Serving Trouble(13)

“Only if it pays more.” She moved to the kegs and bent over one to read the label. She scribbled another number on the list and waited for him to say something. Maybe a sharp “Not going to happen” or “It doesn’t pay a penny more.”

Silence.

“Not that I’m complaining,” she continued. “The tips have been great. It probably helps that I haven’t spilled a single drink since that first night.” She glanced up to see if he’d fallen asleep standing up staring at the beer.

Nope, still awake. And not looking at the beer. Not unless he expected to find a bottle buried between her breasts.

“I’m not hiding a can of that super special IPA down my shirt,” she teased as she stood up. “But you can stare at my cleavage all you want. Nothing is going to happen.”

Noah looked up from her chest and raised an eyebrow. “Never writing back to me, did that help you forget about the night you rode the bull?”

“No,” she said firmly. “I didn’t want to forget. Maybe take back what I said. But now . . . I can’t take another ride with you.”

“You’re sure about that?” he asked mildly. But she saw the tension rippling through his muscles. This man was close to falling asleep on his feet. But Noah still looked as if he would toss her over his shoulder and carry her straight to his barn.

Do it!

She felt the desire rising up and leaving her wanting what she couldn’t have—­him.

“I’m sure,” she said softly.

Because no matter how much I want to touch you, I’m terrified one kiss, one wild night, will damage what’s left of my heart.

But she wasn’t going to spell out her feelings and fears for him. As much as she hated living with fear, she wasn’t going to present a challenge or give him a chance to prove that sometimes desire trumped everything else. Because, oh God, if her longing for Noah and his supersized muscles won . . .

“Nothing will happen,” she continued. “Because I have a history of only falling for total jerks.”

“I can be a jerk,” he said, his tone daring her to prove him wrong as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. His muscles flexed and his Semper Fi tattoo stared back at her as if the marines motto translated into “Bad Boy Material.”

“I’m sure you can,” she said. But she knew better than to travel down that road. She moved to his side and patted his arm. He stared down at her hand as if she’d seared the blond hair. She withdrew her hand and added, “I just want you to know it won’t be a problem.”

“The other night, while you were working your first shift, I wanted to lick the vodka off your breasts.” He spoke in a low tone and his gaze met hers. The look in his eyes screamed I dare you to pat me like a freaking puppy again.

“You wouldn’t try now that I’m full-­time.” Her statement hovered close to question-­mark territory.

“Get a bottle and try me,” he said. “I’ll probably break my own damn rule about fooling around with the employees.”

Her hand itched to reach for the nearest liquor bottle. But she was too much of a coward. Plus, she didn’t think he would do it. She knew jerks, the kind of men who hit, the ones who left, and the guys who didn’t give a damn. Becoming a marine, deploying to Afghanistan, fighting—­the experience had knocked the pedestal of perfection right out from under him. But that didn’t make him a jerk. Just a good man who’d gone to war and come home a little lost. A former soldier who’d rather give in to desire instead of face his own demons.

She stared at the lines around his eyes. Right now, he looked every inch a good guy who’d rather use her breasts as a pillow instead of a shot glass.

“Maybe later. You’re tired,” she said. “Let me finish the inventory while you rest.”

He shook his head. “I’m fine. I’ve gone days with only an occasional combat nap.”

“This isn’t a war zone,” she said softly. “Just because you’re searching for someone . . . it’s not the same.”

He stared at her as if ready to argue. “No, it’s not,” he said finally. “Just one big Goddamn nightmare.”

“Maybe Caroline left,” she said. And took the nightmare with her.

“No.”

She knew he was right. Problems didn’t just fade away. And the nightmares stayed whether you slept or not.

“If you’re planning to comb through the woods again tonight,” she said, knowing he would, “you should rest. Take a combat nap. Maybe make this one a double while I finish up here.”