He’d been here that night?
Savannah thought back. She’d been so amped with adrenalin, so sick of that guy’s leering and obnoxious behavior, she’d barely noticed anyone else when she’d fought fire with fire.
But now she remembered. This guy had stood just to the side, staring until the other man had left the premises. He’d offered, but she’d told him she didn’t need his help.
She hadn’t. She’d played it close to the wire though. Putting her hand on Ultimate’s pants and telling him he ought to be worried that smoking was going to stunt his growth?
Total bitch.
Somehow, stupidly, she felt awkward that he’d seen her at her most vicious. “So you know the names for me then.”
He lifted his eyebrows.
“Bitch, ball breaker, man eater. Black widow...” She started, the list went on.
She might’ve only been working at St Clair’s a couple weeks but she had the usual rep already: awesome mixing skills–and awful attitude. Which wasn’t strictly accurate. She actually loved putting on a show and she was almost always polite... but she had to be frosty with it. It was the best way to keep people at a distance.
“I wouldn’t call you any of those things,” blue-eyes answered softly.
“No?”
“I’d call you magnificent.” He reached across and picked up another fragment of glass.
“Please don’t do that,” she said, rattled.
“Call you magnificent or help with the mess?”
“I can manage.”
“I wasn’t implying that you couldn’t.” He dropped the shard into his hand. “I’m just helping.”
“I don’t need you to.”
“Or want me to.”
She bit the inside of her lip, hating that he made her feel rude.
“But I want to,” he said.
“You always do whatever you want?”
“You always take the offensive?” He looked at her.
Yep, just like that, her defenses rose.
He chuckled.
It was an appallingly seductive sound. Only suddenly it ended with a pained hiss.
She glanced down and saw the thin line of red appearing down the length of his finger.
“I told you to leave it, now you’ve hurt yourself,” she scolded. She slid the dustpan towards him and he tipped the pile of glass into it.
“It’s just a scratch,” he said.
“You’re bleeding.” She stood and hurried behind the bar.
“Relax, I’m not gonna sue.”
“I’ll get a Band-aid.” She growled and grabbed one together with some cotton wool and a tube of antiseptic from the small First Aid kit under the bar. But when she glanced over, she saw he was still hunched low, single-handedly putting the pieces of glass in the pan, his cut hand curled and held to his chest.
“Will you stop that?” She sighed as he kept putting the shards into the pan. “Please.”
He paused, looking up at her, an imp of amusement in his eyes. “Ask me like that and I’ll do anything.”
It should have been sleazy—the kind of line Ultimate would deliver. Except it wasn’t. He’d meant it as a joke. To make her smile.
And amazingly, she did. “Then please come and let me fix up your finger.”
He took the bar stool he’d had earlier and hooked his feet on the rungs. Even sitting, the guy was tall. And now was not the time to get all self-conscious and super-aware and start thinking about how long it was since she’d been this close to a man.
She sat on the stool beside his and tried not to notice how long his legs were, how near they were to hers.
“Hold still while I look for glass,” she muttered apologetically. “It might hurt.”
“I don’t mind.”
Do not respond to the sensual undercurrent in his low murmur.
She took his hand in hers and took her time to sponge it with a small wad of cotton wool and carefully check there was no glass left in the cut.
Do not speculate on the size of his hand... the potential strength.
Cursing under her breath at her descent into brainlessness, she glanced up. His face was so near she could feel the warmth of his breath and this close his eyes were spellbinding.
“You’re lucky, it looks clear,” she said briskly, trying to pull her head together.
“Thanks.” He looked boyishly contrite, like he’d been told off by his favorite teacher and was trying to suppress his smile.
Savannah looked back down to the cut, blood welled in it again. “I’ll put a Band-aid on it.”
“Thanks.”
Focus. Be professional. Keep your distance.
“Not too tight?” She checked as she wound the plaster round his finger.
“No, it feels good.”
Kiss it better.
Where the hell had that idea come from?
She looked up, her gaze instantly locked with his.
He didn’t say it. Didn’t say anything. Nor did she. But breathing seemed to be hard, like the air was suddenly heavy with humidity.
Kiss it better.
Kiss. Him.
Savannah never kissed customers. Never kissed anyone. But the urge now?
“You should get it checked by a professional,” she muttered, then coughed to clear the frog from her throat.
“Don’t dramatize. It’s not that deep.” He laughed.
At that sound, the tightness in her chest loosened. She couldn’t help smiling as she hopped off the stool to pack away the First Aid gear and wash her hands.
“You mind if I stay a little?” he asked. “I’m feeling dizzy. Must be the loss of blood.”
He so wasn’t, but this playful tease was such a contrast to the moody man who’d first ordered that icy beer and she couldn’t resist her curiosity. She hesitated, then reluctantly smiled again. “You’d like another beer?”
He held her gaze. “Isn’t it past closing?”
“It doesn’t matter.” She turned to pull one from the fridge, when she turned back with it he’d put a bill on the bar.
She frowned. “I’ve closed the cash register.”
His eyes narrowed. “I don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything.”
“I won’t owe you either.” She pulled out her own wallet and gave him the change from her pathetic coin collection. “I’ll square it with the register tomorrow.”
As she flipped the lid on his bottle, she saw something flare in his eyes. He took a long swig as soon as she handed it to him.
“You’ve been working on the slopes?” she asked.
His gaze shot to her, surprised. His eyes narrowed. “Today, yeah.”
“You like it up there?” Wasn’t he the mountain king? A slope-style champ or something? She wasn’t really sure of the terminology, before coming here, snow hadn’t really been her thing.
“Doesn’t everyone?” His lips twisted.
Not everyone, no.
“It doesn’t bother you?” he suddenly asked. “The way they talk?”
She shrugged. “I don’t let it.”
“I don’t like it.”
“It’s not your problem.” She fell silent at the look in his eyes. Her stupid pulse sped up.
“Will you tell me your name?” he asked.
“Does it matter?”
“Maybe not.” His smile was wry. “You don’t want to know mine?”
“No. I don’t.” She definitely didn’t. She didn’t want to know anything more about him… right?
“Have a drink with me.”
“Not while I’m working.” Keep it together, Savannah. Keep as cool as ever.