hands took hold of my hips. I jumped, startled, as Toby pressed against me, his warm body covering the length of my back. “So, do we have a deal about Saturday, or do you want to work?” he whispered, his hot breath fanning across my cheek and down my neck. His hold on my hips tightened as he pressed harder against me, the crotch of his jeans rubbing against the slightly exposed skin where my top had ridden up a little.

I gulped, and my skin broke out in goose bumps. “Seriously, this is sexual harassment to the highest degree,” I replied as my muscles tightened all over.

“Uh-huh,” he mumbled, his lips already on my neck. “Leave the cleaning, I’ll do it in the morning.”

Resigned, I turned to face him. His light green eyes were intense with desire as they roamed my face. “I guess I do need the day off,” I mumbled, letting my gaze drop to his mouth as his tongue slowly swept across his bottom lip.

He stepped back, holding out his hand to me as a grin split his face. Setting the last glass on the bar, I slipped my hand into his, allowing him to pull me through the curtain, along the hallway, and up the stairs that led to the residential quarters. As I walked, I kicked off one shoe and then the other, letting them rest where they dropped, watching as he did the same.

When we made it to the top of the stairs, his restraint vanished and his passion surfaced in full force.

He pulled me to him, wrapping his arms around me tightly as his lips crashed onto mine. His hands were everywhere as we stumbled backward toward the bedroom, his mouth barely leaving mine for more than a second at a time. My shirt was removed in a flash as his fingers worked deftly on the button of my jeans. When the backs of my knees hit the side of the bed, we tumbled down onto it, a tangle of limbs and heated breaths. I giggled as he landed on top of me, almost crushing me before he righted himself and covered my body with his.

He grinned and pulled back slightly as I tugged his T-shirt off over his head. His eyes burned with want and need as he slowly eased my jeans down, his fingers tickling the skin on my outer thighs. “What you doing Saturday, anyway?” he whispered, leaning down and planting soft kisses at the base of my throat, his five-o’clock shadow scratching at my skin in a delicious way.

I tipped my head back, my hands running up his naked back and digging into his shoulders as my body thrummed with pleasure. “Going to a wedding show with your mother,” I answered breathily.

He laughed and pulled back, his lopsided grin causing one to slip onto my own face. “Seriously? Why do you keep letting her drag you to these things?” he asked, rolling his eyes.

I shrugged, wriggling underneath the weight of his body. “She’s so excited about the wedding. I keep telling her that we’re having a long engagement, but...you know what she’s like. I think she’s hoping that I’ll see a dress or a cake or a balloon arrangement that will blow me away and make me want to finally set a date.”

His face turned serious for a second. “You know what would make her leave you alone, don’t you?”

“Us breaking up?” I suggested, giggling as he dug one finger into my ribs in reprimand.

“Or we could just set a date...”

I sighed deeply, my sexy mood beginning to deflate. “Can we not talk about this now? I thought we were getting our freak on...” To really ram the point home, I raked my nails gently down his back before firmly gripping his ass and pulling him down tighter onto me.

Men are too easy. Mention sex, offer sex, even slightly hint about sex and they are putty in your hands. My fiancé was no different.

Unfortunately for me, the whole sex distraction was over before I even had a chance to get going. It wasn’t that Toby was an inconsiderate lover—he could actually be great when he took the time; unfortunately for me, tonight he was tired, which meant no foreplay, no sweet words or time to get the home fires burning before the climax. Nope, he went straight to the endgame, and soon he was spent and slumped down on top of me, breathing heavily. Of course, I’d sensed he was close, so I’d done what most women do during sex: I’d faked a bit to spare his ego. Only a little bit, though—it wasn’t like I didn’t enjoy the intimacy with him, I just didn’t get the full “happy ending” this time around.