"I'm making oatmeal raisin cookies. I picked that over say chocolate chip or butter because they have oats so you will be more inclined to eat them even though you don't eat carbs or refined sugars."
He leaned up against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest, but he was smiling at me. My knees went weak. "Should I get the fire extinguisher?"
Would I never live down my first attempt at making cookies?
"Careful or I won't share. The trick to the perfect cookie is to slightly undercook it."
"Yes because we've seen what happens when you overcook it."
I wanted to laugh, but instead I glared.
Teasing turned serious when Damian said, "They found who hired the fuck from the alley."
I stopped whisking the dry ingredients. "Who was it?"
"He's a CI for Dobbs."
"So the attack was linked to Dobbs."
"I don't think so. I think someone wants us to think that."
"You think whoever hired this CI knew of his connection to Dobbs and used it to throw us off his scent."
"Exactly."
He came up right behind me and pulled the hair from my shoulder to kiss my neck.
My mouth went dry. "That's a trigger for me."
He looked very naughty. "Good to know. How can I help?"
"Cookies? We're talking about cookies, right?"
He chuckled, and then he rubbed his thumb over my lip. "Yeah, babe. For now, we're talking about cookies."
"Cookies instead of sex, I suppose there are worse substitutes."
It was our first night of work. Janice had a dress code-short skirt and tank top that showed off cleavage. Boobs sold drinks; Janice's words not mine. I wasn't thrilled working for the woman, knowing what I did about her, but Damian would get to keep an eye on her so there was the silver lining. I checked out my appearance in the mirror. I liked the jean skirt; I had purchased it from a cute little boutique in Soho. It was short with a frayed edge, sexy but not gratuitous. The tank though, a white ribbed tank with a scoop neckline low enough that my girls were definitely on display. I pulled my hair into a ponytail and didn't bother with very much makeup because in this outfit no one would be looking at my face. A few swipes of mascara, some lip gloss and I was good to go.
Grabbing my apron, I walked into the kitchen and stopped dead. Damian was leaning up against the counter. He was in faded jeans and that black tee of his that was more like a second skin. Every bump and ridge of muscle was on glorious display. I reached for one of the cookies we had baked last night, our substitute cookies we called them, and stuffed it in my mouth so I didn't do what I really wanted to do, which was lick every inch of his body. He looked up, his eyes hitting mine before he moved them down my body … lingering a moment longer on my breasts.
"I know." I gestured to my décolletage. "Boobs sell drinks." Then I looked at him through my lashes. "Why? Is this a trigger?"
He answered by grabbing a cookie on his way out of the kitchen.
"I need your keys, Pat. I'm not giving you another drink until you hand them over."
Pat was fifty-eight, divorced with three kids in college. He worked as an insurance agent and as soon as the clock struck five, his butt was on a stool at Janice's bar. He was sweet, a flirt and really enjoyed his beer.
"Just one more. Please, Thea."
"Give me your keys and I'll get you one more."
"I have work in the morning."
"Then maybe you should stop now."
"I just had to write three checks for fifteen thousand dollars each. College is expensive. I need to numb my senses so I don't freak out over the hit to my bank account."
I couldn't fault him that, but he'd had four beers already. Driving was out of the question.
"You can't drive. You know you can't drive. I'll call a cab for you when you're ready. I'll even walk your keys over to your office tomorrow morning."
"You drive a hard bargain," he moaned, but he handed me his keys.
"I'll be right back with your beer."
Someone dropped some coins in the jukebox as Pink's ‘Trouble' started pumping through the place. Ricki and Dee were dancing as they delivered their drinks. The folks at the pool tables at the far back were getting rowdy, but in a good way. The place was electric. It could hold its own with the best clubs in Manhattan and my guess was it was Amelia's legacy and Janice was reaping the rewards. Damian would make it right.
Stepping up to the fill station, Mic dropped his elbows on the bar and leaned into me. "What can I get you, babe?"
"Another one for Pat, two gin and tonics with Bombay Sapphire and a Maker's Mark, neat."
He grinned, "You got it."
After dropping off Pat's beer, I moved to the pool tables to collect empties and that was when I noticed Janice wasn't in her office, she was up front with Damian. And now that I understood the situation, I couldn't believe I had confused his expression for lust. He looked to be skinning her alive in his mind. I almost felt sorry for her because she had no clue who she was dealing with. And what was she up to? Damian didn't contest the will, as far as she knew. She had gotten away with it. He was out of the military and home where Amelia hoped he would settle. So was she hoping to not just get Amelia's bar but her brother too? From the way she practically licked him when she spoke, I was thinking yes.
"Hey, babe. When do you get off?" I turned to see a biker-long hair and tats all over. He had come-hither eyes and the sexiest smile. The girl hanging on him shot me daggers and I understood. She'd been working him all night, so his invitation to me was a real blow-unless he wanted to party.
Resting my hip on the pool table, I flashed him a smile. "One." I was digging getting into character, being me but not me.
"Are you doing anything after?"
"I'm going home with the husband."
"Husband? You're not wearing a ring."
"I still have one. That's him by the door." I gestured with my head and watched as both the man and his groupie followed the direction.
"He's hot." Damian was hot, but I had a feeling this chick's standards were really low.
"He doesn't look too thrilled that you're talking to me."
I glanced over, he was right, Damian looked annoyed. I flashed him a smile. "He's the jealous type."
"You ever looking to party, sweetheart, alone or with your man, give me a call." He handed me a business card. What kind of biker had business cards? His had a skull on it and his name was Razor. Razor. I was being propositioned in the town of Deadwood by a biker named Razor who owned business cards. I seriously needed to take up writing because you couldn't make this shit up.
Having fun, feeling flirty and playing the part-three weeks ago someone tried to kill me so why not-I glanced up at him through my lashes and smiled. "Sure thing." Then tucked the card in my cleavage, his eyes like heat-seeking missiles following my hand as I did so. The girl hissed, he growled, I waved then sauntered off and knew he was checking out my ass as I did.
On my way to the bar, Damian waylaid me. He pulled me into a dark corner, and pressed me up against the wall. For just a second I thought he was going to kiss me. My entire body burned at the thought. His head lowered, my lips parted and he said, "You looking to get raped?"
I went from hot to ice cold in a heartbeat. "Excuse me?"
"Flirting like that will get you in trouble."
"It was harmless."
"You know that guy?"
"No."
"How do you know he's harmless?"
"It was a little flirty banter."
"Dude has been in prison twice for sexual assault."
A shiver went through me. "How do you know?"
"My job to know."
"Someone should tell that girl."
"She knows."
"How do you know she knows?" I swear it felt like we were having a Three Stooges conversation.
No answer, so I answered for him, "Your job to know."
Poor timing, but the way his big, hard body dwarfed mine and how he had to curl his spine to look me in the eyes made me feel not just delicate, but seriously turned on by the power of him. Those hands could kill without mercy, but I knew they could roam over his lover's body with finesse.
He moved in, his mouth only inches from mine. "Flirting with another man … " He bit my lower lip. "Definitely a trigger."
Before I could respond a ruckus broke out and caveman Damian morphed into warrior Damian. "Stay here." Then he was gone.
"How did you meet him?" I hadn't heard anyone approach so was surprised to see Janice standing there. It wasn't any of her damn business so I lied.
"Through a friend."
"He's something."
What a bitch. She didn't know the truth about Damian and me, but she did believe we were married, so her comment was completely out of line. "Yes, he is."
"I can't imagine it's easy holding onto a man like that. He seems quite virile, must be exhausting keeping him satisfied."
Motherfuc … There was a challenge in her statement, but she was trying to goad me and I wasn't taking the bait.
"Excuse me." Damian was just coming in through the back door. I walked over to him and he tracked me from across the room.
"I just had words with Janice. She's a fucking bitch. I'll help you bury the body."