Chapter 8
Eight
Sabine
I’m on my second beer when a man steps up beside me.
“Is this seat taken?” he asks in a southern accent almost as thick as the beard on his face.
I take him in, tall, thick, with kind blue eyes that sparkle with clarity—which means he’s not drunk. Which means he’s safe.
“Have a seat.”
The man settles in next to me. I catch the scent of motor oil on his skin. An auto mechanic, then. A good guy to know when you drive a vehicle that was eligible for the “antique car” license plate.
“I’ve got twenty on the Razorbacks,” he jerks his chin to the television, then leans in, “but don’t tell anyone that. Name’s Rick.”
“Your secret’s safe with me, Rick. I’m Sabine, and which one is the razorbacks?”
Rick snorts. “Not a football fan, then.”
“No.”
“The Razorbacks are in red; Louisiana is in white.”
I glance at the LSU T-shirts that some of the men around the pool table are wearing. “Now I see why you want to keep that a secret.”
Southerners are nothing if not loyal to the home team.
“Where are you from?” He asks.
“Las Vegas.”
“No kidding.”
I slid him the side-eye. “I’m not a stripper, Rick.”
“Dammit.” He winks, then asks what brought me to the Deep South.
Before I can conjure up a lie, I hear the door open behind us. A rush of warm air sweeps in, carrying on it a spicy, warm scent I’m very familiar with. A rush of awareness flies over my skin like a tidal wave. My pulse skyrockets and I suddenly find it hard to breathe.
I’m vaguely aware of Rick asking if I’m okay, but I can’t speak.
It’s not Wednesday or Saturday.
It can’t be him.
My eyes are glued straight ahead as Rick looks over his shoulder at the man whose shadow sweeps over me like a blanket.
“Sabine.”
My stomach falls to the floor.
Rick is now looking back and forth between us. “Uh, sorry, my man, but this seat’s taken.”
Flashbacks of Astor almost killing a man for speaking to me while at a charity gala in New York sends a shot of adrenaline through my veins.
Not again.
I’m just about to surge up and run away before the fight breaks out when I catch the glint of something gold.
Astor’s tanned hand slides between Rick and I, those strong, masculine fingers that can work miracles between my legs.
A gold Patek Philippe wristwatch is placed on the bar top.
“Not anymore,” Astor says to Rick.
“Holy shit!” Rick gawks at the watch worth seven figures, then, like a kid finding a twenty-dollar bill, he snatches the watch, slips it into his pocket and shoots off the barstool, disappearing before Astor can change his mind.
Astor lingers behind me. The blood rushing through my ears is almost deafening.
“May I sit, Sabine?”
I say nothing because it feels like a rubber band has been wrapped around my lungs.
His cologne sweeps past me as he settles onto the stool. Every sexual sensor in my body awakens. Every memory of our time together, every feeling I had, every smile, every laugh, every touch, every sensation barrels into me with the force of a logging truck.
“Whiskey on the rocks,” he orders from Josh, the barman.
We sit in silence until his drink is delivered.
I still haven't looked at him.
He takes a long, deep sip.
Suddenly, the lights flicker on and off, and Josh claps his hands, startling me.
“Alright everyone! Listen up! We’re closing early tonight. Everyone out.” He gestures to the crowd like cattle. “Come on, right now. Get up, get out. Your tabs have been covered, just get the hell out.”
Frowning, I begin to stand. Josh looks at me, winks. “Not you.”
It takes under ten seconds to clear the room once the promise of paid tabs has been made. Josh locks the door, turns off the “Open” sign, and returns to the bar.
“Can I get you anything else, Mr. Stone.”
Mr. Stone?
“No thanks, Josh. How’s Katie?”
With a spark of father’s pride, Josh smiles. “She’s doing good. Thank you.” He swallows deeply and I squint at the hint of tears in the tattooed barman’s eyes.
What is going on?
“Thank you, again, for everything.” Josh clears this throat. “Okay. I’ll leave you two to it. I’ll be in the office, if you need anything. Help yourself to whatever you want behind the bar and don’t hesitate to come get me.” He lingers on Astor, then raps his knuckles on the bar, and disappears.
I look at Astor, the strong lines of his gorgeous face, the fire and determination in his expression.
“You paid him to watch me, didn’t you?” I ask in barely a whisper because I’m still struggling to find my voice.
“I paid him to look after you as you wouldn't allow me to. I did what I had to do.”
“No. You did what you wanted to do. I can take care of myself, Astor.”
He leans in, his dark eyes twinkling under the dim bar lights. “I know you can, Sabine. And you’re stronger than I am because I can’t seem to take care of a single thing in my life without you being in it.”