Brazen. Carly Phillips

she be working?”

      “She’s served a few glasses while you were upstairs. Broke a few, too,” Zee muttered.

      “Why the slippery fingers?”

      “She didn’t like Hardy’s hand on her rump.” The old man’s cackle filled his ears, but his expression quickly sobered. “Her Mama broke her hip coming out of the tub and her mind’s not on work.”

      Mac muttered a curse, knowing he couldn’t keep Theresa here when she was needed at home. Even if this was one of the busiest nights. “I’ll talk to her. Anything else I should know?”

      “Hardy’s behind the bar watering down the drinks. Earl’s downing more than he’s serving, and the sexy lady’s luggage is in the corner,” Zee informed him.

      “And what are you doing?”

      “Checking IDs at the door. Less than a C-cup means no entry.” The old man grinned.

      “Come on, Zee. You know we can’t discriminate. On Ladies’ Night, it’s illegal. If they even have a cup size, let ’em in free.”

      His chuckle pleased Mac. Better than seeing the old guy moping and depressed, Mac thought. He loved the man who’d treated him as well as he treated his own son.

      “Want me to take the lady her bags?”

      “No, thanks, I can handle it.” Mac didn’t trust Zee not to sneak a peek, so he brought Samantha’s luggage upstairs on his own. Not that he wasn’t tempted to catch a glimpse himself, but the large crowd and an obligation to his friend had him running down the back stairs to work. If Samantha was a typical woman when it came to getting ready, he wouldn’t be seeing her for a while.

      Since he definitely needed some time to get his libido under control, he didn’t mind. He’d given the lady time to decide. It didn’t matter that his body protested with throbbing intensity. Nice guys lived uncomfortably by their word…and they didn’t get lucky, either. Resettling his cap on his head, Mac rounded the corner of the bar and got to work.

      Not fifteen minutes later, the woman who’d caused his aroused state walked back into the bar. He should have known. There was nothing typical about his Samantha.

      

      SHE GRABBED THE FIRST cushioned bar stool she could find, not an easy task on Ladies’ Night, and propped her arms on the bar. Beneath her elbows, pennies, Abe Lincoln-side up, stared at her from under the scratched glass. Sam—she decided the name fit and she intended to keep it—was enchanted by the timeworn ambience of the bar.

      Used to frequenting places like Lincoln Center and upscale restaurants in New York, she appreciated the chance to kick back and relax in a comfortable setting. Relaxing was a relative term, since Mac stood not a few feet away at the end of the bar, engrossed in conversation with a young woman. Judging by the white apron tied around her waist, the woman was his cocktail waitress and she didn’t look happy.

      Although Sam couldn’t hear their conversation, it was obviously serious. Mac shook his head, then made his way to the cash register and handed money to the woman, who tried to push the cash back into his hands. Mac refused. The young woman then threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tight.

      Whatever had transpired between them was obviously business, and yet the twisting in Sam’s stomach when the other woman touched Mac couldn’t be ignored. Feeling like an outsider, not to mention a jealous female—and not liking either—Sam shrugged and turned her attention away. Seconds later, Mac returned to the center of the bar.

      He immediately began hustling between customers, serving liquor to smiling females. Sam could drink in his quick, sure movements all night. He was a study in masculine grace, if there was such a thing, easily grabbing glasses and tipping bottles as if he’d been doing this all his life. For all she knew, he had been.

      Not for the first time, she realized she knew nothing about this man, except he set her body on fire with a sizzling look and, on some level, she trusted him. She’d be a fool to sleep with him otherwise.

      She knew Mac could provide passion. His touch set off heated sparks and his voice shook her soul. If she wanted fun, excitement and hot nights in bed, she’d fallen into the right bar. Think about it…and let me know. Yearning mixed with trepidation. All she had to do was push her fears aside long enough to make the first move. The thought of Tom and a lifetime of single beds or separate rooms if she could manage it, clinched her decision.

      “Hey, honey. Can I buy you a drink?”

      She recognized one of the old men who’d cornered her when she first came in. “Sure.”

      “Hey, Mac,” the old guy yelled across the crowded bar. “Two shots of tequila…and don’t forget the lemon.”

      Mac turned their way long enough to raise an eyebrow at the request before finishing off other orders and making his way toward them. A nervous knot settled in the pit of her stomach. Her throat went dry, and Sam knew what she wanted. That was the easy part.

      Letting him know would be harder.

      He paused directly in front of her, bracing his hands on the old wood. Even the dark hair on his arms intrigued her, making her wonder what the texture would feel like if she ran her hands along his bare chest. “Tequila?”

      She shrugged nonchalantly, though she felt anything but. “That’s what the man said.”

      “That’s Zee to you, honey. And none of that watered-down crap Bear usually gives us,” he told Mac.

      Mac glanced at her. “You sure about that?”

      “Why not?”

      “Ever drink tequila before?”

      She shook her head.

      “That’s why.” But he began working on their order, turning over two shot glasses and filling them with amber-colored liquid.

      “Who’s Bear?” Sam asked.

      “The guy who owns this joint,” Zee said.

      “Your employer?”

      “He owns the place and I’m working it. You tell me.” Mac set the glasses down in front of them, along with a saltshaker and a bowl of lemons. He slid the rest of the bottle over to Zee. “Go easy,” he said, and turned to the people next to her.

      The bar crowd had more than quadrupled since she’d arrived, and Mac worked the room alone without a moment’s break. “He looks overworked.”

      Zee nodded. “And underpaid.”

      “I heard that.” Mac shot the old man a quelling look.

      She tipped her head to the side. “Hard work’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

      “He gave his cocktail waitress the night off,” Zee explained.

      “I thought I just saw her here,” Sam said.

      “You did. But Mac here thought she’d be better off baby-sitting her sick mama than catering to us old men. Even paid her the night’s wages…though she won’t make any tips.”

      And that explained the transaction she’d witnessed earlier along with the woman’s hug of gratitude. Sam felt like a jerk.

      She blinked and looked at Mac, who’d gone back to serving other customers.

      “That was nice of him,” she murmured. She’d not only stumbled onto a sexy man, but he played Sir Galahad, to boot. Warmth spread through her as she acknowledged that this man had character as well as good looks.

      “Boy’s got a heart of gold. Always has. ’Course, it doesn’t make up for his sour disposition.”

      Mac paused in front of them. “You bring out the best in me, old man,” he chuckled wryly. The light in his eyes and the laugh lines bracketing his mouth sent tremors of awareness shooting toward strategic