The pub was jammed as it always was on Thursday night. Not only was Paddy, Tris’s son, working along with Ailis, Paddy’s sister who waitressed, but Tristan himself was helping behind the bar. Every seat at every table was taken, including some spillover from Sunday’s Side, all the barstools were occupied, and people stood wedged between the stools. Thursday had become as busy as the weekend.
“It’s the music,” Tris told her as he slid behind her to get something. “Always brings people out.”
And they certainly came to see Jana Workman and Finch Daly, two young people calling themselves The Two of Us. They had started working there the weekend before Mary was hired, and she really looked forward to their music. The duo lived in the neighborhood and attended the University of Maryland Baltimore campus, but both were music nuts and had been singing together “for fun,” they said since high school. Tris always put out a tip jar for them, and the patrons were generous. Mary had a sense their finances were stretched tight, and the money they made here made a big difference to them. The best part, she often thought, was they were really, really good.
They also brought in a lot of new customers, most of whom Tristan told her were probably from the university. Mary thought he was probably right, although some of them were older than she’d expect, and a few looked a little rough around the edges. Although, what she did know was people went to school at all ages these days.
The duo had just finished “Tennessee Whiskey” by Chris Stapleton when the bell over the door rang. Mary looked up as she handed two black and tans across the bar and nearly dropped the glasses. If she didn’t know better, she’d have thought the model from her motorcycle jackets poster had just walked through the door. Big was the first thing she thought. Then sexy. Then wow! Just wow! A very brief vision flashed in her brain of herself laid out on his motorcycle seat as he pounded into her whiles sucking her nipples.
Holy mother!
She had wished for the poster to come to life, and here, in the flesh, was the image of the guy she lusted. She figured him for well over six feet, with streaky dark-blond hair just to his collar. His T-shirt and jeans were molded to a figure that screamed sculpted muscles, and his feet were shoved into worn biker boots. She knew two things right off the bat—she was seized by an insane desire to strip off all his clothes and run her hands over every inch of his body, and he’d never been here before. He looked around, obviously searching for a place to sit down.
“Mary, are you frozen in place like a statue, darlin’?” Tristan’s rich voice pierced her state of insanity.
“Oh.” She blinked. “Oh! Sorry, Tris. I was just, um, checking the crowd to make sure everyone’s taken care of.”
He laughed and shook his head. “Don’t try to kid a kidder. Just try not to drool in the customers’ glasses.”
She actually felt herself blush. She, Mary McCoy, high-powered public relations expert and temporary barmaid, wasn’t ever given to blushing.
“Not drooling,” she muttered, but she had to ask the waitress to repeat the order she’d just given her.
Ignoring Tris’s low laugh, she moved up and down the bar filling orders, pulling taps, mixing drinks, opening bottles, refilling the bowls of nuts. But all the time, she was acutely conscious of Mr. Motorcycle. He had managed to make his way to the end of the bar and squeeze into a standup spot. She raked her gaze over him head to toe, drinking in all those muscles again, and damn! Was that a bulge she saw at his fly? Was his package so big that even at rest it was there?
Somehow, she managed to yank her gaze upward again and smile at him.
“Welcome to Pat’s Irish Pub. What can I get for you?”
“I don’t suppose you’d be Pat, would you?”
His voice was low and husky, his beautiful lips tilted up in a half smile. He had eyes the most incredible blue, ringed with lashes so thick it was a shame to waste them on a man. A square jaw and high cheekbones gave his face a raw masculine look, but those eyes and those lips told her there was a softer side to this man, too.
“I didn’t think that was such a difficult question.” She realized he was smiling at her. “Shall I ask it again?”
Giving herself a swift mental kick in the ass, she brought herself back to reality.
“Um, no, that honor belongs to the gentleman holding court at the middle of the bar. What can I get you to drink?
“I don’t suppose you have any Murphy’s Irish Red stout, would you?”
“Is the name of this place Pat’s Irish Pub? Coming right up.”
She grabbed a bottle from beneath the counter, popped the top, and set it down in front of him, along with a glass.
“Glasses are for sissies,” he teased, lifted the bottle and took a healthy swallow.
“It’s a good thing I grew up working this bar,” Tris said in a low voice form behind her. “Otherwise, I might not be able to cover my shift and yours.”
“Oh!” She jumped. “I’m sorry, Tris.” She looked at Mr. Motorcycle, mumbled, “Excuse me,” and went to see who needed what along the bar while Tris handled the orders from the waitress.
Ten minutes later, she had worked her way down to his end of the bar again. The man on the end stool moved over to join friends at a table, dragging an extra chair from against the wall with him, so Mr. Motorcycle claimed the stool.
Good. That means he’s staying for a while.
Holy shit! What am I thinking? I don’t even know the guy. He could be a rapist or a murderer.
But she didn’t think so. She was pretty good at reading people, and he didn’t give off those kinds of vibes. And god help her, when he hefted himself onto the stool, her eyes had automatically gone to the bulge in his crotch. Was his cock really pressing against the fabric? How big was he, anyway?
The bottle of Murphy’s Irish Red was still half full. She was glad to see he wasn’t the type to just slug it down. Looking for something to do so she didn’t have to walk away just yet, she pulled a small bowl from the shelf beneath the bar and filled it with mixed nuts. Then she slid it over in front of him.
As she leaned forward a little, she caught a whiff of his aftershave, something clean with a vague scent of the ocean. It was the faintest, lightest hint, but it made her hormones leap to life and start jitterbugging. And the inner walls of her pussy tightened as if seeking his cock to grab onto.
Ohmigod! What is the matter with me?
She took a step back and inhaled a breath to steady herself. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a sexual fantasy in her dreams, never mind awake. Maybe that was her problem. Whatever. She needed to get a grip so the entire bar didn’t get to witness her attack of horniness.
“Hey, Mary,” one of the regulars sitting next to him said. “Do I get one of those, too?”
Cheeks flaming, she nudged the bowl over so it was between the two of them.
“Learn to share, Tommy.”
“I’ll always share with you, sweetheart.” He grinned and popped a handful of nuts into his mouth.
Mary hated the heat creeping up her cheeks again. She didn’t think she’d blushed in the last ten years, and in the last ten minutes she’d done it twice.
Damn!
She took a quick look up and down the bar and saw that everyone was good.
“So,” she said to Mr. Motorcycle, “this is your first time in here.”
“You know everyone who comes into this place?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow.
“Pretty much. Although The Two of Us has been bringing in some new faces.” She nodded toward the stage.
“They any good?”
Mary stared at him and frowned. “Of course they’re good. Pat wouldn’t have them in here otherwise.”
“Hey, Mary.” She turned as someone a few stools away hollered to her. “How about a refresher. I could ask Tris, but you’re prettier than he is.”
She laughed. “And don’t you forget it.”
She took care of him and the couple next to him, filled two orders for the waitress, and turned back in time to see Mr. Motorcycle gesture with an empty bottle.
“Is it this busy all the time, Mary?”
Her name sounded almost lyrical the way he said it. “How did you know my name?”
He smiled, and, for a moment, she was afraid her panties would melt clear off her body.
“I heard that good-looking guy over there call your name.” He indicated the customer then lowered his voice. “I think he has his eye on you.”
Mary glanced over her shoulder and laughed. “Nate? He’s got his eye on everyone. And if you’ll excuse me, the guy next to him needs a refill. Just signal me whenever you want another.”
Jana and Finch stepped up onto the tiny stage, Finn picked up his guitar, and they launched into the next set. The crowd shouted and clapped along to the music. For the next couple of hours, Mary was so busy filling orders and serving customers she had no time to think about the very sexy stranger at the end of the bar.
Eventually, The Two of Us finished their last set to a rousing round of applause, and customers began to settle up their tabs. Finally, with most of the tables empty and only a handful of stools occupied, she stopped and drew a breath.
“Nice work.” Tris moved up next to her, wiping his hands on a bar towel. “Sure you wouldn’t like to do this forever?”
When she’d applied for the job, Mary had told them she was taking a vacation from her life and wanted to begin enjoying things again. She was careful, however, to be sure they knew it would not be a permanent thing. But after they gave her a tryout behind the bar, they snapped her up.
“For as long as you can, darlin’,” Pat had told her, giving her a hug.
Now she looked up at Tris and smiled.
“Probably not, but I’m far from ready to leave here yet.”
“I see your admirer is still here.” He tipped his head toward Mr. Motorcycle at the end of the bar. “You be careful, Mary. He’s a stranger, and we know nothing about him. We don’t even know how he found this place.”
“Don’t you worry,” she assured him. “I’ve got enough sense to be careful. Really.”
“I guess you’re right,” he agreed. “You haven’t given a nod to any of the regulars who come in here who’ve already fallen in love with you.”
“Maybe I’m on a date diet,” she told him. “Anyway, I’d better go see what the man wants. He’s been sitting here all night, and I think he’s waiting for anther beer.”
When she walked over to him, Mr. Motorcycle smiled at her, a smile so devastating it actually made her nipples harden and the pulse in her sex suddenly come to life so forcefully she was afraid her whole body would shake. Holy shit! She had never, ever met a man who affected her like this. Who turned her on so thoroughly with just a smile that she’d have no hesitation doing a strip show behind the bar.
Get your act together, girl.
“One more of those?” She indicated the empty beer bottle.
He picked up the bottle, looked at it, and put it back down. “Actually, is there a chance of getting a cup of coffee here?”
“Sure.” She flashed him a smile. “We don’t want you falling off your motorcycle when you leave here.” Then her face heated. He hadn’t mentioned his mode of transportation. “I’m sorry if I assumed wrong, but—”
He chuckled. “It’s okay. And you aren’t wrong. It’s me and my bike.”
“Just a second.” She grabbed his empty bottle. “I-I’ll get you a mug.”
Stammering, Mary? Really?
She bumped into Tris in the kitchen when she went to get the coffee.
“For your admirer?” he asked. “At least he’s got good sense.”
Yes, but do I? I have no idea who he is, where he came from, or what he’s doing here, but I want to strip off my clothes and have him bend me over his bike. Nice, Mary.
“Here you go.” She set the coffee down in front of him. “Creamer? Sugar?”
He shook his head. “No. I like it straight from the pot.”
“Are you just passing through?” There, she’d asked him. “Because we’ve never seen you in here before.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Is that a requirement? Because everyone came here for the first time once, right?”
“Just curious.” She picked up the bar rag and began scrubbing the surface next to him. Why could she chat so easily with everyone else who came in here, even the old guys who liked to pinch her ass once in a while, but, with Mr. Motorcycle, she was suddenly tongue-tied.
“Well, you’re right.” He took a sip of his coffee. “I’m just passing through, sort of. I did a search for Irish pubs and restaurants and this one came up first.”
“So you’re Irish?”
“My mother was. Abigail Fitzgerald. Black Irish, as they say. Black hair and green eyes. Much like yours, Mary. My father said he took one look at her and he was lost.”
“Wow!” She bit her tongue to keep from saying how romantic that was. “So would I be rude if I asked what your name is?”
“I think I’d be rude if I didn’t tell you.” He winked. “Marcus Fitzgerald Tyree. The last name comes from Tyr, the Scottish god of battle.”
”And are you out on the road doing battle, Marcus Fitzgerald Tyree?”
He shook his head. “Not in the least. While I’m trying to figure out what to do with the rest of my life, I decided to take a trip along the East Coast. Baltimore seemed like a good place to stop.”
“Do you have a place to stay?”
For god’s sake, Mary, shut the hell up. What business is it of yours?
“You looking out for my welfare, Mary?”
“No, I, uh, just, um—”
Tongue-tied much, you idiot?
In her whole life, she’d never stammered. Was this guy casting some kind of spell on her?
“Well, no big deal. I’ll set your mind at ease. I’ve found a nice, inexpensive motel, clean, that can handle both me and my bike.”
“So you really do ride a motorcycle?”
Oh, for god’s sake. I sound like one of the groupies who hang around photo shoots. I think my brain must be fried.
He nodded. “If you tell me your last name, I might even show it to you.”
“McCoy.” It fell out of her mouth before she could shut up.
“Aha! Irish is as Irish does.” He drained his mug. “Come on. I’ll show it to you. Then I’ve got to take off.”
Was it not one of the stupidest things she’d ever done, to walk out of the bar with this man? He could snatch her onto his bike, ride off with her, and rape her in some deserted place.
Oh, yes. Her overactive imagination was working full-time.
“Yes. Um, that would be nice.” She walked the length of the bar to the open end, catching Tristan’s frown and Pat’s serious look as she passed them.
“It’s not time to clock out, Mary,” Tris said. He never ever said anything like that. Of course, she was always here until the bar was shut up tight.
“I’ll be right back in,” she promised as she followed Marcus out the door.
“I think they don’t trust me too much,” Marcus joked.
“What do you mean?”
He jerked his thumb, and she looked to see Tris standing by the window, staring out at her. Pat had swiveled around on his stool and was watching the door.
“They just like to look after me,” she assured him. “When you work here, you become part of the Collins family.”
“Well, then. Let’s have a look here. Then you can head back inside, and I can take off before they hang me from the nearest tree.”
But he was grinning when he said it.
He led her down a few parking spaces against the curb, and when she saw it she almost passed out. For a moment, she thought she might be hallucinating, she’d dreamed of this thing for so long. There it sat, a beast of a bike, the Yamaha VMax, its ebony paint gleaming beneath the streetlight. Without even thinking, she ran her hand reverently along the surface, sure she could feel the power of it surging through the metal.
“I’d never have taken you for a bike enthusiast.” His voice was dark and husky and hot.
“Oh, well, I’m not really. But, um, I saw an ad for these, and it kind of intrigued me.”
And I’d better learn to lie better and stop stumbling over my words.
“Maybe when your palace guard trusts me more, I can take you for a ride on it.”
Be still my heart! Can we ride naked?
She gave herself a mental smack. “That would be nice. I take it you’re planning to stay around for a while? Come back to the pub?”
He nodded. “Yes, to both. I just got to Baltimore, but it looks like there is a lot to do.” He looked at her, heat in his eyes burning a hole in her. “So. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
He released the kickstand, climbed on the mammoth bike, and turned on the ignition. She couldn’t help admiring his ass, what she could see of it when he sat down before his jacket flared to cover it. And his muscular thighs in the soft jeans that were like a second skin. She could just imagine them—
Ohmigod! Stop! This is so not me.
He turned the bike around so he was facing her, pulled up beside her, and gave her one of those panty-melting grins.
“Sleep tight, Mary McCoy.”
Then he was off, roaring down the street while she stood there and watched.
“You planning to clear the bar from out there?” Tris’s voice broke into her thoughts.
“What? Oh. No, I’m coming in.” She brushed past him. “He said he’d be back again.”
“You just watch yourself,” Tris warned. “We don’t know a damn thing about him.”
“I might sit and chat with him a bit,” Pat told her. “I like to get to know the customers.”
Mary laughed and went to give him a hug. Their concern for her touched her, and again she blessed whatever gods had sent her here that day.
“You old faker. You’re as bad as Tris. And you know what? I love you for it. I promise to be careful, but you guys go ahead and vet him. Might be interesting to watch.”
She was still smiling as she went about the business of closing down the bar area for the night while Tris cashed out the register. And the smile stayed on her face as she drove home to her duplex. Things might be looking up even more in Baltimore. She could hardly wait to call Karen.