He shook his head, breaking his transfixed stare and remembering where he was. “Any drink will do. Thank you.” He wanted to drink from her.
“You bet. I’ll be right back.” Her hair swung in a long tail as she sauntered away.
His gaze lowered and narrowed, as half her backside showed beneath her short pants. Along the way to fulfill his order, she stopped to say a few words to the men at the bar. Adam’s jaw ticked as he breathed in the stink of testosterone and smoke.
She returned a moment later, seemingly unaffected by the number of eyes watching her. “Let me know if I can get you anything else. Here’s a menu in case you want something before the kitchen closes.”
She placed the menu in front of him and he caught her wrist, a spike of awareness preening inside of him, followed by the urge to pull her under him and claim what was his. “What is your name?”
“Uh...” She smiled and twisted her hand out of his. “Annalise.”
“Annalise,” he repeated, tasting the word as his tongue grazed the sharp tip of his fang. He quickly angled his face toward the table and covered his mouth with the beer. “Thank you.”
“Yell if you need anything.” She pivoted away and he lowered the glass, his eyes never leaving her form as she replenished beverages for other customers.
He glanced at the tall pint of amber in front of him. If he finished it, she’d come back. He drank down the robust ale and waited.
She was good at her job, as she returned to his table only minutes after he finished the drink.
“Refill?”
He nodded and she took the empty glass to the bar.
He should speak to her, find out what she liked, and figure out where she lived. He’d been so preoccupied with finding her, he hadn’t considered what he’d do once he found her.
Ultimately, he’d perform the bonding and bring her back to Lancaster. They’d have an eternity of getting to know one another once they returned home.
She returned with a fresh glass. “Here you go.”
“Do you like working here?”
She paused, appearing a bit thrown by his question. “Sure. The customers are nice.”
He sensed dishonesty in her answer, but also truth. “You like to work?”
She leaned a hip against the booth, drawing his gaze to her tapered waist and lush thighs. “I haven’t seen you here before. Are you from out of town?”
“I’m visiting.”
“Oh. Gotcha. Then to answer your question, the hours are good, and the tips are okay.”
“Tips?”
She tilted her head and laughed, the sound going right to his gut. “Yeah. Tips. You know, after a waitress brings you a couple beers, you leave her a few dollars for being prompt and friendly.”
He wasn’t familiar with the practice.
Mesmerized by the casual way she carried herself and the ease at which she spoke to him, he asked, “How old are you, Annalise?”
* * * *
Her stomach dipped as he said her name. Her heart was beating like a trapped hummingbird in her chest. Who was this guy and what was he doing at Jimbo’s?
With a face that could make Brad Pitt jealous, she wondered if he was some sort of model. His eyes were the color of ice under northern lights and his skin flawless. He had a perfectly square jaw and straight nose. In Renaissance times they would have made sculptures of him.
His clothes were soaked from the rain, exposing every dip and divot of his chiseled body not blocked by the table. And what was that scent wafting off him? Someone should bottle it for an instant fortune.
She didn’t typically care for men with long hair, but this guy was owning it. She hated that the rain had made it impossible to discern the exact color, but it looked a few shades past a sandy blonde, bordering on light brown. Her fingers itched to comb through the strands, maybe stay with him until morning to see what color it turned out to be once it dried.
Wait. What?
She shook her head. “I’m twenty-three. How old are you...?”
“Adam.”
The name suited him. She repeated it. “Adam.”
He smiled, and she loved it so much she worried she might be doing something wrong.
She glanced at the bar where Kyle seemed preoccupied. When she turned back to Adam, he was frowning and staring over her shoulder.
“That man works with you, Annalise?”
She couldn’t place his accent. When he said words like “work,” the k sounded harder, coming out like worg. And when he said her name, it sounded like a sensual prayer, elongated and more alluring than she’d ever heard it pronounced. Ah-nah-leeze.
“You have an accent. Where are you from?”
“I come from Lancaster.”
Not too far. “I never realized people from Lancaster had such a different accent.”
“My family speaks old Deutsch, a form of Swiss German. We are Pennsylvania Dutch.”