My Daring Seduction. Isabel Sharpe

Maybe sugar around the glass rims instead.”

      “Yes, ma’am, boss woman.”

      She’d opened her mouth to correct him to Lindsay, when Denver’s hand gripped her upper arm, making her hiss like an ambushed feline. She did not like being touched unexpectedly, especially from behind.

      “Whoa.” His hand gentled immediately. “You’re on edge even for you.”

      “I’m fine. What do you want?”

      “I just need a minute.”

      She nodded briskly, pulling out of his grasp. “Justin, if Casey isn’t here in five, call her cell and light a fire under her ass, okay?”

      “You can count on me, babe.”

      “Lindsay.”

      “No problem, Lindsay-babe.”

      She countered his boyish smile with a withering look and shooed him back into the bar, then crossed her arms over her chest and turned to Denver, who was leaning casually against her desk. “So, guy, what’s up?”

      He smiled at her imitation of Justin. “You want it straight?”

      “I always do.” She hugged herself tighter and had to remind herself to keep her shoulders from stiffening up toward her ears. Not more bad news. Gina had hinted she’d be asking for a “raise” soon and Lindsay needed time with the books, time alone, time to let herself deal with the threat.

      “Casey quit. She’s pregnant and sick and can’t handle the long hours on her feet.” He spoke quietly but she saw the concern in his eyes.

      “Okay.” Lindsay nodded calmly, while her insides shouted, No, not Casey, not now. “She told you today?”

      “She called my cell.”

      “Right.” She banished the jolt of irritation at the idea of Casey knowing Denver’s cell number and went over the schedule in her mind. “I’ll work tomorrow’s Martinis and Bikinis party. How long before you can get someone new?”

      He shook his head.

      She frowned. “That long?”

      “No, not the new hire.”

      “What now?”

      He pushed himself away from her desk and came to stand a foot away. She had to make herself not step back. “You.”

      “What are you talking about?” She felt like growling. She had enough on her plate without psychoanalysis.

      “Don’t you let anything out?” He put his hands on his hips, taller than her five-ten height by a good number of inches. “I picture this seething mess of emotions inside you. Like snakes trapped in a box.”

      “Why, Denver, how literary.”

      His jaw set. She couldn’t help smirking. What did he want, that she’d break down crying because she’d have to work harder than hard until they found a replacement? She was born on a Saturday, “Saturday’s child works hard for a living.” She wasn’t afraid of work. Work was healthy, clean and constructive.

      So if he thought she’d lay her head on his big sturdy chest, blubber into his manly-man strength and allow that he was more powerful and capable and superior than she, he had another think coming.

      Staff quit, that was part of the business. She marched to the door of her office and called out to Justin. “Cancel order to harass Casey, she’s not coming in.”

      “Gotcha, big lady.” He grinned at her scowl. “Big lady Lindsay.”

      She rolled her eyes and turned back into her office, feeling brittle and tenuous, as if one more push was going to send her over and maybe she’d need that manly-man chest after all.

      Except she didn’t. Life had taught her she could handle a lot more crap with a lot less trauma than most people.

      Her private phone rang. She half lunged for it then stopped herself. Lindsay’s panic would be immediately apparent to Mr. See-Everything. Then she panicked anyway and lunged again, encountering Denver’s hand already on the receiver before she snatched hers away and retreated.

      He had a brief conversation, watching her the whole time, a conversation that sounded as if another waitress was coming in late tonight, damn it. She imagined herself on the surface of the moon, everything bright, vast, calm, quiet, in the control of forces much bigger than her.

      “Margaret’s going to be late. Meltdown on the Mass Pike.”

      Lindsay nodded. “I’ll cover.”

      “When was your last day off?”

      “Don’t patronize me.”

      “It’s a simple question.”

      “I don’t do days off.”

      “You need to.” His tone was matter-of-fact, but his gaze was relentless. “You can fool most of the people most of the time but you can’t fool me.”

      “Give me a break.” She broke away from the hold of his gaze, busying herself with the bar schedule. She hated when he got sweet and probing like this. Hated the weakness in her he seemed to be able to generate, the small persistent desire to unburden herself. Why him? Why not her three new half sisters? She was starting to feel close to and trust Brooke, the gentlest, eldest Winfield sister, though she got a real kick out of spunky Joey and bubbly Katie.

      She resented that Denver had such power and that resentment made her harsher with him than she wanted to be. Which she also hated.

      Last on her hate list? That she had the feeling he understood all of the above.

      “Come swimming with me tonight after work.”

      “What?” She swung around to face him. Was he asking her out? In what capacity? As a friend? A date? “Swimming?”

      “Yeah. Immerse self in water, propel self through said liquid with coordinated motion of arms and legs.” He mimicked the front crawl arm circles.

      She couldn’t help a smile. “Got it.”

      “The neighbors are on a Greek island with my parents and let me use their indoor pool while they’re gone. It’s built in a glass extension to their house, so you can see the sky through the ceiling. You’d love it.”

      She stood silently, imagining the two of them alone past midnight, sneaking a wintry moonlit swim in a stranger’s empty house and wanted to go with a force that shocked her.

      “Um…I don’t think so.”

      “Think it over.”

      “Thanks, really. But no.” She managed to sound more sure that time, picked up an inventory off her desk and scanned it blindly. The paper flew out of her hands; she whipped around and snatched it back.

      “One of these days, Lindsay.” He was leaning too close, watching her too closely, undoubtedly getting much too close to the truth of her emotional state. As usual.

      “One of what days?” She pretended not to know, pretended not to care, pretended to herself that he couldn’t tell she was pretending. His chin was smooth-shaven, he smelled good, he was solid and masculine and everything she’d always fantasized about, excepting the silver spoon upbringing. Damn him to hell.

      “One of these days you’re going to let me inside.”

      “Or else what?” Her heart had jumped, was still jumping, like a maniac who’d just won the lottery. Inside? She knew what he meant but the way it sounded…

      “No ‘or else.’ It’s just fact.”

      Any other guy would get a sock in the nose trying such bullshit on her. But Denver managed to make the lines sound as much of a sure thing as his control over what he’d have for dinner that night.

      “So