Bound For Me(3)
“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.
“Bar’s closed now,” he pointed out. “Anyway, it doesn’t have to be alcoholic. Isn’t it your duty to keep the customer happy?”
“As the bar’s now closed, it’s no longer my duty,” she countered, unable to hold back a small smile.
“Choice then. Will you choose to stay and talk to a lonely customer?”
“Lonely or alone?” she asked lightly. “There’s a difference. You seemed happy to be alone and uninterrupted not so long ago.”
His lips twisted. “My job sometimes makes me unpopular.”
Why, did he have to ban people from using the chairlift? And that took time to get over at the end of each day? The ironic thing was she understood—when you worked serving people all day, at the end of it all you wanted was some alone time.
“They like watching you,” he laughed softly. “How long have you been working here?”
“Almost three weeks.”
“And you’ve made such an impression on the customers already.” He waggled his eyebrows, teasing.
“Some of them.” Heat simmered in her belly. She’d been left utterly cold by those guys. By all guys these last few months. But here she was on total defrost. All because of an unexpected sense of humor and blue, blue eyes.
“You do the lifts?” Her voice rusted.
“Only for today.”
Her pulse flitted faster. Was he leaving?
That heat climbed the rung to sizzling. Possibilities raced through her mind. The kind of possibilities she’d never entertained before. “You’re finishing up?”
“Other things I have to do.” He nodded.
Other places to go. He had that restless look in his eyes. And that was a good thing, right? Because Savannah didn’t want any distractions. Didn’t want anything else to think about—but for this one moment?
“I don’t agree with them, by the way,” he said.
Some how he was closer. Quieter. Somehow he knew.
She raised her eyebrows, she’d keep cool to the end.
“About what you need,” he clarified.
She swallowed.
“You don’t need it hard up the ass, or in your mouth or where ever the hell else they want to stick their tiny dicks.”
She stifled a laugh. “No.”
“I’m not saying there’s nothing you need, though…” He cocked his head, looking into her eyes.
“What do you think I need?” She braced herself for the obvious.
His lips softened into that unexpectedly warm smile. There was heat in his eyes, yes, but humor in his mouth. And easiness. And it was so unexpected. “Maybe some fun,” he idly mused. “Maybe some release. Maybe some…” he paused, his gaze sharpening. “Pleasure.”
That heat rippled out from her belly, cascading through her body, crawling over her skin. Good lord, she was blushing.
“Yeah.” His smile broadened, warmed. “Pleasure. Whatever is your pleasure. Plenty of it.”
She melted. Speechless.
Just from that.
What was wrong with her? Usually she’d have slammed him down with a sharp-edged comment and her best bitch face. For so long she’d been too uptight to let go. Too bound by her family’s scandals. Too scared of being swept away—like her mom with her insane affair that had screwed the lives of too many people.
Like her father who’d gambled literally everything away.
It was so long since she’d allowed herself to enjoy any kind of intimacy.
And she wasn’t going to now either. She was here only for payback. To hunt out the Hughes men and let them know just how much they’d hurt her family.
He was watching her closely, shaking his head a little. “What you need,” he lectured, gently persuasive. “Is satisfaction. And then you can enjoy that sweet dreamless sleep.”
Dreamless. Yes. Please.
She hadn’t had a decent, dreamless sleep in so long. Hadn’t come in over a year. Not even on her own. But how did he know she suffered that restlessness at night?
“You know what else I don’t agree with?” he said.
She shook her head, unable to speak, still trying to process—and control—her reaction to him.
He lifted his hand and very lightly traced the tip of his bound forefinger along her cheekbone. “You’re not a bitch.”