back, too, Tommy, so there’s hope for you yet.” She nodded to a tall, dark-haired man who walked up to the bar and took the stool at the opposite end. “Brandy, you have a new customer. You’re going to want this one.”
Brandy glanced over her shoulder, then let out a low whistle. “Holy hell, the place is swimming in high-quality testosterone tonight.”
Maggie balanced the tray. “Go get ‘em, tiger. Our song’s still playing.” She headed toward the group from Philadelphia, who were already a little loud and loose. As she leaned to set down the drinks, she couldn’t resist lifting her gaze to the two-top at the window.
He was staring. Hard. Right down the scoop neck of her top.
Oh, had she forgotten to wear a bra? They were small but mighty, as someone had once told her, and every once in a while the girls went free. She smiled at the customers she served, but the twinkle in her eye was for his benefit.
She’d also purposely worn the tight hip-hugging jeans and a little extra makeup. It was true; she didn’t care if he came back for a third night—but she hoped like hell he would. Especially tonight . . . the one time she didn’t have a thirteen-year-old and his dog waiting at home.
Tonight, Magdalena Varcek Smith was going to have some fun.
Straightening, she nodded to him. “I’ll be right there,” she mouthed, taking the empty glasses from the table and wending around some chairs to make her way over.
He made no effort to hide his long, slow appraisal of her, the hungry gaze leaving a trail of heat and a thousand chills over every well-admired inch of her. By the time he got back up to her face, she’d reached the table and slid into the chair across from him.
“You want a Heineken?”
“Among other things.” He added an imperfect, slanted, utterly decadent smile that took him from jaw-dropper to heart-wrecker in a pulse beat.
“Name ‘em,” she shot back.
He dropped his elbows on the table and folded his arms, a move that emphasized the power and size of his shoulders, and leaned closer. She got a whiff of peppermint and spice, a dose of raw sex appeal, and a chance to see that no, he hadn’t shaved.
“Mrs. Smith. Are you married?”
His question was direct, simple, and delivered with a baritone that made her wonder if his chest rumbled when he spoke.
“Not anymore.” She met him halfway across the table. “Are you?”
“Not even close.”
“Well, now that we got that little detail out of the way, how about we finally introduce ourselves?” She held out her hand, bracing for the electricity she just knew was going to zing up her arm. “I’m—”
“I know who you are.” He didn’t shake her hand. Instead, his long, strong fingers plucked at one of the silver bangles on her wrist. “You make noise when you walk, you know that?”
She just stared at him, unable to look away.
“I’ve been hearing you jingle in my sleep.”
Oh boy. He was good. “What’s it sound like?”
“Trouble.”
She laughed. “I’m no trouble at all. Everyone calls me Lena, and I’m the owner of this fine establishment and jingler of your dreams. What’s your name?”
“Dan.”
“Just Dan?”
“For now, just Dan.”
“How about for later?”
“That assumes there is a later.I don’t want to be presumptuous.”
She crossed her arms and matched his position, as into the game as he was. “Go ahead and presume. We’ve been dancing around each other for three nights. How long are you in town?”
“How do you know I don’t live here?”
“Because I know everybody who lives in Marathon, which means you’re a tourist.”
“Are you going to close up again tonight?”
Another zing went through her, this time more of a mental alarm than a sexual buzz. “Maybe.”
Since she’d just said she was the owner, it made sense she’d close the bar. But these days, she couldn’t be too careful. Not after she’d read the prison release list on that website. Ever since, she’d carried Smitty’s pistol in her handbag, made a habit of looking over her shoulder, and had one of the regulars walk her to her car.
And sent Quinn for long weekends at his Uncle Eddie’s, so he wasn’t home alone when she worked late nights.
“Can I meet you tonight?” he asked. “So we could talk when you’re not working.”
Talk. Right. “It could be late.”
“I don’t mind.”
“We make last call around one.”
He nodded and stood, looming over her, easily surpassing six feet. “I’ll be back at twelve thirty.”