“I dare you to try,” she shot back.
He stood and stepped in front of her. He heard her sharp inhale as he placed one finger under her chin and tilted her head back, her fiery, take-no-prisoners gaze meeting his. He scanned her eyes, looking for anger. As a rule, he liked an even playing field, not a cornered opponent. He’d filled those shoes as a kid and tried damn hard never to place anyone else in that position—terrorists excluded.
But if hearing about the bet had pissed her off at first, her competitive spirit had risen and displaced her anger. Studying her face, he saw a woman determined to win and to battle their mutual attraction. And yeah, that kiss earlier had proven he wasn’t the only one interested in taking their relationship to a new level. Not that anyone would define their verbal sparring—when she wasn’t flat-out ignoring him—as a relationship.
“Game on,” he said, smiling down at her. “Game on.”
Chapter Three
Monday night had threatened to drive her crazy between Jack’s brothers and that stupid bet. But Tuesday’s shift just might break her.
She turned her back to the bar and wrapped her hand around the Jack that promised comfort—and nothing more—for the weeping sailor at the far end of the bar.
Her grip tightened around the bottle as she glanced over her shoulder at her crying customer. Jack Daniels’ brand of comfort would leave the young man with a wicked hangover, and in the morning, he’d still have the pain of losing his best friend.
She quietly set the bottle in front of the young man and his friend perched on the barstool beside him mainlining water. But the crying sailor’s designated driver eyed the Jack Daniels.
“Have a drink with your friend,” she said. “And I’ll call you a cab at the end of the night.”
The sober sailor gave a curt nod. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Natalie,” she corrected as someone at the far end of the bar called her name. She left the young men, turned toward the familiar voice, and braced for a melt-your-panties-off smile from the Jack that left her weaker than a whole bottle of liquor.
Jack Barnes—the Jack in her life who’d made a bet that he could claim a place in her bed—waved to her as he claimed a stool. She headed for the opposite end of the long, wooden bar. She stopped directly in front of him and placed her hands on her hips. “Don’t start with me tonight, Jack. You’re not going to win. But if you try…”
Her thoughts traveled down the length of the bar to the crying sailor. When the sailor first dissolved into tears, the former designated driver had whispered an explanation. The weeping sailor had flown back from the Middle East with one hand on his best friend’s casket. They’d enlisted together, fought together, but only one of them had come home.
“Not tonight,” she said, fighting to hide the tremor in her voice.
“How about a beer?” he asked, his smile fading. “While I cheer you up.”
She shook her head and turned to the taps to pou
r his usual. She doubted Prince Charming could remove the weight resting on her shoulders. She knew grief and loss. The crying sailor’s pain wouldn’t vanish after a long visit with Jack Daniels. It would be there tomorrow when he woke up.
She pressed the lever and stopped the flow of beer before Prince Charming’s cup overflowed. Glancing down the bar, she watched the teary-eyed sailor down another shot. She should probably cut the kid off and send him home now. Lessen the headache in the morning even if she couldn’t fix the heartache of losing his best friend.
“One more shot, kid,” she murmured. And then she turned to the other side of the bar—and bit back a growl.
A woman who looked like she’d walked off the set of a country music video and headed for Bottom’s Up went for the empty stool beside Jack. The click of her cowgirl boots on the bar’s wooden floor announced her approach. And Jack gave the woman his full attention. Natalie could practically see him running through a mental checklist.
Cutoff jean shorts that bordered on indecent? Yes.
Fitted white T-shirt over her red, white, and blue bikini top? Uh-huh.
Warm, welcoming, I’ll-hand-you-my-panties-after-one-drink smile?
Natalie cocked her head and studied the red-haired, green-eyed beauty as she removed her cowboy hat and claimed the empty stool. The woman’s smile was shy but guarded, almost like she’d selected that particular stool in spite of Jack, not because of him.
A handful of her regulars glanced at the newcomer too, and for a second Natalie wondered if the woman might be someone slightly famous. Thanks to her lack of cable TV, all the housewives in Orange County could parade through her bar and Natalie wouldn’t have a clue.
She headed over to deliver Jack’s drink and watched as the woman’s shy veneer vanished. The redhead’s lips parted and her eyes widened.
Natalie froze, still holding Jack’s beer. She could deliver it, turn, and walk away. Or—
“Oh, wow, you’re a Navy SEAL. Your job must be so hard,” the woman said.
Or she could listen to Jack pick up the newcomer. Her jaw tightened. That was just what this night needed.