Early, Nevada, PURRS: Pets for Rescue Society

Puppy whispering was not for wimps.

Eva Calandar held the small piece of hot dog flat on the palm of her hand and tried to coax the terrified terrier mix out of the back corner of his crate.

"Come on baby. You know you want this. Nobody's going to hurt you," Eva crooned.

The puppy, who was almost skeletal in his emaciation, strained every muscle in his tiny little body toward her hand without actually moving. Eva wanted so badly to hand over the goods, but food was her best chance to coax the pup into her reach so the vet could look him over. She didn't want to just reach in and grab him. From the looks of him, he had no reason to trust humans, and she didn't want to add to that.

He'd been dumped at their doorstep overnight in a broken-down crate that had wires poking out from a jerry-rigged mesh door. It had scratched the puppy up a bit, or at least she hoped the scratches were only from the crate and not from predators, but it was still better than some of the ways people dumped their unwanted animals at the shelter. There were many days when they opened the front gate to find dogs and cats roaming loose in the parking lot, clearly having been abandoned there the night before by some heartless person who’d decided he or she didn't want little Fluffy anymore.

Her blood boiled at the thought, but anger wasn’t helping this little guy.

She took a deep breath and slowly blew it back out, consciously letting go of the anger and the pain and the worry, letting go of her own turbulent emotions over her own life, and then she reached for the tiny flicker of warmth deep in her mind that she could sometimes reach . . . sometimes just push . . .

There.

She’d never known how or why, but she’d always been able to do it. Even, sometimes, when she wasn’t trying. She could access that better part of her own nature that allowed her to share her warmth and caring with animals. An “affinity” is what people called it, when they bothered to get to know her, or bothered to call it anything at all. A “gift,” sometimes.

For a few tense hours in Arkansas, it had been a curse, and there had been those who were convinced that the eagle only flew down to her shoulder because Eva must be a shapeshifter or a witch.

Those men had carried guns.

She’d escaped, and her family had raced away from that lonely gas station out in the sticks, but ever since she’d vowed to stay away from men with guns.

The puppy, who’d started toward her on his belly, eyes hopeful and miniature tail wagging, stopped, crouching low and whimpering. Picking up on her mental distress, probably, poor little fellow.

She firmly pushed all thoughts of men with guns out of her mind and reached out again. Pushed again. The pup’s entire body quivered with relief and, perhaps, the first beginning of trust as he came the rest of the short distance toward her and nibbled the bite of meat from her hand.

“I’m just going to take you to be cared for now, my sweet one,” she murmured to the pup, gently scooping him up and cuddling him close to her chest.

Eva heard the footsteps, even in their rubber-soled shoes, before she saw her boss turn the corner. She’d had reason to learn to be wary, and being aware at all times of who was near her was important. She’d learned that lesson the hard way, and it was one she didn’t plan to forget.

“Hey, Mrs. Markowski. I've got this little one ready to go. Do you want me to make the run to the vet?"

Mrs. Markowski, the eighty-something-year-old director of the shelter, a one-woman dynamo, fundraiser, animal savior, and wonderful human being – not to mention Eva's landlady – smiled and shook her head. She shoved her white curls back from her face and smiled at Eva. “I’ll do it today. I’m going out to dinner with friends on the way back. You’re good here until our nighttime volunteers show up?”

“We’re good,” Eva said, smiling at her boss. “I don't know how you do it. You have the most active social life of anybody in town, and you run this place like a Swiss clock, not to mention all your other charitable works.”

Mrs. M shook her head. “Oh, no, dear. So many others do so much more.”

"That’s not true at all, and you know it. Here, take Mr. Puppy, here, and I’ll get his intake paperwork for the vet.”

Mrs. M brushed a bit of cat hair from her slim gray slacks and then gently took the puppy. At just over five feet and maybe a hundred and ten pounds, maximum, you wouldn't think to look at her that Mrs. Markowski had retired after running the entire Early school district, after forty years of being a teacher and then a principal at the local high school before that. But almost every person Eva had met at the shelter, and some she’d met at the bar, her paying job, loved to tell her about how they were former students who had fond memories of Mrs. M.

“You’re so good with them, Eva.”

Eva shrugged. “No more than anyone else. I just like animals.”

"Well, dear, I've run the place full-time for the last fifteen years, and yes, I find the pets love us just as much as we love them, and the reverse also applies. But you've got a gift. They trust you long before they would trust anybody else."

Eva blinked, caught uncomfortably off guard to hear her thoughts spoken aloud. She didn’t let people in, not anymore. Not even people she liked and respected, like Mrs. M. She certainly didn't share her thoughts, or her worries, or anything about her affinity.

On the other hand, it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that the new volunteer at the animal shelter managed to get animals to like her pretty quickly, and Eva’s landlady was sharp as a tack.

"Do you need to get going, or do you have some time to spend with Daisy?" Mrs. M nodded her head in the direction of the office. "I think she misses you. You know, I'm sure I told you this before, but I wouldn't mind at all if you brought Daisy home to foster for some overnights and see if the two of you –"

Eva broke in before her landlady could finish that sentence. "I know. And it's very nice of you. But I just can't get attached right now. I have to move around so often, for… Because," she ended lamely, unable, or unwilling, to tell Mrs. M the real truth.

She’d been lucky enough to find Mrs. M and the tiny studio apartment over her garage with the TO LET sign. She’d been doubly luck that the elderly woman had been willing to rent on a month-by-month basis, cash only, to a woman who couldn't provide references, bank information, or anything else that any reasonable landlord would require of a tenant.

Mrs. Markowski, though, had talked to her for about ten minutes and then offered her the place. The older woman had told her that if she couldn't tell the difference between a good person and a bad person after eighty years on this planet, that she may as well give up now.

Then she’d gone back into the beautiful two-story house she lived in all alone, now that her beloved husband Gus had died, and baked Eva the most incredible apple pie she'd ever tasted.

It had been almost surreal, like being trapped in a nightmare and then rescued by an angel. When Eva had plopped right down on the kitchen floor after eating her pie and played with the seven foster kittens, Lucky, the one-eyed dog (“he’s still alive and has one good eye, so he’s Lucky” Mrs. M said firmly), and the de-scented skunk that Mrs. M was caring for her in her home, Eva’s new landlady had immediately beguiled her into putting in a few hours a day at the shelter.

"No pay of course. In fact, I’m going to donate your entire rent to the shelter so I won’t have off-the-books rent on my conscience," Mrs. M had said briskly, her eyes shining. "But I can tell animals like you, and you like them. It's a perfect place to get some peace and think."

And so it had been, Eva thought fifteen minutes later, after Mrs. M had taken today's crop of pets in need of medical care off to see Dr. Douglas. Eva grinned. There was nothing like cleaning out cages and restocking cat litter to make a person think about her choices in life.

She glanced at her watch and winced. She had to run, or she'd be late again, and Noel wasn't the type to appreciate lateness. Her manager at the bar was one of the most vile and disgusting human beings she’d come across in a while, and that was saying something, considering she’d always worked in bars.

Of course, she wasn’t counting Scott and his friends the Dark Angels in that tally. They were beyond slime—they were pure evil.

But, for a boss, Noel took slimy about six steps further than anybody she'd ever worked for before. He was paying her cash under the table, and whenever employers pay cash, they knew they could get away with a lot. They didn't have to worry about taxes, they didn't have to worry about employee complaints, they didn't have to worry about unemployment compensation or sexual harassment lawsuits. Undocumented workers had no rights at all, and Eva couldn’t afford to give anyone her legal ID, because Scott had more ways to track her than just through magic.

No ID meant that anybody who hired her had all the power. All they had to do was say hit the road, and Eva couldn’t protest, because she didn't have a leg to stand on. Unfortunately, it was her legs that were the problem. Or her butt, breasts, or any other curved part of her body that made slimy, lecherous men like Noel lick their slimy, lecherous lips.

Noel was always trying to get her in a corner, put his hands on her, or get her to laugh at one of a thousand raunchy jokes he liked to tell just to see her blush. It was harassment of the worst kind, but Eva was desperate. She'd run out of money just before she got to the last town, and had still been looking for work there when Scott's minions had found her.

Again. When they’d found her again.

So she’d had to run – again – except this time with no money. This job in Early, Nevada in the Copper Cantina Bar and Grill would have been a good one if not for Noel. She’d been making more money in the Cantina than she'd made in the past five jobs before it. Tips were great in Early, because it was a revitalized copper-mining town. The past decade had seen a dramatic rise in magic practitioners, ever since supernatural creatures, witches, and mages had allowed the world to learn that they really existed outside horror novels and scary movies. The magic users, with their need for copper to fuel or assist in many of their spells and rites, had brought new money to Early, and the mines started back up into production, much to the delight of Early’s residents.

The only problem Eva anticipated was that where money came, the Dark Angels followed. She was only surprised there wasn't a local chapter here yet, but she’d checked before deciding to stay in Early and been assured that no gangs operated in this part of the state. Scott couldn't possibly be here – not this fast – but if a branch of HDA came to town, it wouldn't be long before he found her again.

She only needed long enough to build up her stash of money, and she’d be gone again. The next time, she’d try to find someplace less successful. Less rich. The problem, though, was that poor towns didn't often have jobs for undocumented drifters. It was a dilemma that was never going to have a solution, at least not as long as Scott was alive. And no matter how much she hated him, she couldn't bring herself to wish for his death either.

She pushed thoughts of Scott aside, finished cleaning the cages and put away the cleaning materials, and then gave in to the urge to go and visit little Daisy. When she walked into the office, the pug was curled up asleep on a cushion. But as soon as Eva opened the door, Daisy woke up and barked excitedly, her fat little body quivering with joy as she climbed out of the bed. The amputation was still only two months old, and Daisy hadn’t quite figured out a smooth gait with only three legs, but she wasn't about to let it stop her. Dogs lived in the moment, and they adapted. The little pug had the most indomitable spirit Eva had ever seen.

There was a lesson in there somewhere, but Eva firmly decided not to analyze it. Not today. She knew Noel would be on duty this evening, and she just had to get through the night. Deep introspection could only bring a girl down. She needed to be more like a pug.

"Come here baby girl," she said, sinking down to sit cross-legged on the floor. "Give me some cuddles, and then I've got to get to work."

The dog squirmed her plump little body into Eva's lap, wagging her donut-shaped tail in ecstasy. Daisy picked up the pug and kissed the top of her cute, wrinkly forehead. "You're such a good girl, Daisy. If I could bring you home with me, I would. Maybe someday."

But Eva knew that someday never came for people like her. She was trapped, and she was never going to find a way out. Never going to be able to stop running. Never going to deserve any better.

After all, she was the one who'd started dating Scott in the first place. Even after Gramps and all her friends had warned her off, even after she’d found out that her new boyfriend was dabbling in black magic.

She'd been a fool, and now she had to pay the price.

Forever.

She sat on the floor, petting the happy little pug, never even noticing the tears that ran down her face until one plopped on Daisy’s head, leaving a tiny dark splotch on the fawn-colored fur. “You’ll find a wonderful family, Daisy. I’m just so sorry it can’t be me.”

* * *

"Noel is in rare form tonight," Missy whispered, tying on her black apron and then adjusting the fit of the short shorts that every waitress in the Copper Cantina had to wear. That and a tight black, low-cut T-shirt, with Copper Cantina emblazoned across the chest, constituted the waitress outfit.

As a bartender, Eva got off easier. She was allowed to wear jeans with her tight black T-shirt. She hadn’t bothered trying to complain. She knew better by now.

"Already?" Eva glanced at the clock over the bar. "It's only six. He hasn’t even had time to get into the tequila yet. What's up his butt this time? Did his wife give him a hard time about something again?"

Noel was married, much to the shock of everyone who’d ever met him. How a scumbag like Noel could find any woman who would put up with him, let alone marry him, was one of life's great mysteries, right up there with who built the pyramids and why the Zebra cakes at the grocery were called different things depending on what time of year it was.

She didn't care; she was down with buying Valentine cakes, Easter cakes, Groundhog’s Day cakes, or whatever. It was just strange.

She shook out her bar apron and tied it on and started doing inventory for supplies. Denny, the day bartender, was one of the laziest individuals she'd ever had the misfortune to meet. He regularly left her with empty bottles, empty fruit trays, and a filthy bar. He also thought himself to be above washing out a glass or two, when the dishwasher was backed up.

Of course, it didn't hurt that he was Noel's cousin.

Nepotism. Nice work, if you can get it.

"I don't know," Missy said, shaking her head. "But I've only been here ten minutes, and he's already yelled at me twice."

Eva smiled at her friend, still surprised that she even had a friend. Missy was one of those people you couldn't help but like, though. She was beautiful, too, which normally would've made her a target of Noel’s lecherous advances, but Missy was married to the local high school football coach. A former college football player himself, he stood about six feet, eight inches tall and was as broad as the side of a barn. Eva gave a mental shiver at the idea of being on the opposing team against Bryce.

Off the football field, Bryce was one of the nicest people she'd ever met. He definitely didn't have a violent bone in his body, except when it came to protecting Missy. Noel had tried on his pervert act with Missy exactly one time, she’d confided to Eva. The following night, Bryce had walked in, sat down on a stool at the end of the bar, reached over the shining wood surface, and picked Noel up by the shirtfront with one ham-sized hand.

Bryce hadn’t said anything at all. He hadn't even scowled. He’d just sat there, looking calmly and pleasantly at Noel, while he held the man a foot off the ground with one hand.

For several minutes.

By the time Noel had stopped squeaking, and nearly passed out from lack of oxygen, Bryce set him back down and walked out of the bar. Missy had never had any trouble, at least in terms of sexual advances, with Noel ever since. And Noel hadn’t dared get his law enforcement cousins after Bryce in a town where high school football was a religion.

But he did yell at her as much as he yelled at everybody else, and Missy had forbidden Bryce to do anything about it.

"If I can't handle a little yelling, then I don't deserve to work in a bar," she told Eva. "I can stick up for my own damn self."

But tonight Missy looked worried. "I haven't seen him like this for a while. He's acting almost like he’s afraid, and I don't know what that's about. The sheriff is one of his eighteen cousins, after all. Anyway, look lively and stay out of his way if you can."

"Thanks."

Missy nodded and hurried off, beginning her prep work and making sure the salt-and-pepper shakers and ketchup and mustard bottles on each table were full, refilling the napkins, wiping down tables, and doing all the things necessary to get ready for the dinner rush that would be heading into the bar any minute.

The Copper Cantina had a small but serviceable kitchen, and the burgers and fries were truly first-rate. A lot of the folks who worked at the copper mine liked to head over to get a quick dinner and maybe a beer or two before they headed home for the rest of their evening, especially the single ones. And today was Friday, so that meant payday. More money to spend, more beer to drink, and more tips for the bartender, she hoped. She really wanted to build up her funds, so her escape fund was replenished when she needed to move on.

She said hello to a couple of the regulars, who were seated at their normal stools and already deep into what was probably their third or fourth drink of the afternoon. Every bar had them--the regulars.

The drunks, if you wanted to be less charitable. These were people who were never, ever going to climb out of the bottle, but they didn't hurt anybody. They just wanted a quiet drink in a quiet corner, and occasionally they needed for Eva to pour them into a cab and send them home. In the years she'd been bartending, she’d heard two different philosophies on the subject of the regulars. She knew they were alcoholics, and for a long while she’d tried to get them into AA. But proselytizing, especially when she'd never known the pain of addiction, hadn’t helped anybody, and it just left both them and her embarrassed and unhappy.

So her philosophy now was simply to watch out for them as best she could and make sure they could get home safely when they were tired. She also made a point to be a bit slow refilling glasses or opening new beers for them. It was the most could do, and she knew it was too little, but sometimes the best you could do had to be good enough.

Eva shook her head, trying to escape the gloom that had been dogging her all afternoon. She didn't have time for it, and if she didn't find a way to at least pretend to be cheerful, happy, and perky – perky, God forbid – then Noel would find yet another way to make her life a living hell. Speaking of the monster, he was clomping up the stairs from the cellar, and she could already hear him bellowing.

"Eva, get your ass down here," he shouted. "If I told you once, I told you a million times that we needed another ten cases of Heineken before the weekend. I'm tired of having to follow behind you and do your damn job."

Eva sighed. Here we go. She headed toward the stairs as Noel came into view.

He was panting and gasping, his balding head sweating, just from walking up the dozen steps from the basement. He wasn't overweight, he was under-fit, and he smoked probably three packs a day. The haze of cigarette smoke hung around him in a nasty cloud all the time, even though – much to his dismay – the Copper Cantina’s owner had made the place non-smoking about a year back. The owner just happened to be Noel’s daddy and presumably wanted his only child and heir to outlive him.

Of course, this meant that Noel took about twenty cigarette breaks a night, which were all excuses for him to spend fifteen or so minutes not working, so he probably didn't mind all that much. Frankly, he didn't do that much work when he was in the bar, and Eva and her coworkers were just as happy to have him outside on a cigarette break and out of their hair.

“Sorry, Noel," Eva said automatically. "I left you a note. The usual driver had his daughter's wedding this weekend. The new guy probably hasn't quite figured out the route yet."

Noel snorted. “Incompetence.”

She shrugged in a “what can you do?” gesture and turned to go.

“Eva!”

She turned back, only to find Noel leering at her, making sure he took his time staring at every inch of her body. Yet again, Eva wanted to hit him over the head with one of his precious beer bottles. It was a happy, frequent fantasy of hers, but one she could never act out, more’s the pity. Women who were on the run and in hiding didn't do anything that got them the attention of the police, especially when the sheriff was one of the multitude of family members of the man she was fantasizing about assaulting.

She sighed, instead. "I'm sure he'll be here soon, and we've got enough to last the night anyway."

Noel scowled. "Oh, is that your opinion, Red? Your expert opinion based on your years and years of bar management, is it? Well, let me tell you this, Ms. Know-it-all. If even one person complains, or if we run out, I'm taking it out of your paycheck.”

He smiled when he said it, taunting her, but she knew better than to protest. The best way to deal with Noel was to be passive and never argue. That made him lose interest and give up sooner, so he could move on to pulling the wings off flies or whatever he did in his spare time. So she put a bland and brainless smile on her face and nodded.

"I understand," she murmured, and then she ran lightly back up the stairs to the relative safety of her bar, which was now filling up with people. Even slimy Noel had his limits as to what he’d do in front of other people.

The Cantina after-work rush came in right on schedule, and she was soon so busy she didn't have time to think about anything but mixing drinks and serving bottle after bottle after bottle of beer to the happy, laughing patrons, all of them glad to be done with the week's hard work and pleased to be relaxing and spending a bit of their paychecks with their friends.

Because Eva was so slammed, it took her longer than it should have to realize when things went wrong. By the time the changing mood in the room started to scratch at the edge of her awareness, the instigators were already installed in a corner table by the jukebox. Some sprawled in chairs, and others were starting games of pool at the two tables along the side wall. She didn't recognize any of them, but then again, she didn't have to.

Every single one of them was wearing the trademark sleeveless leather vest with black-winged angels painted on the back and the words HELL’S DARK ANGELS embroidered across the shoulders.

They were here.

There were Dark Angels in the Copper Cantina, and every instinct in Eva's body told her to run. Luckily, her brain took over from her animal instincts, and she resisted the urge. Running would only draw their attention. Like any other predator, the members of the Dark Angels would be on high alert at the first sense of prey.

Eva had no intention of becoming prey for any of them, ever again.

These didn’t know her, though. It wasn't like Scott had put up Wanted posters in every chapter across the country, as far she knew. To do that, he would've had to admit to his criminal buddies that he couldn't "control his woman." He'd never do that.

No, only a few of his trusted thugs knew who she was and what she looked like. So long as she didn't see any of them, she was safe tonight. She could wait until she got back to her tiny studio apartment to decide what to do. The problem was, she didn't have enough money to run yet.

All things considered, though, being broke was better than being dead.

Maybe she’d get lucky, though. Maybe this was just a group of them riding by on their bikes, headed to somewhere else. Maybe she'd be okay – but she’d never had any luck, not even once in the four years and change since she’d first met Scott.

"Six Budweiser and six shots of Jack," Missy said, and Eva could tell from her friend’s worried expression that it wasn't the first time she'd said it.

"Are you okay? What did Noel do? I swear, I’ll have Bryce come in here and –"

"No. No, I'm fine. Just… daydreaming, I guess. Here you go. Six Bud, six Jack. Rocks?"

Missy shook her head. "No. Shots. And watch out if that big one in the yellow T-shirt comes over here," she said quietly. "He said something really foul about ‘the redhead at the bar,' and you know Noel isn’t gonna do anything to protect you."

Eva laughed bitterly. "No, he'd probably sell me to them, if he thought he could make some money out of the deal. Anyway, I'll be fine. Here's your drinks. You’d better head over there."

From that moment on, Eva kept a close eye on what the gang members were up to. She made sure none of them caught her watching them, and the one time the guy in the yellow shirt came up to the bar, she made a point to have to run down to the basement to get a case of Bud, so Noel had to serve him. By the time she got back, the man had moved on and was shooting pool.

The nice thing about drunk assholes was they usually had short attention spans. The next time she looked up, maybe thirty seconds later, two guys she’d never seen before—definitely not with the Dark Angels--were walking into the bar. The first one was tall and lean and reminded her of surfers she’d known in California. He was a handsome guy.

The second guy, though . . . oh dear God.

Her first thought: this one is trouble.

She’d seen more than a few handsome men in her life, especially working in bars, but this man wasn’t handsome. He had nothing to do with such a mild word as handsome.

No, this man was male beauty personified. Eva’s breath caught in her throat when he turned and she caught a glimpse of his profile. His face was all hard lines and angles and belonged on a statue of a Greek god. Or—no. A statue of a conqueror who would lay waste to continents and ravage the hordes of women who threw themselves at him. His dark hair lay in slight waves and looked ruffled, as if he’d just run his hands through it. Her own hands suddenly ached to smooth it in place.

She couldn’t stop staring at him. She couldn’t breathe. What the hell was the matter with her? She didn’t have reactions like this to men.

But this man—oh, this man. He walked across the floor toward her with a confident stride like he owned the place. He wore jeans and a white, long-sleeved shirt beneath a brown leather jacket, and he was coming toward her.

Eva took a shaky breath and wiped her hands on the bar towel, waiting. Frozen in place. Up close, she could see the color of his eyes. Dark, ocean blue. Their eyes locked, and suddenly time stopped running. This has never, ever happened to her before, and the world turned sideways--vertigo rocked her back on her heels.

She could see only him.

There was no bar, no Noel, no Dark Angels. No Scott, no troubles, no worries.

There was only a searing flash of heat from the raw, primal desire she saw in this man’s eyes when he looked at her.

It was too much—too intense. Suddenly, she felt fragile, as if her bones had been hollowed out and replaced with air and light. As if she might float away if this man didn’t stop looking at her.

As if she might collapse in despair if he did.

It was too much, and she didn’t understand. Couldn’t breathe, couldn’t swallow, couldn’t speak.

Across from her, the stranger seemed to be having the same problem. He said nothing, simply stood there and stared back at her. His jaw clenched, and she could see his throat move when he swallowed, and she didn’t understand why the sight of his throat was so fascinating to her.

She didn’t understand any of it, but she knew one thing. She knew he was trouble. And she was absolutely done with anything that looked like trouble.

“What can I get for you?” She asked, so grateful that her voice didn’t tremble. Much.

He just stared at her.

“Sir?”

“I don’t know,” he finally said, in a deep, husky voice that sounded strained. “I don’t know what’s happening to me. I came over here for drinks, but now all I can think about is how much I want to get you in my bed.”

She gasped. She’d been hit on hundreds of times by men in bars, but never like this. Never in such a raw, blunt manner than rang with so much truth.

She wanted—fiercely, urgently wanted--to take his hand, pull him out the back door, and beg him to take her up against the wall in the alley.

She moaned at the thought, just the tiniest sound, but his gaze arrowed in on her lips. Her body clenched, deep in her belly, and she squeezed her thighs together against a sudden rush of heat.

What in the name of all things holy was happening to her?

She forced herself to tear her gaze from his sensual lips and meet his gaze again.

Mistake. She fell, drowning, right back down into those ocean-blue eyes.

“I can’t—I have no excuse for that,” he said roughly. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I know you must have enough to deal with without clumsy lines from idiot customers. Let’s start over. I’m Flynn, and you’re?”

Lines? What? Her brain had quit making sense of the English language, and her body was only interested in the language of desire. Of hot, sweaty sex--with this man.

Now.

Damn, girl, pull it together.

“I’m Eva. I don’t . . . it’s fine,” she said automatically, her lips turning up in a fake professional smile. Not at all like she’d just been imagining him, hard and powerful, thrusting into her. Her entire body convulsively shuddered at the thought, and omigod what was happening to her?

Flynn’s eyes flared hot again, and he groaned, low and deep, his hands tightening into fists on the bar. “I’m sorry, Eva, but you need to stop looking at me like that, unless you want me to drag you out of here and beg you to fuck me.”

“I might be the one doing the begging,” she whispered before she could stop herself, and an expression of purely masculine satisfaction crossed his face before being replaced with hot, primal, naked need.

“When?” he demanded. “When are you done working?”

Now, she wanted to say. She wanted to say it so much that she didn’t trust it at all. She had to turn him down. Turn this into something light and funny. Make him—

The door to the bar banged open, and she looked up automatically to see who was coming in.

And then she ran.