Can the last place she needs to be become the first night of her forever?
Music blared from the band, pounding in Kayla's ears and masking the nervous
hammering in her chest. She tossed the apprehension from her head. The bartender
was watching her again, and she was glad. After all, it had been a long time
since anyone held her interest and he…well, he seemed to be matching her
awareness. She was determined to talk to him, and with liquid courage having her
back, she was in rare form. Feeling tenacious and certain, she licked her lips
to make them shine and walked toward the faintly familiar man.
The closer she got to the bar, the more the courage escaped her. Never in her
life had she approached a man she was attracted to. "Just go to the bar and
order a drink," she said quietly to herself. "He won't bite."
Kayla grinned, took a deep breath, and settled on a bar stool. She didn't
have to wait. The bartender met her as she sat. His gaze held hers for a second
longer than she was comfortable with, and her breath hitched in her throat. She
moved her stare to the shelves of bottles behind him. Without her asking, he
placed a shot of tequila in front of her. She slowly traced the rim with her
index finger, trying to think of something clever to say when he sat another
shot on the worn mahogany bar top. "Thanks, but I can't handle two more. I'd
like to be able to walk out of here."
He held the extra glass up to her eye level, leaning toward her, his eyes
burning into hers. "This one is for me. I'd like you to be able to walk out of
here too. Let's have a toast."
People around the bar repeatedly shouted out their orders, but the bartender
didn't seem to hear them, or if he did, he didn't acknowledge them. Two other
guys serving drinks took up the slack.
Kayla picked up the small glass of liquid meant for her and slowly batted her
lashes. "A toast to what, exactly?"
She couldn't help but notice the black scribe tattoo on the inside of his
upper arm and wondered what it said, but didn't allow her eyes to dwell as they
followed his arm to his shoulder and to his neck. She imagined her tongue
trailing across his skin and quickly flushed.
He smiled, and his eyes sparkled as he clinked his glass to hers. "To
four-inch, platinum heels and jeans that make an ass like yours trigger heart
attacks for all that may lay their eyes upon it."
Kayla laughed out loud. He had to be joking, how cheesy. "Well, I wouldn't
say it has such an extreme effect on everyone. Does a line like that work on
every female?" She licked her hand where he'd showed her earlier and grabbed the
salt shaker.
He leaned in closer, inches from her, his gaze intense. "I couldn't be more
serious. I've always—"
"Gannon!" one of the other bartenders interrupted. "We've got a fight!"
His eyes narrowed, and irritation spread across his face. He glanced at the
anxious announcer behind him and back to Kayla. "Give me a few minutes?"
She watched him jump across the bar and disappear into the crowd. Shivers
went across her skin as she noticed the muscles in his arms flex when he lifted
himself over the counter. Forgetting about the salt, she tossed the shot back
and helped herself to the one he'd left on the bar. As an afterthought, she bit
into the lime. His name is Gannon.
