Everyone had lost their damn minds—including Vince. That was the only excuse for what had happened at the paintball range earlier in the day. But in the light of a full moon, the crazy started spreading like the fire he’d put out in the bar’s bathroom only two hours into his shift—and the fuckery hadn’t stopped there.
So far, he’d broken up three fights—one of which resulted in a phone call to the local sheriff’s department—fished a drunk coed out of their Dumpster—don’t ask—and dodged no less than a dozen ass-grab attempts by Bea Nicholas and her quilting circle.
Vince filled one order after another, slowly making his way to the end of the bar where the head Grabby Hands herself waited, more mischief sparking in her eyes the closer he got. He reached beneath the counter for a crate of clean mugs and received a sharp sting on his left ass-cheek.
This night couldn’t end any fucking sooner.
Forcing a deep breath, Vince slowly stood and locked the older woman in his sights.
“Behave, Bea.” He pointed a warning finger at the eighty-some-year-old.
“Oh, honey. I’ve spent most of my life misbehaving. I can’t change now,” she teased, not a speck of remorse anywhere to be seen. Her crew of ladies howled in laughter behind her. “Besides, it was an accident. My hand slipped.”
Her friends continued their hyena-type laughter. Jesus. Octogenarian misfits, the entire damn lot of them.
“When your hands start developing a mind of their own, it’s time to water down the drinks,” Vince said dryly.
“Now, there’s no need to get hasty.” Bea looked appalled at the idea of being cut off. “I’ll tell you what, hon…agree to be the male model for our senior art class, and I bet you’ll find my hands will keep to themselves.”
He didn’t want to fucking ask, but the words left his lips anyway. “Don’t people pose naked for those kinds of classes?”
“Your point?” Bea wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.
“What’s wrong, Navy? Afraid to shed your skivvies for a roomful of art enthusiasts?” came Charlie’s sultry, English-accented voice. Goddamn, it was the voice of a phone sex operator—not that he knew what one of those sounded like.
Charlie, taking a break from her girls’ night across the room, whipped up two simultaneous batches of frozen margaritas and slid one pitcher Bea’s way along with a saucy wink. “You’re way too adventurous for Navy, Bea. You’d run circles around him.”
Vince shot the pink-haired thorn in his side a glare. “Because I don’t want to pose naked in front of a group of women with a fondness for pinching my ass? Like you’d do it?”
“I did. Last week.”
The mug in his hands slipped, splashing beer all over his jeans and shoes. Charlie. Naked. No clothes. His dick twitched at the mental image, one he should be familiar with by now considering he’d pictured it at least twice a fucking week. Hell, more.
“Dropped something there.” Charlie grinned. After lifting his jaw back into position, she hopped over the counter again, taking a full tray of drinks back to the other side of the room.
Vince forced his eyes off the sway of her ass and turned to a smirking Bea. “She didn’t seriously pose for you all, did she?”
The older woman sipped her margarita. “She sure did. She even promised to come back for couples’ week. I’d ask if you wanted to volunteer, but when I told him we’d already secured our lovely Charlie, that ridiculously handsome Beau brother, from the construction company in town, immediately offered his services. Maybe you could be his understudy…if he calls in sick.”
Vince caught himself grinding his back molars at the thought of Charlie posing with the oversexed douche. The guy had so many notches on his post that the damn thing couldn’t stay upright—and he boasted about each and every one of them.
“Behave.” He gestured to Bea’s group’s replenished margaritas. “Or I really will confiscate your drinks.”
Vince returned to his orders, walking away from the chorus of chuckles.
The town of Frederick didn’t have much in the way of a tourist flow, which made spotting the stranger at the end of the bar easy. Somewhere in his mid-thirties and dressed in a suit and tie, the man should’ve been in a boardroom instead of a country dive.
“What can I get you?” Vince asked.
The stranger’s attention remained fixed on the other side of the bar. Vince followed the man’s gaze, annoyance stirring his gut when he realized he was watching Charlie and the girls.
Vince cleared his throat and didn’t bother with pleasantries. “You need to either order a drink or get off the stool. Patrons only.”
Preppy Boy finally turned around. “I’ll take an ice water.”
Vince waited for the punch line, but when it didn’t come, he reached for a glass. He’d no sooner turned toward the tap machine when Preppy’s eyes slid back toward Charlie. He plunked the water down, making it splash on the countertop. “What else?”
“Nothing.” Preppy Boy reached for his drink. “Actually, you could hit me up with a little bartender gossip. The blonde? With the pink hair? Is she here most nights?”
Vince crossed his arms over his chest and heard his jaw crack.
At his silence, Preppy spared him a quick glance. “Oh, come on. You know, the hot little number who was over here a few minutes ago? The one with the perfect rack and killer ass?”
“I know who you’re talking about. I just have no intention of answering you, and if you knew what was good for you, you’d keep your distance.”
Preppy cocked up a suspiciously well-groomed eyebrow. “Are the two of you an item or something? Or are you playing the part of the big bad protector?”
“She’s not an item with anyone, and I don’t need to protect that woman from anything when she can do it all on her own. Just saving you the embarrassment of getting shot down—or knocked down. With her, it could go either way.”
Preppy took a sip of his drink. “Thanks for the advice, friend, but I can handle it—and her.”
Vince leaned closer to the bar and to the stranger, throwing a little extra menace into his tone. “Let me make myself a little clearer, friend. She’s not the type of woman who’s going to be handled—by you or anyone else. As a matter fact, none of the women in this joint are, so if you’re looking to cause trouble, you best walk away while you still have the use of both your legs.”
Vince almost wanted the ass-hat to argue because, not having been in the field for more than a week, he could use a little action. Unfortunately, Preppy stayed silent and gave a slight nod. Vince turned back to the waiting customers, barely missing an innocent Bea-grab, when his gaze caught a familiar pair of brown eyes watching him from the other side of the room.
Fuck. He really should start thinking about taking his own advice.
* * *
Charlie ripped her eyes away from the bar before the three women she’d claimed as best friends called her out on her distraction. Again. Despite the fact that they’d all met less than a year ago, they sometimes knew her thoughts better than she did, a side effect of having girlfriends to which she wasn’t yet accustomed. Any childhood friends she’d collected growing up had been kids whose parents had decided to stretch their legs at the same rest spot.
Learning through life experiences. That’s how her mom had once described their vagabond existence, hopping from country to country, never staying in one place for longer than a week or two. No classrooms. No school dances. No best friends—until now, which was why she tried bloody hard not to chase them away with her snark.
“Stop staring a hole through me. Please.” Charlie narrowed her eyes, focusing on the bull’s-eye in front of her. The dart flew from her fingers and missed its mark by three damn rings.
“I’ll stop staring when you tell us the truth,” Penny bartered from her perch on the stool. Fingering her red hair, she studied Charlie before throwing her attention toward Rachel and Elle. “You guys see it, too, right? I mean, I’m not completely off my game?”
“Definitely hiding something,” Elle agreed with a nod.
Rachel, at least, gave Charlie an apologetic look. “You have been a little off tonight.”
Charlie didn’t want to lie—something had been different since she’d stepped into the bar. Normally, meeting up with the girls meant a male-free night of fruity drinks, dirty jokes, and relaxation. Tonight, she simply felt plugged in…like her body was on a constant alert, prepped for something to happen.
She almost blamed Vince for the source of the itchy, hyperaware tingle on the back of her neck, but his attention warmed her body from the lady bits out; it didn’t make her feel like an entire colony of ants were doing the Irish jig on her spine.
“Fine.” Penny sighed. “You don’t want to tell us what’s on your mind. At least explain what you did to poor Vince when you went over to get our pitcher. He went from looking annoyed to shell-shocked, and then…I don’t know what that was when you walked away.”
“I may have mentioned my posing for Bea and the ladies at the rec center,” Charlie admitted.
Elle’s nose wrinkled up, the blonde deep in thought. “But why would that make him look like he’d walked in on his parents having sex?”
Rachel burst into laughter, nearly falling off her seat. “You didn’t tell him what kind of posing you were doing, did you?”
Charlie chuckled. “If his mind chose to go the dirty and naked route, who am I to steer him in the right direction?”
“Wait,” Penny interjected. “You posed nude?”
“My hands did. They were studying the bending of joints or something and needed someone who didn’t have arthritis yet. But my point’s that I—”
“Love seeing Vince squirm.”
Charlie shrugged, barely hiding her own grin. “A girl’s got to have a hobby, doesn’t she? Besides, I don’t know if you noticed, but it’s pretty damn hard to get a reaction out of the man. I have to take advantage of every opportunity that comes my way.”
Rachel’s attention shifted across the room. A ghost of a smile hovered over her lips. “I don’t know. He looks pretty reactive to me.”
Charlie couldn’t help but follow her friend’s gaze, and instantly regretted it. Rachel was right. Locked in their direction, Vince’s hazel eyes not only pierced through the room, but through her.
“I need the loo.” Charlie handed over the remaining darts to Elle. “Don’t shoot someone in the arse—at least until I get back and can drive the getaway car.”
“Hey,” the pregnant blonde complained, “my aim’s not that bad.”
“Love, you couldn’t hit a barn big enough to park a semi…but we love you anyway.”
Charlie forced herself into a slow, easy stride, but halfway across the room, that damn watched feeling came back. She performed a quick eye-sweep of the room. Sports and hunting seemed to be the focus of more than one discussion. Nothing unusual. Nothing out of the norm—until she saw the stranger.
In a sea of flannels and hunter jackets, his pressed pants and pin-striped shirt stuck out. He leaned casually against the end of the bar, smiling at her from over his drink. Something about him made her hair stand up on end, but she passed quickly and headed down the long hall toward the ladies’ room.
She took her time using the facilities, washed her hands, and then splashed her face with cold water for good measure. When she came out, Pressed Pants was leaning against the far wall.
“The gents’ loo is down the way.” Charlie gestured toward the other end of the hallway—after she’d made sure he didn’t have any friends with him.
“Not here for the bathroom. How about I buy you a drink?”
Charlie cocked up a single eyebrow. “Do you always follow women to the bathroom so you can ask them that? And before you answer, know that was a rhetorical question. I’m not interested.”
She turned to walk away, but his hand landed on her elbow. Instinct ripped her arm from his hold, and she spun, using the fifty or more pounds he had on her to pin his arm behind his back and plant his face into the wall.
“Did I give you permission to touch me?” Charlie growled.
“Jesus Christ. Intense much?” the stranger’s voice sounded muffled. “I thought you looked stressed. Figured it would unwind you some.”
“I don’t need unwinding,” Charlie lied. She released her hold and stepped back, forcing her breathing to slow as she turned toward the main room. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, love. I’m sure there’s someone else who would love to take you up on your offer, but I’m not that woman.”
“And I think you are…Charlotte.”
Charlie froze at the mouth of the hall before she turned around. Pressed Pants was no longer smiling—and he no longer had the condescending man-on-the-prowl look. Something else glittered from his eyes, and it zapped a fierce—and brief—bolt of panic down her spine.
“I tried doing this the easy way, Miss Hughes.” He smiled, obviously enjoying the fact he’d caught her off guard. “Oh, I’m sorry. You go by Charlie Sparks now, am I right?”
“Who are you?”
“I work for someone who’s been searching for you for a long time. And I have to admit, we almost gave up. Your talent behind the computer hadn’t been fabricated in the least.”
“Trust me, there’s nothing I can do for you.”
His lips pulled back into another grin. “But there is, which is why we should be sitting for a talk—in private.”
Twelve years suddenly seemed like yesterday. Charlie’s world started going dark, the walls getting tighter around her. The only thing preventing her from going under was a familiar pair of hazel eyes watching her from the other end of the bar.
Vince’s attention flicked from her to the stranger and back, not missing a beat despite being half a room away.
Charlie grabbed the stranger’s arm and tugged him down the hall to the bar’s small corner office. She needed to deal with this—preferably without witnesses. Once she found out exactly what she was dealing with, then she’d decide how high the shite was going to rise.