Chapter One #2
She lifts one delicate shoulder. “I’ll ask Cal. He liked me.” She looks beyond me. “Oh, Cal! Woo-hoo!” She waves a hand in the air to get the other man’s attention.
I turn and shake my head at the bartender.
“Sorry,” Cal says loudly.
She sighs. “You’re mean.”
“And you’re drunk.” I pick up her glass, turn and put it in the rack before facing her again.
She sits with both elbows on the bar, a forlorn look on her face.
I sigh. “Okay, what’s the problem?” I ask, knowing if I’m behind the bar, I have no choice but to play psychiatrist without a diploma.
First, I pour her a soda from the tap, then I walk over and place it in front of her with a new straw, prepared to listen.
“My parents are pressuring me to get together with a guy of their choosing.” She makes a disgusted face, letting me know what she thinks of the man.
I shake my head. Typical rich parents with 18th-century expectations.
Marry off their beautiful daughter to someone equally wealthy and acceptable in their eyes.
I saw it so often during my years on Wall Street, watched it up close at dinner parties I was invited to.
Though I was new to their world, I also came up quickly, made a name for myself and was considered a prime catch.
I almost feel sorry for the princess, but I have no doubt with the right man, she’d be all in to do what her parents ask of her. All the women in her social circle do. And though I wanted the money, having grown up solidly lower middle class, it wasn’t my scene. Something I learned pretty quickly.
“They had a party tonight with the typical Hamptons crowd,” she says, bringing me out of my thoughts. “I escaped to the library to get away from everyone and he found me.” She wipes her lips with the back of her hand, and I stiffen.
“Did he touch you?”
She nods. “He planted a big slobbery kiss on me. But I kicked him in the balls and ran out.”
I’m unable to stifle a laugh at her actions, but the thought of any man putting a hand on her soft skin has my temper rising. Though she’s definitely too young for me, I can’t deny the initial attraction. One I’ll ignore.
She lets out a loud sigh. “Now can I have another drink?”
I shake my head. “Sorry. You’re officially cut off for the night.”
“Boss, you’re needed in the kitchen,” one of the bar backs calls out.
I glance at the young woman who is checking her phone. “I’ll be right back.”
I walk to the kitchen and through the swinging door where I find myself in the middle of an argument between a busboy and waitress who’ve been dating.
Doing my best not to lose my temper, I remind them that if they can’t get along, one of them will have to go.
The duo, I’m not certain if they are still a couple, rush back to work.
Another fifteen to twenty minutes pass, during which I put out a few more fires, reminding me of why I prefer to have things run without me in the kitchen. Problems are typically solved by the staff if they don’t have the manager to run interference.
By the time I make my way back to the bar, the crowd has grown, the crowd is hopping and Cal has been joined by Eddie, the newest summer hire. While Cal is professionally moving between the patrons, removing full drinks and serving fresh ones, Eddie lingers at the far end of the bar.
It’s obvious why. The pretty princess has an empty glass in front of her, and I watch as the bartender swaps it for a fresh margarita.
Then, instead of moving to the next person waiting, he leans closer and begins to chat, while she flutters her lashes and stirs the new drink she shouldn’t have been served.
I stride over and swoop up the glass before she can put those slick, freshly glossed lips around the straw.
“Eddie, get back to work!” I bark, tilting my head toward a point away from the customers. “We’ll talk soon.”
“Yeah, boss.” The man slinks away, and I turn to join him for a reprimand.
“Oh, come on, party pooper. Eddie had no issue serving me,” my princess complains.
I ignore my automatic use of the pronoun. She’s already on a first name basis with both my bartenders and is now slurring her words, something that wouldn’t have happened if Eddie did his job instead of flirting with her.
I turn back to find her wrinkling her nose in a pout I find too cute. I need to get control of this situation, starting with something I should have done earlier, but I trusted Cal. Still do, but I need to see for myself.
“Are you sure you’re twenty-one?” I ask.
She hiccups. “Twenty-two.” She holds up two fingers. “See?”
“How about a license and not the peace sign?”
She rolls her eyes and leans down, probably to find her handbag, nearly toppling to the floor. The guy nearest her steps aside instead of helping.
“Jackass,” I mutter. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” She slides off the chair and kneels this time, her head disappearing beneath the bar before she pops up, purse in hand. “Got it!” She fishes inside, retrieves a small, zippered pouch with a familiar logo on the side, and finally hands me her license.
I study it with interest. “Gabriella Annabelle Davenport.” I say the mouthful out loud.
“My friends call me Gabby,” she says, now leaning both arms on the counter, looking like she needs to be held up.
Something I really wouldn’t mind doing, which tells me I need my head examined, both because I recognize her last name—assuming she is Aaron Davenport of Davenport Securities’ daughter—and at…yes, twenty-two, I am ten years her senior.
“Okay, Gabby—”
She bursts out laughing, interrupting me. “I lied! Nobody calls me Gabby except my sister. And now you. You’re my friend, right?”
“Not if that means you think I’m giving you another drink,” I say.
She sticks her little tongue out in response and dammit, my mind goes into overdrive, imagining all the things she could do with that soft tongue, like lick the length of my stiff dick.
“How about you give me your address, and I’ll call an Uber to take you home?”
She shakes her head, her blonde waves creating a halo around her head before settling back on her bare shoulders. “No. I do not want to go back there.” Her eyes are glassy but determined.
Recalling what she told me happened to her earlier tonight, I can’t be a bastard and insist she go home. Besides, her license, which I put on the counter in front of her, has a New York City address, and I have no idea where her parents’ summer home is located.
“Okay, is there someone else you can call for a ride? Or a friend whose house you can go to?”
She replaces her license in the small zipper purse and shoves it back into her bag. “I don’t have any friends I trust enough to help me,” she says quietly.
An odd statement, I think. “Somehow I doubt someone as chatty as you are doesn’t have girlfriends.” I cock an eyebrow.
“I’m different,” she says, not meeting my gaze, and something in my chest twists at the honest admission.
“How about we sober you up and discuss it more after?”
“Boss?” This time it’s Sheila who calls for me, coming up beside Gabby. “I need you. There’s an obnoxious patron giving Lizzie a hard time,” she says of one of our newer waitresses.
I nod. “Coming.” I look at Gabby. “I’ll have Cal get you some coffee and water. Later, I’ll make sure you get home safe.” As the acting bar manager, it’s my responsibility.
And that’s true, but my gut tells me my need to look out for her goes deeper. Something that makes no sense. Not for a woman I just met and is too young for me.
I give her one last glance, and her gaze locks with mine, definite interest in her expression. Double shit. I don’t need the unwanted feeling reciprocated.
“I need to go deal with that problem,” I tell her in a gruff voice. “But I’ll be back.”
I’m about to turn when she speaks. “Wait.”
“What is it?”
She rubs one finger over her pouty bottom lip in a gesture I don’t think she means as seductive. But it is.
“I don’t know your name,” she says.
“It’s Maddox.” I turn to go deal with the problem up front.
“Sexy name for a sexy guy,” Gabby murmurs.
I hear the words as I take my first step away and my ego preens at the compliment. My unruly cock likes it, too. She’s more trouble than I originally thought.
Trouble in a sweet yet sultry, innocent yet vixenish package.
One I’ll have a problem resisting if I don’t get her home and away from me.
Soon. I’ve already had one experience with a rich woman slumming with a bar manager.
While I was thinking about the future, she was using me until summer ended.
Lesson learned. Unfortunately, I’ve been celibate ever since, which makes my attraction to Gabby harder to ignore.
But I will.
A couple of hours later, the bar is still busy. Cal offers to close for me, a job the other man often handles.
I’ve been keeping an eye on, and my distance from, Gabby as she drinks coffee and stares into the cup as if she’ll find life’s answers inside.
Unable to ignore her any longer, I come up behind her and tap her bare shoulder, finding her skin soft and welcoming under my calloused fingertips.
She turns in her seat. “Maddox!” she exclaims like she hasn’t seen me in days.
“Okay, princess. Time’s up. Where do you live?” With any luck, her parents’ party is over by now, and she can go home.
“My car is in the back parking lot, but don’t worry, I know I can’t drive.”
One battle I don’t have to fight. “Okay, so let’s call you an Uber. What’s your address?”
She bats those long lashes and treats me to a sweet smile and a lazy shrug. “I don’t remember,” she says, giving away her lie with an adorable smirk. She slides off the stool and attempts to stand but is wobbly on her heels and they aren’t all that high.
Still drunk.
Jesus. I step forward and slide an arm around her waist, intending to steady her. The move has her falling against me. I try to grab her and accidentally brush the side of her full breast with my hand.
I pray she doesn’t notice, but she stills at my touch and instead of pulling away, she leans further into me.
Her strawberry scent reaches my nostrils, and I breathe in deep, my body too aware of her body heat against me. All night I’ve been trying not to react to the strange pull I feel toward her, and now she’s in my arms.
“What am I going to do with you?” I ask in a rough whisper.
I can’t leave her here. Can’t force her to give up her address. Nor do I want to take her somewhere she doesn’t feel safe, even if that is her home.
The answer nudges at me, and I try to think of any solution other than taking her to my half-finished house and letting her stay over. But damned if I can come up with an alternative.
With a groan, I shift her so she once again stands on her own two feet. “Okay, princess. Let’s go.”
She looks up at me with trusting eyes. Too trusting, considering the desire that rides me and insists I put her to sleep in my bed. Beside me. And when she wakes up tomorrow, sober, I can settle myself on top of her and slide my now hard-as-nails cock into her soft, wet, willing body.
Which will not be happening.
“Where are we going?” she asks.
“My place. I have a guestroom,” I mutter and help her weave around the crowd.
As I pass the hostess stand, Sheila shoots me a questioning look. Not once since I took this job have I left with a customer. I don’t want to think about how bad it looks as I walk out with my arm around Gabby.
When we reach my Wrangler, I help her into the passenger seat, grab the seatbelt and reach over to buckle her in.
“You’re such a gentleman,” she says, her slur heavier now that she can relax and let the alcohol inside her system take over.
I shake my head. “And you’re lucky I am. Imagine if someone other than me found you tonight.” My hands curl into fists at the thought. I shut her door and come around the driver’s side.
I drive to my house, a fixer-upper on the beach I invested a huge chunk of savings in to buy and renovate myself.
After my years working on Wall Street, trying to be someone I’m not in order to make money to help my parents and younger brother, I found myself miserable despite the wealth.
I retreated from that life and returned to my roots, working with my hands, managing a bar, and feeling better about the man I want to be.
Apparently, that man has a savior complex when it comes to one particular drunk, rich, pretty young woman. Who knew?
By the time I reach my place, a short ten-minute drive, she’s fallen asleep against the door. I park in my driveway and turn off the ignition, climbing out and walking around to the passenger side.
I open the door, making sure to catch her before she leans too far outside the car, unbuckle her seatbelt, and lift her into my arms. Her breasts press against my chest, allowing me to feel her curves and imagine those breasts bare, her nipples dusky pink and rigid with need.
Sucking in a sharp breath, I ignore my uncomfortable hard-on and walk the three steps up to the front door.
Her eyes open at the bouncing motion. Emerald-green orbs stare up at me, but instead of wariness, I see more trust, backed up when she doesn’t try to wiggle out of my grasp and stand on her own.
Instead, she lets out a contented sigh, wraps her arms around my neck and lays her head against my chest. Desire ramps up inside me, thoughts of peeling off her oh-so appropriate silk top and suckling on her tight nipples rushing through my head.
Fuck.
I’m going to hell for the things I want to do with the woman in my arms. Even knowing our age difference, I can’t convince myself it matters. Not in my daydreams, anyway. Reality is a whole different ballgame. I am a master at self-control.
Even so, I have no doubt I’ll jerk off to that vision in the shower, then toss and turn, the scent of strawberries forever embedded in my brain.