"Then what do you want?"
He cupped his palms around his beer and leaned in. "I want to get my hands on something you have and make her sing. I want to strip her down, savor every moment, and stroke every corner. I want to break her until there's nothing left, and then I want to build her back up, inch by slow inch, enjoying the smell and feel of her beneath my fingers. I want to look at her naked and beautiful again and know I was the one there for the whole journey. I need it, bad, Raven. And you're the only one who's able to give it to me."
Her pupils dilated. Dalton knew in that instant that she wasn't immune to him or the crackling tension between them. She chose to ignore it, but that didn't make it not real. Her throat worked as she fought to process his statement. Her fingers clenched around the dish towel. Finally she pulled her gaze away and took a deep breath. "A real Don Juan, aren't you? As pretty as those words are, you're not getting me."
"You misunderstand."
She lifted a brow. "Hard to misunderstand that one."
He gave a slow smile. "I want to get my hands all over your bar, darlin'." He stroked his palm gently over the surface where worn wood was hidden beneath a glass top. "I want to restore it back to its original glory." He paused. "What'd you think I meant?"
Annoyance flickered over her face, along with something else. Dalton hoped it was disappointment, but he figured she'd deny it. "My bar is fine the way it is."
"I disagree. This is an antique, a rare art form." Already he ached to examine the wood, find its strengths and weaknesses, make it great again. "This cheap gold trim was added later. The wood is chipped and peeled, and the glass top surface should be a crime. It's tawdry."
She tilted her head in concentration. "Tawdry? How is a practical glass top tawdry?"
He gave a mock shudder. "Another convenient, cheap addition that takes away the beauty of the piece. I could do amazing things for you. Make this bar the crowning centerpiece of the entire restaurant."
She tapped a finger against the full curve of her lower lip. He fought back the urge to snag her hand, open his mouth, and suck. Nibble. Swirl his tongue around until she looked at him with need and not distance. He shifted on the bar stool and felt his jeans scratch against his erection uncomfortably.
"It would be too expensive," she finally said.
"I'll give you a deal. You can even pay in installments. You know I work at Pierce Brothers, and we're the best in the Northeast. You won't regret it."
He thought she'd agree, but a flare of anger lit her eyes and she stepped back. Her voice stabbed at him like icicles, sharp and frozen. "I said no. I don't need your help or your brothers'. With me or my bar."
She walked away with a withering look, and Dalton wondered again what the hell he was missing.
chapter four
Raven had the dream again.
She was walking down a road, sun drenching her body, a bunch of wildflowers fisted in her hands. Contentment stirred within as she followed the familiar path, listening to the calls of birds and enjoying the light tug of wind in her hair. She was part of her father's paintings, in a still, serene place she liked to visit when life got stressful or she needed clarity.
A squeal of brakes echoed in the air, along with twisting metal crashing into metal. The flowers dropped from her hand and she began running, faster and faster, sensing with every step that she was nearing a terrible truth that would destroy her.
But she couldn't stop. She ran until the breath tore from her lungs in painful gasps, and she skidded to a halt in front of the horrifying scene unfolding before her.
Fire burning bright and melting metal. The explosion of glass and the stench of burnt rubber and oil rising in a fury of smoke. Her father's beloved face appeared through the broken window, screaming her name as the flames ravaged him alive. Raven sobbed and tried to run to him, but her feet were stuck to the ground and she was unable to move. His hands reached out, clawing frantically, and finally she was free and rushing toward him.
Seconds before she reached the car, a woman's face appeared beside her father's, her mouth twisted into a terrible smile. She grabbed Raven's father and dragged him back, screeching like a demon, her words echoing over and over in a terrible mantra that Raven would never forget.
"He belongs to me, not you! He belongs to me! Me, me, me, me . . ."
Then the car exploded, and Raven watched her father burn.
She woke up with her pajamas stuck to her damp skin and her heart beating erratically. Gulping in breaths, she tore off the sheets and jumped out of bed, trying to calm herself. Crap. The nightmare had haunted her after the funeral, until she'd been forced to see a grief counselor by Aunt Penny and given a range of pills to cut her anxiety and help her sleep. She'd literally felt on the brink of a nervous breakdown, unable to process the sudden loss of the one man in the world she loved and trusted. After two years of doctors and burying herself in her room, she'd turned to a different type of distraction to stop the nightmares. A wild ride of destruction that had built like a snowball and morphed into an avalanche. There'd been boys and sex. Drugs and alcohol. She'd dropped out of college, telling Aunt Penny she wanted to see the world, but most of her journeys included bunking with strangers, getting high, and waking up with men she didn't remember.