have believed it if she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes. From the second Tyler took his seat and the first nervous fan stepped forward, the surly, pissed off jock morphed into a gracious, attentive celebrity.
Tyler flashed his brilliant smile with those perfect white teeth and won the heart of every female in the room. The teenage girls squealed and jumped up and down like he was a rock star. The middle-aged women didn’t show much more restraint. The men engaged him in conversations about next year or any other sports subject they chose. He saved his best for the teenage boys, spending extra time with them, asking about the local football team like he really cared, and posing for pictures.
All in all, he tolerated the inane questions and groping women with ease, obviously basking in the spotlight. The man should run for office, he’d win in a landslide. In the week he’d been coming into the bar, she’d never seen him like this.
Lavender ran interference, keeping the line going and preventing eager fans from monopolizing Tyler’s time. The name of this game was quantity. The more people they put through in the next hour, the more money they made. Several fans paid again and rotated back through the line more than once for additional autographs. Tyler mugged for pictures and ignored her attempts to limit the time spent with each fan, almost as if he sought to annoy her. No doubt he did. A little payback for her part in this little surprise.
Meanwhile, Ed and Homer manned the cash boxes, which were brimming with dollar bills and odd change.
The second the door clicked shut on the last fan, Tyler shot to his feet and stalked toward her, an enraged panther stalking a wounded gazelle. Homicide gleamed in his eyes. Lavender fled to the safety of the bar, pretending she didn’t see him. He followed her, circling her until he’d cornered her between the icemaker and the beer taps. She backed up a few steps and hit the bar counter, almost knocking over a glass of wine in the process.
“Customers are not allowed behind the bar.” She tried for a little steel in her voice, but her words cracked like brittle plastic instead.
“Don’t you ever fucking pull that on me again. Understand?” Her body shuddered at the sound of his lethal voice, and her reaction wasn’t based solely on fear. Instead, his blazing blue eyes, lowered voice, and tense, threatening stance turned her on. Dang, but she wanted him—every hard, uncompromising, furious inch of him. She wanted him to lift her up on this counter and rip off her clothes then take her hard and rough, demanding all she had to give and leaving it all out on the table—or counter rather.
With a shaking hand, Lavender held out the cuss jar. Tyler batted it away. His fury shifted like a shift in the winds to something more disturbing. His gaze smoldered with a heat not just from anger. She held her breath, even as her fingers itched to bury themselves in his dark hair and yank his mouth down to hers. He leaned closer. His minty breath tickled her nose.
One of the Brothers cleared his throat from several feet away, but none of the cowardly, old men tottered to their feet to rescue her. Not that she wanted to be rescued.
Tyler hemmed her in by putting his big hands on either side of her and resting them on the lip of the counter. His intense blue eyes promised some serious down and dirty fun. His voice dropped a low, sexy octave. “I know exactly what you need.”
She bet he did. Her heart seconded it. The rest of her body voted in unanimous agreement. “What I need is for you to leave this island.” Boy, did she, before she did something stupid, like give him everything he wanted. And more.
“So not going to happen, sweetheart.” He lifted his hand and ran a finger along her jawbone and neck. Her body shook with a mini-earthquake of its own, drawing a self-satisfied smirk from him.
“Why not? Why don’t you leave? You don’t need the money.” Lavender
Tyler flashed his brilliant smile with those perfect white teeth and won the heart of every female in the room. The teenage girls squealed and jumped up and down like he was a rock star. The middle-aged women didn’t show much more restraint. The men engaged him in conversations about next year or any other sports subject they chose. He saved his best for the teenage boys, spending extra time with them, asking about the local football team like he really cared, and posing for pictures.
All in all, he tolerated the inane questions and groping women with ease, obviously basking in the spotlight. The man should run for office, he’d win in a landslide. In the week he’d been coming into the bar, she’d never seen him like this.
Lavender ran interference, keeping the line going and preventing eager fans from monopolizing Tyler’s time. The name of this game was quantity. The more people they put through in the next hour, the more money they made. Several fans paid again and rotated back through the line more than once for additional autographs. Tyler mugged for pictures and ignored her attempts to limit the time spent with each fan, almost as if he sought to annoy her. No doubt he did. A little payback for her part in this little surprise.
Meanwhile, Ed and Homer manned the cash boxes, which were brimming with dollar bills and odd change.
The second the door clicked shut on the last fan, Tyler shot to his feet and stalked toward her, an enraged panther stalking a wounded gazelle. Homicide gleamed in his eyes. Lavender fled to the safety of the bar, pretending she didn’t see him. He followed her, circling her until he’d cornered her between the icemaker and the beer taps. She backed up a few steps and hit the bar counter, almost knocking over a glass of wine in the process.
“Customers are not allowed behind the bar.” She tried for a little steel in her voice, but her words cracked like brittle plastic instead.
“Don’t you ever fucking pull that on me again. Understand?” Her body shuddered at the sound of his lethal voice, and her reaction wasn’t based solely on fear. Instead, his blazing blue eyes, lowered voice, and tense, threatening stance turned her on. Dang, but she wanted him—every hard, uncompromising, furious inch of him. She wanted him to lift her up on this counter and rip off her clothes then take her hard and rough, demanding all she had to give and leaving it all out on the table—or counter rather.
With a shaking hand, Lavender held out the cuss jar. Tyler batted it away. His fury shifted like a shift in the winds to something more disturbing. His gaze smoldered with a heat not just from anger. She held her breath, even as her fingers itched to bury themselves in his dark hair and yank his mouth down to hers. He leaned closer. His minty breath tickled her nose.
One of the Brothers cleared his throat from several feet away, but none of the cowardly, old men tottered to their feet to rescue her. Not that she wanted to be rescued.
Tyler hemmed her in by putting his big hands on either side of her and resting them on the lip of the counter. His intense blue eyes promised some serious down and dirty fun. His voice dropped a low, sexy octave. “I know exactly what you need.”
She bet he did. Her heart seconded it. The rest of her body voted in unanimous agreement. “What I need is for you to leave this island.” Boy, did she, before she did something stupid, like give him everything he wanted. And more.
“So not going to happen, sweetheart.” He lifted his hand and ran a finger along her jawbone and neck. Her body shook with a mini-earthquake of its own, drawing a self-satisfied smirk from him.
“Why not? Why don’t you leave? You don’t need the money.” Lavender
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