As Bad As Can Be (3 page)

The trio of bare bulbs that dangled from the ceiling of the cellar did little to banish the shadows. Along the far wall, the stack of silver kegs gleamed dully. Behind her was the door to the cold room, where the kegs that fed the taps upstairs were kept.

She opened the door to the cold room and stepped inside with an involuntary shiver. Temperatures that were perfect for keeping beer icy cold weren't quite comfortable if you were hanging out in a miniskirt and thong. The sealed door thudded shut behind her. Even though she knew it had an inside release, it always gave her the willies to be stuck inside what was essentially a walk-in refrigerator. The faster she finished this job, the better, she thought, staring at the neat row of kegs with vacuum lines snaking up through the ceiling. At least they kept a couple of spares in the cold room for easy access. Pulling the tap off the old keg
with swift efficiency, she rolled the new keg into place and hooked it up.

Shivering, Mallory stepped outside and stared at the wall of kegs. Now for the ugly part—wrestling a new keg into the cold room. It was her strict policy that anyone who changed out a keg always put a new one in. You never knew how much beer you were going to go through in a night, and nothing pissed customers off more than warm beer. She kicked her heels off and cursed as her bare feet hit the chilly floor.

Then a noise behind her had her whirling with a gasp.

I
T WAS HIM
.

Adrenaline surged through her, mixed with little bolts of desire. “What are you doing here?”

He studied her. “I thought you might need some help. Kegs aren't exactly light.”

“Customers aren't allowed in the back. We're not insured for it.”

“I'll be careful not to drop the keg on my foot, then,” he said, with a grin hovering around the corners of his mouth.

That utterly delectable mouth.

She looked until she realized she was staring, then relented. “Well, if you want to help, I need two kegs from the stacks on the left. I can roll them, I just can't lift them down.”

He crossed to the tiers of kegs and brought two of them to the floor with approximately the same amount of effort she'd expend on a bottle of whiskey.

“Guess you keep up your gym membership,” she said, struggling not to be impressed.

“Or something,” he said, grabbing one of the kegs and carrying it in the cold room.

Mallory took the other, tipping it onto an edge and rolling it along. The grating sound it made was magnified in the close quarters of the refrigerator, then he took it off of her hands.

“Just stack them on that side wall,” she directed. “That'll give us enough for the rest of the night, I think.”

Back out in the storage room, she looked up at him, studying the hard planes of his face. She was tall for a woman; it wasn't often that a man met, let alone bested her height. “Thanks for coming down to help.”

“No problem.” The bare overhead lights threw his eyes into shadow, bringing out that pirate look again.

It made her heart thud a little. Mallory rubbed her arms and shivered.

The look in his eyes changed. “You've got to be freezing in those clothes,” he said, closing his hands around her shoulders.

Heat was all she could register for a moment, heat from his palms flowing into her arms, heat from his body radiating out toward her. It made her exquisitely aware of the fact that a sizable, strong, and extremely attractive specimen of a man was just inches from her. This close to him, she could look her fill. “I wasn't really thinking about the cold,” Mallory murmured, staring in fascination at his mouth.

“Well, you could use some warming up now.” He ran his hands up and down her arms lightly, chafing the skin into warmth, tantalizing the nerve endings.

“Does that mean you're volunteering?”

His teeth gleamed in a half smile. “I told you, I'm here to help.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“There are all sorts of ways to warm you up.” He moved in closer to her. “What was it you said about always finishing what you start?” he murmured, sliding his hands down to hers and raising them to kiss her fingers.

She swallowed, her throat suddenly tight. “What kind of a finish are you expecting?”

“It changes by the minute,” he said, his voice suddenly sober.

Abruptly she slid her hands up his chest to pull his head down to hers. “I guess we'll just have to see, then, won't we,” she whispered, and fastened her lips on his.

Mallory didn't bother with teasing nibbles and pecks. Since his arrival she'd watched his mouth, wondered how it would feel under hers. Now she would discover. She dove into the kiss with abandon, tasting the tang of beer, the spice that was him. His tongue dipped and circled around hers, the silky stroking making her suddenly greedy for more. She made an impatient noise and pushed herself closer to him. The long cords of muscle in his back were sharply defined under the cloth of his shirt. Against her hips, she could feel him growing harder.

Need sliced through her, sharp and intense. She needed his hands on her, his skin against hers. She needed his mouth on her, hot and wet.

“When I first saw you I wondered what this would be like,” she murmured.

Desire slammed through him. Earlier, he'd watched her dance as though he'd been under some spell. Seeing her sway and tease, he'd imagined what it would be like to taste her, to feel her body against his. Imagination was nothing compared to the reality, though.

Hot and sweet, her flavor infused him, left him craving more. Her wild, sultry scent seemed to be everywhere. He could feel her breasts, warm and yielding against his chest, and the sensation threatened his control. He wanted to touch her everywhere at once. He
wanted her, period, on the floor, against the kegs, anywhere, as long as it was now.

They were in the bar cellar, he struggled to remember, running his hand down her back to where her top ended and warm skin began. He definitely had no business wrapping himself around an employee on the clock and on the premises, but the sound of her soft moan made a mockery of his common sense. Her hands stroked the denim of his black jeans and he felt himself strain against the fabric, against the heat of her touch. Instead of stepping away and getting out, he found himself slipping a hand up under her tank top, sliding his fingers over the soft swell of her breast. With his eyes closed and the noise from the bar only a soft murmur in the background, they could have been anywhere. Then the insistent firmness of her nipples against his palm tore a groan out of him.

Mallory gave a soft laugh of delight. His arousal was an aphrodisiac, and a sudden frenzy of desire tore through her. She wanted to know how he felt inside her, how his body convulsed at orgasm. She wanted to feel him hard in her hand, in her mouth. Hastily she fumbled for his zipper.

Heat raced through him. There was no room for practicality, only for the rush of sensation from her mouth, the warmth of her hand through the denim of his jeans. In the bar overhead, someone began whooping. Then he felt the tug, heard the growl of his zipper. He could tell himself to quit all he wanted to, but his hands still slid over her curves to find the hem of her skirt. “This isn't smart,” he said, “we're in public.”

“Not at all,” she said, running her tongue along his neck. “I know for a fact this is private property.”

Shay ran a hand up under her skirt, moving between
her thighs to find her already wet. “What's your boss going to say about you disappearing?” he managed, the slippery evidence of her arousal making his head pound. Feverishly he wondered what it would feel like to be inside her, to have her hot and wet beneath him.

“Don't you worry about the boss,” she said breathlessly, her gasps catching as his fingers began to slide against her.

“I don't want you to get in trouble,” he said raggedly, as her clever fingers searched him out and wrapped around him.

Mallory laughed deep in her throat. “Trust me, I know she'd approve.”

Then he felt her begin to stroke and he groaned, abandoning his attempts at control in the face of the delicious friction, the tantalizing touch. He pushed her back against the wall of kegs and kissed her hard.

The door at the top of the stairs slammed open.

“Mallory, get up here quick. We've got a fight,” someone yelled down.

They broke apart, breathing hard, eyes wide.

“The bar. Oh my God.” She broke away and lunged past him, rounding the banister and heading up the stairs.

Mallory, Shay thought dazedly, zipping up his pants. They'd called her Mallory. Mallory was Dev's sister's name.

Which meant she was Dev's sister.

Shouts filtered in from the barroom, the sounds of a fracas underway. The noises galvanized him and he ran up the stairs. Whatever was going on, another pair of hands would surely help. He wasn't much for fighting, but in his years of bartending, he'd learned a few nasty tricks that were useful for dealing with rowdies.

As it turned out, his help wasn't necessary. By the time he'd ducked out from behind the bar, the bouncers had grabbed the fighters in painful come-along holds and were leading them out the door. No obvious damage had been done, aside from a stool or two overturned. The rest of the patrons were milling around. The redhead jumped on the bar and began to dance, working to bring the energy of the room back up. Slowly people filtered back toward the bar, but the crowed was smaller than before.

Shay saw Mallory in a corner, talking sympathetically to a weeping girl, and he was abruptly furious at himself. Dammit, he'd been the worst kind of idiot. One minute he'd been sitting in the bar checking it out, trying to figure out what to tell Dev. The next, he'd seen Mallory and she'd driven all thought and responsibility out of his head. He'd gone from chatting her up to groping her in the cellar. He could say he'd gone down to help her, but deep down he knew it was because he wanted to be near her. Needed to be near her. And now he, who always prided himself on being the responsible, trustworthy guy, had wound up almost doing the sister of one of his best friends.

He saw Mallory holding the girl's hands and talking to her soothingly. Just for a moment, the purity of Mallory's profile stopped his heart. He didn't date often. His responsibilities more or less precluded it, but it also wasn't often that a woman captured his interest. All Mallory had had to do was walk into his line of sight. It wasn't just the face, although admittedly, that had gotten his attention first. It was the intelligence and humor that sealed the deal.

And of course the physical stuff.

That was history now, he thought, slipping unobtru
sively out the door. He was going to be smart and stay away. If Dev wanted his input, he'd give it, but that was all. He was going to keep a healthy distance from Ms. Mallory Carson. Certain things were unforgivable, and one of them was sleeping with a friend's little sister, he thought, as an image of his own sister, Shana, rose in his mind. Especially when you were supposed to be watching out for her.

Out on the sidewalk, Shay shoved his hands into his pockets and tried to ignore the ache in his belly. Just for a moment there, she'd had him. Despite his best resolutions, he wouldn't have been able to stop for his life. The interruption had saved him from doing something he'd
really
have been sorry for. Walking away had been the easy part. Convincing his body that the time for fun and games was past was a little tougher.

Nice behavior for a local businessman, he thought sourly. Yeah, he'd really make points at the next Chamber of Commerce meeting if word got around that he was entertaining young ladies in backrooms.

Not a young lady, he corrected himself. A woman.

A woman who was going to be on his mind possibly for the rest of his life.

 

“N
IGHT
, M
AL
. S
EE YOU
tomorrow.”

“See you,” Mallory echoed, locking the door behind the departing Belinda. The lights were on, the harsh illumination giving the bar a very different feel from the intimacy of the night. Scars on the wood and floor showed up, as well as the odd spill. She made a face. Thank heaven for Doug the magical custodian. Cleaning and restocking the bar was one thing—in its own way, it was sort of soothing. However, the idea
of facing the men's room after a night of rowdy drinkers was enough to make her shudder.

She went behind the bar and began checking the bottles of liquor, refilling them when necessary, or bringing out spares for the shelf. Truth be told, she was glad of something to do. Even though hours had gone by since her interlude with the stranger, she was still restless, distracted.

He'd walked away on her. They'd been on the verge of having each other right then and there, and he'd walked away like it was nothing. She shook her head like a dog shaking off water. That wasn't the way it went in her world. Men didn't walk away from her. She did the walking away. The one thing she'd learned before she'd even learned to read was that the one who could walk away held the power. The lesson had been branded into her consciousness. She'd learned it and remembered it, and she'd gotten very, very good at it.

The hell of it was, her body still wanted him.

She found herself staring into space and shook her head to clear it. Enough, he was gone, she'd never see him again, and that was that, she thought irritably.

All things considered, she was probably lucky they'd been interrupted. She was a business owner and she had better things to do than make out with strangers in her basement. It wouldn't do much for her authority over her staff if they came across her and some customer, especially since she'd always decreed that customers were hands-off. Sure, there might have been times in the past, but no more. Certainly not with a guy who'd just walk away like she was nothing. Not that she was, of course. She was the one in charge. That was how it went.

The door to the cellar opened and Randy, her be
hind-the-bar gofer, came out wiping his hands on his jeans. “Okay, I've stocked the cold room. There are a couple of spare kegs for every line.”

She nodded and fixed him with a stare before going back to stacking tequila bottles on the shelf in back of the bar. “So where were you tonight just before the fight? One of the kegs ran out and I needed you.”

He shuffled his feet and looked down bashfully. “Sorry, I was out back having a cigarette.”

“I thought you were going to quit.”

He reddened. “One more night. I figure I'll start tomorrow.”

It was his problem, she told herself, resisting the urge to lecture him. “Whatever. Just keep it to your breaks, Randy, especially on Saturday night. You know how busy we get.”

“I know,” he said, grabbing bottles of bourbon to put on the shelf. “I'm sorry. I saw Shay head down to help you, though, and I figured he could handle things and Benny gave me the high sign to come over and help with those idiots who were fighting, and—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” She raised one hand. “Stop just a second. Who did you say went down to help?”

“Shay O'Connor.”

“Shay O'Connor,” she repeated. “I know that name.”

“Probably so. He's the guy that runs O'Connor's.” He looked at her quizzically. “I thought you knew him.”