Jace served drinks with a full-bore smile that earned him extra tips all night long. But his mind was on Stella. It wasn’t an accident that he hadn’t shown up yesterday to take her to the beach. This new step in their dance required delicate handling. She’d needed space to think about it, to turn over the notion of going on a real date until it worked for her. She wasn’t ready to take him seriously yet—in any aspect—and pushing her wasn’t the right move.

Fate had just handed him the perfect scenario to get her ready. What better way to introduce the concept of being partner material than to work with Stella on a strategy to put her competition out of business? It was beautiful.

Slowly but surely he’d assimilate into the management side until he was so entrenched Stella couldn’t imagine running the bar without Jace. Gave him the perfect excuse to quit forcing himself to take days off, when in reality, he’d rather be at the Crow Bar than on Duchess Island, pretending he cared about parasailing and snorkeling.

Okay, sure, he cared about the excursion company he’d founded with Charlie and the other guys from his former SEAL team. But they all seemed really happy with their lots. Evan Silva had just built a house for his fiancée Rachel, and Dex Riley’s wife Emma was due to give birth to their first child in just a few weeks. Thora Hyland, Jack’s wife, had started to bud her own baby bump, and they’d soon join the parent’s club that seemed to be the direction all the guys were headed.

That was really not where Jace’s head was at. The atmosphere at the Crow Bar called to him, enlivened him. He felt energized the moment he stepped over the threshold. This was where he wanted to be, where he felt the most complete.

The blonde in the corner had been nursing the same cosmo for almost an hour, pretending she’d been stood up by her date as if Jace couldn’t read the text messages that buzzed across the screen of her phone. Poor guy. Judging by his responses, she must have told him she’d gotten food poisoning and then implored him not to come by her room.

“Still no date?” Jace inquired the next time he worked his way in her direction, handing over two longnecks to the meathead wedged in next to the blonde. Jace wiped up the trail of condensation that had slung across the bar as the meathead vanished in the direction of the band.

The Rum Runners played most nights, infusing the atmosphere with their slightly eccentric reggae mix that wasn’t Jace’s first choice of musical genres but didn’t suck too hard. The combo of five native islanders spread out on the raised platform wedged into the corner under the skull and crossbones flag Stella had pegged to the wall, and they’d keep things lively until Stella closed things down at two a.m.

The blonde shook her head, her sultry eye shadow giving depth to her pretty blue eyes. “I guess he’s not going to show. Too bad.” She pursed her lips into a practiced pout designed to show off her collagen treatments. And maybe give a guy a visual about things that might go into her mouth. “I was really looking forward to some company tonight. What time do you get out of this place?”

Three formed on the tip of his tongue automatically. He’d done it so many times in the past that accepting a come-on from a gorgeous lady was second nature. But honestly, it didn’t even sound fun. What it sounded like was a sure way to ruin his chances with Stella over a quick and meaningless encounter in a hotel room with a willing woman that he didn’t care about.

“Sorry, darling. I’m spoken for.”

And it wasn’t even a lie. He’d told Stella Chase out loud that he was interested in her, and by his rules, that counted. The blonde pouted her way through a few more inventive offers, but in the end, she’d been shockingly easy to resist. He’d been turning down similar propositions for a while without fully realizing why. Little Red Riding Hood had dug under his skin but good.

This new bar across the street had upset Stella. It was in her stiff posture and the way she didn’t laugh at his jokes after about nine p.m. Sure the crowd was a little thin. But it was Monday night. What did she expect? The bar across the street wasn’t even open yet, so the odds of her profit margin slimming down over the mere suggestion of a future competitor were nil.

But he kept one eye on her and one on the flow of customers until the last of them wandered into the humid Caribbean night at closing time. As per the routine he and Stella had down to a science, she cleaned the well while he wheeled the glass wall shut, secured it, and turned on the alarm. Stella had once forgotten to set it, and of course that had been the night she’d earned herself a surprise, late-night visitor who’d had his eye on her till. That had happened before she’d hired Jace. Her casual recount of the story still gave him chills. Yet another reason he didn’t care for days off—Stella needed someone watching her back, and it should absolutely be him.

She skirted the bar to begin the process of flipping high-backed stools onto the freshly bleached tables. Her arms were toned, her fingers delicate, like the rest of her. Such a small person had no business running a bar alone in this rougher area of Freeport. More than once, he’d tried to find a good way to suggest he should move in with her, strictly for her protection, but he wasn’t an idiot.

While cliché Neanderthal tendencies didn’t bother him in the slightest, he was evolved enough to know that a woman as capable and strong as Stella wouldn’t appreciate the offer. She’d spin it as something else, an excuse for him to get closer to her, and she’d be correct that he’d press whatever advantage crossed his path. Didn’t change the fact that keeping Stella from harm would be his first priority as he worked his way into her good graces. Combo agendas weren’t a crime. Dovetailing was a must in the Navy, and he’d specialized in bang for the buck.

Still did. “Hey, why don’t you grab one of those chairs and sit in it while I finish that?” he called.

Stella waved that off, which had been a given, but he’d had to try. She was too far away for the kind of conversation he had in mind, so he crossed the cavernous room that echoed when it was empty. She glanced at him as he drew up beside her to grab a stool. In tandem, they stowed the heavy seats upside down on the tabletop.

“It’s your birthday,” she reminded him. “I should be pushing you into a chair and rubbing your shoulders or something.”

Oh man, that was so far from the subject he’d intended to bring up—namely his thoughts on strategy for fighting the competition—but he could not let that one go.

“Well, that sounds like a plan.” He plopped onto one of the barstools she hadn’t yet turned over at the four top table by the window, effectively planting himself in her way. “Look, you didn’t even have to get physical with me. I’m sitting down like a good boy.”

She laughed and tried to skirt him, but he shot out a leg to trap her between the tables. The day hadn’t yet come where his reflexes weren’t good enough to keep a woman from escaping before he was ready. Assuming she wanted to be caught. He’d let her go in a heartbeat if he sensed she wasn’t up for this type of fun.

Her brows lifted in challenge. “Yeah? This is the part where it will get physical if you don’t let me finish.”

“You’re finished.” He eyed her. “Now you’ve got me all curious. What exactly do you plan to do to get loose?”

She crossed her arms, a move she made often right before she said something like I’m too old for you. He hadn’t quite worked out whether the defensive posture was to keep him out or herself in. Regardless, she obviously wasn’t in a flirty mood, so he needed to reel it back a notch.

“Bash in your pretty little head, that’s what,” she advised with a smirk. “I have a pen and a very heavy pad of paper in my apron that together might do some serious damage given that you’re missing some gray matter up there.”

He grinned. Oh yeah, there was the woman he was going slightly gaga over. “That was the classiest way anyone has ever called me stupid in my life.”

“More where that came from if you don’t move your leg.”

He didn’t move. She’d just turn back into the Tasmanian Devil, whirling like a dervish around the bar as she did bar things that made sense to her but not to normal humans. The floor was just going to get dirty again, and they had important things to discuss. “We never finished our conversation from earlier. I’ve got nowhere to be. Talk to me about our friend across the street.”

If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was avoiding the whole subject. There’d been plenty of opportunities over the course of the evening to start strategizing. But she hadn’t brought it up again. Why, because she didn’t think he could hang with the big boys when it came to her business?

Warily she swept her gaze along his calf, looking for all intents and purposes like she might actually try to plow through the barricade he’d set up between the two barstools. But then she sighed and nearly gave him a heart attack by sliding into the seat that currently housed his foot, shoving it out of the way with her hip. Totally off-balance in more ways than one, his foot hit the floor flat, and he overcompensated, almost ending up at her feet.

He wouldn’t mind the view. But he had more important things to do than worship at the altar of Stella. Like figure out what was going on with her. She was all over the charts tonight.

“Fine,” she said with very little conciliation in the word. “I have a feeling you won’t shut up until we hash this out.”

“Ah. You’ve figured out that my middle name is Pigheaded.”

She rolled her eyes with that half smile that said she found him a lot cuter than she’d like to admit. “I processed your employment paperwork. I already knew your middle name was Pigheaded.”

He swallowed his laugh as she swiveled her stool to perch her feet on the rung under his stool. Companionably. Almost like they were a couple hanging out in a bar chatting while they waited on their drinks. Her knees were so close to his that it was messing with his pulse.

“The guy across the street. He’s got you running scared,” he said with a jerk of his chin toward the warehouse that he could perfectly envision being turned into a slick bar, unfortunately. It was a great location, but his job wasn’t to give kudos to the upstart for his scouting abilities. It was to figure out how to so thoroughly shred the guy he’d slink back to New York with his tail between his legs. Pronto.

“I’m not scared. I’ll handle it,” she shot back defensively, slouching down in her chair a little as if minimizing her profile might somehow change the fact that he paid such close attention to her. She should save her efforts. He could no sooner stop soaking in all the minor details of Stella than he could fit sideways through one of the slats on the back of the stools.

“No one said you won’t. But the fact remains that you’re just now starting to relax for the first time tonight.” Maybe he should be offering to massage her shoulders. Before he could figure out how to get her to agree to that, she shook her head.

“I’m relaxed. Okay, maybe not so much.” Something flashed through her face. A hint of vulnerability that was so raw it threatened to steal his breath. “I can’t lose my bar.”

“Oh, no. That is not happening,” he countered fiercely and to hell with it. He slid out of his chair and shushed her as he bodily picked up both her and her stool to angle them away from the table so he had room to work. “We’re going for a lot of relaxing here.”

As his hands slid into place at her shoulders, he had a moment of near spiritual enlightenment. Idiot. He could have done this for her every night for the past week, and as a bonus, she’d be thoroughly used to his hands on her. She sure wasn’t now, because she wasn’t relaxing. Her back went ramrod straight as he kneaded.

“You don’t have to do that,” she insisted, but her voice had dropped into a very interesting range that he liked.

“I beg to differ,” he murmured as he found the tensest place in the hollow between her neck and shoulder blades. Pressing lightly, he worked at the knots. “You need this.”

They both did. Her frame was so delicate and fragile under his ham hands that it forced him to slow down and really pay attention to the subtle distinctions of her muscles and bones. It was easily the most intense experience he’d had with a clothed woman, and it pumped new life into his desire to get her unclothed. The body beneath his fingers vibrated with unspoken need as he took care of the most pressing of her physical aches.

Did she have others? Ones he could ease by replacing his hands with his mouth as he trailed open kisses down her exposed shoulder? God he burned to find out how much more pliable she might get as he ran his palms over every inch of her body.

“Relax,” he muttered. No clue whether he was talking to her or his extremely alert groin, as both were much stiffer than the situation warranted. “The point is to reduce tension, not add to it.”

“Then you probably should stop touching me.”

The husky quality of her voice had not one shred of back off in it. He knew what it sounded like when a woman was saying no, and this was not an example. “That’s not happening. The only thing that will possibly change about this is the way I’m touching you. Your call.”

At that, she wrenched out from beneath his kneading hands and slid from the chair, whirling to face him as she backed off, a flush stealing down her face and deep into the V of her T-shirt. “Jace—”

He held up his hands in surrender, his butt firmly planted on the stool. That was the tone of a woman who was done, which meant he was too. “Sorry. I like touching you. Whenever you’re ready for me to do it some more, you let me know.”

“What am I going to do with you?” she said with what he hoped was mock dismay.

“I’m sensing the answer you’re looking for is not take me upstairs and let me do a full body rub the proper way?”

The strangled sound that emanated from her chest would have made him smile if he wasn’t battling a severe case of being so hard he couldn’t breathe. But the thought of actually crossing the threshold of her apartment so he could make good on that promise spun visions through his head of a naked Stella spread out on her bed, eager and willing for him to join her as they indulged in the best sort of mutual pleasure.

“Yeah. No.” She huffed out a sigh and crossed her arms. “There are so many reasons why that’s a bad idea I can’t even see over the top of the pile.”

Rookie mistake. He shouldn’t have pressed that button yet. He’d known she was out of sorts and let the intimate moment trounce his common sense. Shrug it off, and get back in the game.

“You have made-up reasons in your head that aren’t real reasons, yeah. I’ll give you that. You should really take a ride on the train before you decide it’s not going to the right destination.”

Okay. So he needed to work on his combo agenda if he couldn’t let that go. He should take the hint and concentrate on the bar, not the sparks. But come on. There was something between them, and he’d put money on the fact that she felt it too. There had to be some way through these roadblocks she kept throwing down. He was nothing if not persistent.

And honestly, he wasn’t so sure which part of the agenda mattered more all at once. He wanted her and a place next to her behind the bar.

She shook her head as a different kind of tension cloaked them, a kind that had nothing to do with sex. “The destination isn’t the problem. It’s that you’re selling tickets for a train I don’t want to ride.”

That was tension he could do without. He liked Stella, liked hanging out with her. There was a whole lot more that would be great between them if she’d wake up and see that he’d already changed his stripes and not just to get between her sheets. He got that her reservations were real to her, but he’d lay odds that even she didn’t fully understand what to label them. Age was just number.

“Maybe not yet.” He let a smile loose because she needed to understand that this wasn’t a complicated negotiation. “But I can promise you lots of steam in my engine. All you have to do is get on board. Let me do the rest.”

“Maybe Pigheaded should be your first name?” she suggested sweetly, and thank you, Jesus, the vibe between them eased, maybe not completely eliminating the tension but going a long way.

“You can call me whatever you want. You sign my paychecks.”

“I thought we were talking about Señor Hipster across the street, not the nonexistent possibility that I will ever invite you upstairs for a full body massage.”

So certain, was she? His revised agenda was not unfolding like he’d thought it would. Women usually came to him—in droves. The fact that he kept smacking into her no was screwing with his head. And now he was just frustrated enough to get down to the business of business, specifically the one that he and Stella needed to save. There was still a chance that focusing on that would get him closer to where he wanted to be.

“Señor Hipster.” He snorted good-naturedly, dialing back his raging need to get her horizontal before his brain completely deserted him. “That’s classic. Tell me what makes the Crow Bar better than his.”

She arched a brow. “I sincerely hope you already know the answer to that.”

“Of course I do. Do you? Do customers? This a branding conversation, honey. Get with the program. We have to figure out where our bang for the buck is and make sure customers know what we have that Señor Hipster doesn’t. Start talking.”

The remaining tension melted from her frame, and she surprised the hell out of him by venturing back to the stool across from him, sliding into it again almost absently as she tapped a stubby fingernail against her lips. “I get it. You want to know what makes the Crow Bar special.”

Well, he already knew that one. Stella. She had a universal appeal that he had a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate hearing about in that moment, so he nodded, determined not to interrupt her train of thought.

“It’s mine,” she said fiercely, and he blinked at the naked emotion on her face.

It was powerful. She cared about the bar. Of course that wasn’t a surprise, but the depths of his longing for someone—her—to feel like that about him was a shock. Obviously, she had the capacity to feel a measure of ferocious possession about the Crow Bar. Why not a lover? Was there something fundamentally wrong with human companionship, or did she actually object to him personally?

Reeling back his own emotional response was harder than it should have been. But he swallowed the questions and flashed a smile that probably mostly did the job of hiding all the unexpected stuff she’d just unwittingly stirred up.

“Maybe that should be the angle we take then. Across the street? No soul. Here? Lots of warmth and personal attention because we genuinely care.”

That was pretty much the atmosphere already. Down home, a little eclectic. No pretension. The name even fit that personae, infused with Stella’s offbeat sense of humor, which he fully appreciated. Other people probably would too, though he wasn’t too thrilled with the idea of sharing all the things that made her special, and thus her bar as well, with the world.

Frankly, if potential customers couldn’t figure out for themselves that they’d have more fun inside Stella’s walls than in some slick bar where Barbie dolls gyrated to loud music, then he didn’t want them in here. But it wasn’t about him. It was about the woman a scant few feet from him who had chewed her fingernails down almost to the quick because she was worried about the competition.

“You really think that’s enough to get people through the door?” she asked with genuine interest, as if she’d finally clued in that they were having this conversation not just because he genuinely did care but also because he wasn’t a slouch when it came to bringing the party.

“No, I don’t. I think it’s enough to get people to stay once they’re here, but getting them curious enough about what we have to offer that Señor Hipster does not is the key. We can’t leave that to chance.”

“I didn’t think that I was,” she countered wryly. “I’ve been in business for five years, Jace. I’ve done everything I can to run a clean bar with a lack of watered-down drinks. The band is local. I have a hot bartender. What more do I have to do?”

“Advertise,” he said succinctly and almost hid his grin at her assessment of his attractiveness quotient. If only she wasn’t tying it to her bottom line, he’d pull on that thread, but she said stuff like that all the time as if it was just a fact, the same way she informed him the well was low on vodka. “Though if you want your hot bartender to dance on the bar, I’d be happy to oblige.”

She rolled her eyes, setting loose a swirl of colors that he could never put names to. He just knew the combination was stunning.

“That’s his shtick. You hit the nail on the head. I’m me and I have to step up my efforts to woo customers with my brand of bar.”

“Maybe I was offering a private performance.”

That suggestion did not go over well. She shot him a look that clearly announced he should have quit while he was ahead.

“I bought into your sales pitch about working together to save my bar. Can’t you please take it seriously for five minutes?”

Wow. That stung more than it should have, but since serious had been exactly his goal—just wow. The little barbs needling through his stomach were sharp enough to draw blood but the kind that only showed on the inside.

Instead of reminding her that he was here on his day off, he bolstered his smile with a good old-fashioned dose of buck up. “What fun is that? Life is short. I’m here to pack as much awesome into my twenty-four hours a day as possible. You should try it sometime.”

“Spoken like a man in his twenties,” she countered with a tsk that crawled across his last nerve.

It was a great opening to drop it, blow off her comment as yet another pointed gibe about their age difference, but he wasn’t in a conciliatory mood all at once. She refused to open her eyes when it came to him, and the closer it got to three a.m. the more frustrating this battle grew.

“Why, because I don’t angst all over everything like a woman in her thirties who needs to loosen up?” Her gaze hardened, and he cursed his big mouth. “I didn’t mean it like that—”

“Sure you did. And it’s fine. I’m not a party girl like your normal type. I have bills and struggles and worries that you don’t. No big deal.”

That was totally unfair. “Oh, so I can’t possibly have struggles just because I like to flirt? Is that what you’re getting at? I sincerely hope my love of flirting won’t ever change, even when I’m ninety. You’re a beautiful woman who intrigues me. I want to spend time with you. Kiss you. Take you upstairs and strip you naked as I do wicked things to you. I’m not going to apologize for being honest about that.”

Pink stained her cheeks, but she didn’t flee like he half expected her to. She liked his honesty, even as she railed against what she perceived as his lack of ability to take things seriously. When you had a lot of experience with women, you learned how to read them. Subtleties were his specialty.

“I can flirt with you and help save your bar at the same time. FYI, I can also walk and chew gum. You’ll appreciate my flair for killing two birds with one stone later.”

He let her work through that one all the way to the conclusion that he’d rock her in bed. Before everything he’d been working toward slid away, he reached out and snagged her hand. A risk. But he’d always gone bold.

Their hands connected, fingers sliding together, and she jerked as if touching a live electrical current. Yeah, he felt that jolt too. Why was she denying this spark? It was maddening.

But she didn’t pull away in the worst sort of mixed message. She was battling her own internal code that was telling her she shouldn’t be attracted to him. But she was. He could feel it.

Things got thick with awareness very fast. That’s when she jerked her hand free, skewering him with her color-shifting eyes.

“Don’t do this, Jace. We can talk about branding, but that’s the extent of what I can handle in the wee hours of the morning.”

Well, that was a tune change if he’d ever heard one. Instead of throwing down more nonexistent barriers, she’d gone in a whole new direction. It’s not you, it’s me.

He’d count that as progress. They bounced some ideas around about how to combat the new bar, and it was every bit the solidarity exercise he’d intended. Now, if only he could get Stella to forget about his age, everything would move forward like it should.