Bittersweet Seraphim (35 page)

The bartender stood looking at her for a moment before taking her glass and purposefully turning it to drink from the same side she did. He gulped the drink with effortless ease before sliding the other two drinks down in front of two lucky patrons at the bar. “How these taste to you, boys?”

He walked back over to Emma and continued to smoke while the men sampled the drinks.

“Great, Jack.”

“On the mark as usual.”

“They like ’em.”

“Fine. You win. I never tried one before. Why don’t you give me something I’d like?”

He nodded as he accepted her challenge, already lining up three more glasses. He filled all three with an assortment of colorful liquids. He added various girly frills, like umbrellas, paper parrots, and fruit garnishes. “You’ll
love
these,” he purred. “Especially since I’m giving them to you.”

Holy crap. He was sex in a bucket. The way his mouth moved was sin.

“So what do I call these things?” Emma asked. She waved a hand over the drinks, then stuffed it back in her pocket when she realized it was shaking.

“This one is the Buttery Nipple.” He ran his index finger across the rim of the glass. “The pretty one is a Screaming Orgasm. And this last one, especially for you, is a Long, Slow Screw in Jack’s Bed.”

“The first two I know I’d like,” she said, praying for a poker face. “That last one sounds chock full of diseases.” Emma juggled the drinks and left her money on the bar. She could feel him watch her walking across to her friends. They clapped when she put the drinks on the table without spilling any.

“Can a girl get a little help next time?” She sat and pointedly selected the Buttery Nipple. Jack’s attention was like another person at the table.

Shannon leaned over to Karen. “I think she did fine. You know, Butch, I’m getting the impression this isn’t your first time drinking.”

“It’s not mine either,” Karen declared as she selected the Jack’s Bed drink. She took a small sip and groaned. “This is the best drink I’ve ever had. Too bad I’m driving tonight.”

She slid it over to Emma. But Shannon intercepted it and sampled, moaning. “Holy shit, I think that’s made from liquid lust. I love it.”

She offered a sip to Emma, who shook her head. She focused on trying to ignore Jack the bartender, still feeling his gaze on the nape of her neck. She was hyper-aware of every move she made.

Shrugging, Shannon finished off the Jack’s Bed and shared the Screaming Orgasm with Karen. Karen slipped Emma more money.

“Go get more of those.” She pointed to the now-empty Jack’s Bed drink. “And also, I need a Coke or something.”

“Really? I have to do it?” she protested, searching their faces for mercy.

“Yep,” Karen said. “That way you’ll get exactly what you want. It’s your birthday!”

Emma rolled her eyes and went to the bar. Jack was smoking again and laughing loudly with three bleached blondes.
Loose whores
, Emma thought. Then immediately followed with,
How dare I? I don’t even know them.
She was stupidly, unfoundedly jealous. She waited a few minutes while Jack took his sweet time flirting as he replenished their drinks.

When finally he turned to her, her happiness was ridiculous. The way he looked at her made her mouth go dry. She grabbed one of the empty glasses and sucked an ice cube out, trying to get some moisture before he made his sexy way over to her. The cube slid down her throat, and all at once she was choking on it. She tried not to let her eyes bug out, totally mortified as she began to flail.

Jack vaulted the bar, set one hand between her breasts, and whacked her back with the heel of his hand, hard. The ice cube shot out like a rocket. Emma began coughing, doubled over with an excellent view of Jack’s tremendously beat-up motorcycle boots.

In an instant he hopped back over the bar and poured her a glass of water. Emma wanted to drown herself in it. Had she really just tried to die a most undignified death in front of the wickedly gorgeous bartender? The sluts at the end of the bar were snickering. Shannon and Karen appeared her sides.

“You okay? Damn, girl.”

Emma nodded.

Karen rubbed her back, making a fuss. “Can’t have your birthday be the day you cork off on us!”

“I’m fine. Really.” Emma coughed a little more and sipped her water. She shot a look down at the bitches, this time forgetting to chastise herself in her head.

Shannon gave their drink order, and Emma recovered enough to help carry the drinks back to the table. She wanted to be stubborn, but now her only drink option was the Long, Slow Screw in Jack’s Bed. And, okay, it was amazing. She had no idea where he’d hidden the alcohol, but the liquid tasted just like salted caramel. It instantly became her favorite drink of all time.

Chapter 39

Jack leaned down to catch his breath. He wiped up the small puddle of water from her ejected ice cube and couldn’t believe his adrenaline rush. Saving her had felt like so much more than knocking her on the back. He stood and watched her. When that girl had found her way into Hades, the whole room changed. Such a rush of déjà vu. He knew what color her gray eyes would be before she looked at him. And he was positive what her lips would taste like.

It made no sense at all. She wasn’t his type. He liked his ladies dirty and rough. She was all sunshine and goodness. Her friends kept calling her Butch, and it frustrated him. Her name was…was…just at the tip of his tongue. He made himself scarce so he could settle his nerves. He went to the storage room behind the bar and crouched down, wiping his hands on his jeans. Something poked him in the hip as he bent, and he pulled the girl’s ID from his jeans pocket. He remembered asking her for it, but had no recollection of putting it there.

He knew her. She was so important. He just didn’t know why. He scanned her ID, and her name was Emma. Of course it was. This couldn’t get any weirder. He dreamed of that name nearly every night, waking up screaming it as if it were his last breath. He’d lost quite a few girlfriends because they were sure he was cheating on them with “Emma.”

Just now, when she’d been choking, he panicked. There’d been such a splitting pain in his chest when she couldn’t breathe, he barely remembered what to do. He’d been operating on instinct then. Goddamn if he didn’t do the Heimlich at least twice a year. Drunk people sometimes forgot to chew. He kept his first aid and CPR current for precisely that reason.

And now he wanted to dash back out, hop the bar, and cuddle her to his chest. It made no sense. He held her ID up to a light so he could read the rest of it. She lived an hour away and was in her early twenties—explained why he’d never seen her before. Her regular haunts must be good distance away. Her friends made her laugh, and they’d been on it when she started choking, so she had good people, it seemed. He looked at the picture again: Long blond hair, gray eyes, and something familiar he couldn’t put his finger on. But he wanted to desperately. He stuffed the ID back in his pocket and tried to steady himself as he returned to his spot behind the bar.

The front door opened and a cold rush of air charged in. Jack groaned. The local rich boys were home from college. They were all self-entitled pricks, and of course, they made a beeline for the table of pretty girls. Shit.

The tallest was also the loudest—their names were interchangeable: Brad, Dom, Breck. They sucked monkey nuts.

“Hey, old asshole! Get us a pitcher over here, stat!”

Jack was immobile as he watched one sling an arm over Emma’s shoulders.

“Get a move on, wouldja?” from the peanut gallery was enough to get him moving again. He filled the pitcher with beer and let the foam slop around as he slapped it on the bar. He looked their way and pointed at it with both hands before folding his arms over his chest.

“Come on, bar monkey, earn your tips!” one of the interchangeables taunted.

Sighing heavily, Emma stood and came to the bar. “Sorry about them.” She picked up the pitcher.

“Interesting friends you girls have.” Jack suddenly felt a bit of shame at his less-than-professional job. He mostly enjoyed bartending, but he now had an overwhelming desire to impress Emma.

She sighed. “You know what? We hardly know them, but now we’re big buddies…I think they’re already drunk.”

He just wanted to keep her. It was insane. “They’re lucky to sit with you,” he said.

She blushed, and it killed his balls, but the blonde bimbo crew catcalled him again so he left her to her peers and whipped up some Midori Sours for them. He pretended to listen to their chatter while keeping an eye on Emma. The men were trying their best to impress, but it was rather clear the girls not enjoying their company.

Jack refilled the pitcher once but determined he wouldn’t do it again. He didn’t like how loud they’d gotten. Emma went over to play pool, and the tall loud one jumped up to follow her and stumbled. Jack couldn’t listen to the bimbos anymore, so he moved to the center of the bar. He watched as Emma plucked a pole from the wall and chalked it up. The tall one tried to put his arms around her.

“Let me show you how to play! Come on!”

Emma shook her head and racked up the balls instead.

“You’re going to choke that rag to death, I think,” noted a voice in front of him.

He kept his eyes on Emma while he released his grip. “You need a drink, princess?” Jack glanced at his knuckles, which had been white, and then at Shannon.

“You have a few roofies back there I could slip these guys? If these crotch lobsters would just leave already, we could get back to having some fun.” She tapped her glass. “I’d love whatever you gave us before—the salty caramel one—and one for Emma too.”

Jack whipped up two more and handed one to Shannon. “I’ll deliver this one.” He carried it out from behind the bar.

Emma’s mean game of pool was pissing off the tall one. He tried harder and harder to get her attention—and then gave up. As Jack crossed the room, he began accusing her of cheating. She sank one after another, and when she sunk the eight ball, he had a full-out fit.

“Son of a bitch! I want a rematch. That’s just fucked.” He came closer and closer to Emma, spitting with his words.

Jack set the glass down on the pool table and staggered a bit—a flash of Emma lying on top of it, her arms reaching out to him, was so real he was momentarily blind with the vision.

Emma tried to back away from the tall one, but the wall stopped her. “No. I’m good. I want to get back to my girls.”

“The Hell with that. You’ve got to rack them again.” He pointed at her with the pool stick.

The man hadn’t really been violent—yet. But something deep within Jack began to burn. Only later, when he was explaining the situation to the police, did Jack realize he’d had no real reason for teaching the tall one what his teeth tasted like.

Jack pushed on the tall guy’s chest and slid between him and Emma. Jack was smaller, but he’d never lost a fight in his life. And there’d been a shitload of them. Besides, standing in front of Emma felt like the most important thing he’d ever done. Jack didn’t warn the guy or threaten him, he just punched him so goddamn hard he went down like a sack of bricks.

He felt Emma grab his shoulders. “Stop, Jack. Don’t kill him!”

He turned, knowing it would be a while before the guy was able to stand.

He wanted to apologize, to double check that she was okay, but standing this close to her, he could only do the most amazing thing. He leaned down to kiss her lips.

Emma had never felt a kiss in her toes before. But damn if her knees didn’t go all weak. He wrapped his arms around her and made sure she stayed standing, splaying his hands across her back.

She needed to breathe a moment—and find out if this desperately good kisser was also a murderer—but instead she grabbed two fistfuls of his long brown hair. For a moment she saw him in the sunlight, in some sort of drink-inspired daydream. He was tan and smiling in a bed in the middle of the woods. It made no sense at all.

She pulled away to make sure she was still in the bar. The mirage had been so lifelike. His sexy eyes were half closed, and he gave up a deep, grumbly laugh.

“Do I know you?” she asked. It felt like she was missing something vital, just out of her reach.