The cousin of the bride was at the bar again. Yesterday she had been reeled in by Xavier’s magic tricks, and no doubt, his charm, but, Luke noted, she blatantly avoided the younger Stone today.

“What can I get you?” he asked. The good mood she’d been in earlier had disappeared and she now seemed downcast and was trying to hide it. But eyes didn’t lie, and her soft brown ones gave it away.

“A bloody Mary, please.”

“A bloody Mary, coming right up, but,” his bartender persona switched into gear and he placed his forearms on the bar top, bringing his head down to her level. “Are you sure you wouldn’t want something more adventurous?”

He had an easy way with girls, and he always attracted their attention, even back at The Oasis, where people knew who he was. He was used to the attention, and used to extricating himself from over-eager customers, but it still never stopped the women from making their intentions known to him.

Kay’s seemingly melancholy mood, in such stark contrast to how she had been before, piqued his curiosity. This woman looked as if she could do with some company, and a part of him felt sorry for her. She should have been dancing the night away instead of being at the bar alone.

“I don’t know,” she replied, picking up the cocktail list he’d put together for this event. “What do you recommend?”

“What do you usually like?” Some liked their cocktails to be like milkshakes, others liked them strong and reeking of alcohol.

“How about a Slow Comfortable Screw Against The Wall?”

He wasn’t prepared for that one. She held his gaze as the double entendre slipped through his ears and ignited the fire that would give him a boner, if she carried on talking like that.

“I can get you one of those,” he replied slowly, noting the sudden change in her temperament. Whatever it was that had dampened her mood, seemed to have suddenly disappeared.

Her full lips parted into a smile. “I look forward to it,” she purred, sending a shooting star of excitement through his body.

She was forward this one, nothing like Savannah. But he was used to it. It wasn’t the first time he’d had a customer proposition him with one of those. In his line of work, he got chatted up all the time. “Be careful what you wish for,” he replied, returning the smirk. “I’ll whip you up one of those and add my unique twist to it.”

“Whip away,” she replied, leaning forward, the tops of her breasts were pushed up to the hilt and on display in her low-cut fuchsia colored dress. Her dress, and her breasts, were hard to ignore.

She was obviously looking to make an impression.

He got busy, making up her cocktail, and threw her a sidelong glance. She looked as if she had the weight of the world on her shoulders, and he wondered if Xavier had had anything to do with this.

“Here you go,” he said, sliding the glass her way.

She took a sip, “Hmmm.” She licked her lips suggestively. “It’s delicious. Not too sweet, and not overly alcoholic. Nice. Dangerously nice. Have one with me,” she said, her French manicured nails circling slowly around the rim of the glass.

He shuddered involuntarily, trying to rein in his response. “I shouldn’t.” He didn’t like to drink on duty, even though he could, because he wasn’t supposed to be on duty. He had simply chosen to be behind the bar because it meant he didn’t get hassled. From behind the safety of the bar enclosure, he could operate in stealth-mode, at a great vantage point, and could easily see and hear most things. It was amazing how much information and secrets people willingly gave up, and how loose their tongues became after a few drinks.

“Please,” she begged, squeezing her shoulders and pushing her breasts together. His heart missed a beat, and the visual created a stirring below.

Hell. Why not? It was past midnight, and it had been a long day. Everything had gone well, and, importantly, Tobias had been pleased with the service.

“A drink, then,” he said, pouring himself a scotch.

“No Slow Comfortable Screw Against The Wall for you?” she asked, her eyes falling to his arms, and trailing along his tattoos.

“I prefer a scotch. Cheers,” he declared, lifting his glass to hers.

“To Savannah, and Tobias, the happy, happy, happy couple,” she declared.

“Amen.”

“To all the happy couples everywhere,” she added.

He paused, then followed suit. “To all the happy couples everywhere.” If she believed that shit then who was he to argue?

“Are you one half of a happy couple?” she asked. And there it was. The question. The one he got asked almost every night he was at the bar.

“No.” At some point during any of his conversations, this question always reared its head. Women always seemed curious about his status.

“You must be freaking kidding me,” she shrieked in surprise. “I don’t believe you.”

He forced a smile, almost gave a half-shrug of his shoulders, and noticed her gaze drift over to his biceps and stay there a few seconds.

“How come?” she asked, clearing her throat, forcing her gaze to his eyes. “How come a good looking guy like you isn’t with anybody?”

“I could say the same about you.” Not because he was interested, but because, what sort of answer could he give to a question like that? He gave her the once over as he lifted the glass to his lips again. Her honey blonde hair framed her face and hung in waves around her shoulders, and yet her eyebrows were a darker shade. He’d bet she wasn’t blonde down there. Not a natural blonde.

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