Chapter Two
WEDNESDAY EVENING FINLAY was talking to her best friend, Isabel Ryder, on speakerphone when she pulled up in front of Whiskey Bro’s. Isabel bartended and waitressed at the restaurant in Boston where Finlay had worked before opening her small catering company, Finlay’s. They’d become fast friends, and a year after Finlay had opened her company, Isabel had begun working for her part-time, helping at the events. Finlay had been back in town for two months, and even though she’d made lots of new friends and had rekindled some of her old childhood friendships, she missed her bestie.
“You won’t believe what the new chef, Paolo, is doing with the kitchen,” Isabel said. “The guy might be a great chef, but he’s a total a-hole. I wish I could quit right now and come down to Peaceful Harbor and just work for you.”
“Sorry, Iz. Hopefully one day, but I don’t have things ironed out yet. I am catering a baby shower in two weeks for one of Penny’s friends. You know how much I love themed parties, and the mom is having twins, so I get to do boy and girl goodies.”
“They have no idea what they’re in for. Do they realize that when it comes to food, you’re the queen of all things baby-themed, which is second only to your affinity for heart-mending comfort food?”
“That’s why they hired me.”
When Finlay had first started her business, she’d catered a baby shower for a mom who was having quadruplets, and she’d come up with different baby-themed foods for four very distinct babies. She’d quickly become known as the go-to baby shower caterer in her area, and referrals to her website had taken off.
“How’s it going working from home?”
“Limiting. I can only take on small parties, but I think I was really lucky to find a rental with two wall ovens. I did see two more retail spaces today, and they were okay, but something was missing.”
“Yeah, me.”
Finlay smiled, picturing Isabel’s short dark hair and big, almond-shaped eyes looking at her like she was a fool for not realizing she’d left her behind. “Oh, please. It’s not like you can just pick up and leave. And now that I’m helping the Whiskeys, it’s going to be another month before I can dig my feet in, anyway, so I’m not in a rush to find space right now.”
“And?” Isabel asked curiously.
“And what?” She cut the engine and took Isabel off speakerphone.
“The train guy? Did you see him today?”
Finlay shoved her keys in her purse and stepped from the car. “He goes by Bullet, and no. Not yet. I don’t have to work at the bar very much yet. Just when I’m trying new menu items, or setting up the kitchen, or interviewing. It’s a process. But I’m on my way there now. I want to measure the counter space and check out the appliances. I was so busy talking with his family yesterday that I forgot to see if it was all up to snuff.”
“Bullet,” Isabel said softly. Then louder, “Bullet train. What do you think he believes about himself? That he’s really powerful, or that he fucks fast and hard?”
“Izzy!” Finlay felt her cheeks flush. She wasn’t a prude by any means, but she wasn’t as crass as Isabel. She looked around the parking lot, which was full of motorcycles and trucks, and wondered which one was Bullet’s. She spotted a shiny black Harley, and just as she decided it was his, she shifted her gaze to the scuffed-up one parked beside it. Yeah, that’s yours, I bet. “All I know is that he isn’t the type of guy to do anything slowly. I told you he’s part of a motorcycle gang or something, right? His whole family is, and the bar…” She glanced at the run-down building and sighed. “It could be cute if the windows weren’t blacked out and they spiffed it up a bit. But as it stands, it looks like it’s on its last legs, which is probably part of the allure for these guys. They’re really rough, totally different from—” She stopped herself before Aaron could fall out and said, “The guys who frequented that hole-in-the-wall bar on the corner by the restaurant.”
She’d met Aaron Rush almost nine years ago, during her first year of college, and it had been almost seven years since he was killed. Long enough to get past the physical pain of missing him and still recent enough to remember what his carefree laugh sounded like. His smile was beginning to fade from her memory, but the way that smile had made her feel? That would never leave her. She’d been just a girl of nineteen when they’d met, with no real-world experience and away from home for the first time ever. But she’d fallen hard for the confident, blond man of twenty-three who had already completed one military tour and had just reenlisted for another.
“They didn’t hire you to redecorate,” Isabel reminded her.
“I know, but…” She slung her purse over her shoulder and headed up the front steps.
“‘But every place should bring a smile to the patrons’ lips, whether they get a glimpse of the restaurant, the kitchen, or the bathroom.’”
“Okay, Miss Parrot,” Finlay said with a smile. “Maybe I have a thing for liking my surroundings.” She pulled open the heavy door and was assaulted by the smell of leather, metal, and Whiskey. She whispered into the phone as she stepped inside, “Remind me to bring some air freshener tomorrow.”
The din of the bar quieted, and all eyes turned to her. The combination of leers and confusion on the customers’ faces made her wonder if she’d spilled something on herself, and she looked down at her outfit. But her sea-foam-green dress was clean, the frills at the bottom neat and orderly. Her nude heels weren’t broken or even scuffed. Her stomach pitched south.
“Everyone’s staring at me. I gotta go,” she whispered into the phone, and ended the call. Aware of every set of eyes watching her—especially those of the monstrous man behind the bar, who seemed to be chewing nails—she tossed her long blond hair over her shoulder, lifted her chin, and tried to ignore the buzzing of her nerves as she made a beeline for the kitchen.
Someone whistled, and she made the mistake of looking over. The whistler was sitting on a stool by the bar. He winked, and she quickly shifted her gaze to Jed, the friendly guy with dirty-blond hair whom she’d met at the wedding last month. He was now busy bartending beside Bullet. Jed was kind and funny and not nearly as intimidating as some of the people she was walking past.
Jed smiled and said, “How’s it going, Finlay?”
She managed a quick wave as she weaved between tables, stepping over so many leather boots she could have been in a shoe store. She heard Bullet growl something at Jed, but she couldn’t make out the words.
A guy wearing a bandanna around his head said, “Hey, baby,” as she passed.
Not on your life.
She quickened her pace, passing a good-looking guy with short-cropped hair and tattoos snaking down his arm and a couple of guys wearing matching leather vests who lifted their drinks as if they were toasting her. What the heck? She felt like she was back in high school, running out onto the field to cheer for a football game, minus the cheerleading outfit and the desire to be appreciated for her looks. Nope. Not happening.
She finally pushed through the kitchen doors and, after scanning the room and making sure she was alone this time, exhaled loudly, silently chiding herself for being so nervous. They were just people.
The doors flew open behind her, and Bullet filled the doorframe. His dark eyes locked on hers, and her heart rate kicked up even faster. He was looking at her like he either wanted to devour her or kick her out of the bar. Right that second, she might not have minded the latter.
His gaze slid down her body, slowing at her breasts before taking a lustful stroll down her legs, all the way to the tips of her closed-toe heels.
Devour. Definitely devour.
She cleared her throat, and his eyes jerked up to hers, dark and desirous. In the blink of an eye, anger, or something similar, pushed all that desire away. He moved as slowly and silently as a humid afternoon, closing the distance between them—and sucking the oxygen from the room. Then he was upon her, standing so close she had to lift her chin to see his face. His brows were drawn into a concerned slant, worry lines so deeply etched across his forehead she wondered if they ever went away. Even with his beard, the tightness of his jaw was evident. His hulking body dwarfed hers in breadth and height, but it wasn’t the don’t-fuck-with-me aura surrounding him that had her trembling in her heels. It was the conflicting messages in his eyes.
“Everything all right?” he asked gruffly.
She nodded, unable to breathe.
“What are you doing here so late?”
His arms arced out from his body from the sheer size of his muscles, and she realized he could literally crush her if he wanted to. His fingers curled up, as if he was stopping himself from touching her. It reminded her of having seen him at the wedding with his friend’s children, Kennedy, a three-year-old little girl, and Lincoln, a toddler who had walked down the aisle holding Bullet’s hand. He’d been putty in their sweet little hands, as gentle and protective as could be, without a hint of aggression. She looked for that man now, and the longer she stared, which was about all she could do at the moment, the clearer it became that he was looking at her like she was an alien he didn’t understand. That’s just what she felt like, because she’d never met a man like him before. Tough as a truck tire and unafraid to speak his mind. The depth of those dark eyes that flashed hot and cold like railroad crossing lights gave her the sense there was a lot more he wanted to say than the gruff and sexy comments he tossed at her. While that made her nervous, the realization that he was probably just as confused by her as she was by him somehow eased the knot in her chest. She had only glimpsed at the women in the bar, but they seemed hard, street savvy in a way she wasn’t. They were obviously used to dealing with guys like Bullet. Facing him down was one thing, but a room full of Bullets? She needed to toughen up if she was going to hold her own and help the Whiskeys with this place.
He stared at her expectantly, and she realized she hadn’t answered his question. “I…um…I came to measure a few things.”
His eyes moved around the ample, though antiquated, kitchen. “Measure?”
She nodded again, focusing on the tattoo of a snake peeking out of his collar. What other tattoos were hidden beneath that shirt? She had a feeling they held the answers to his closed-off personality. Then again, his whole family was covered in tattoos, even Dixie, except she hadn’t seen any on his brother Bones. She imagined that was because he was an oncologist and it wouldn’t suit his professional image. But she found that curious, too. Bones seemed to be the only one of the Whiskeys who had chosen to follow a more professional path. Was that a reflection on their upbringing, or who each of them were at their core?
“You should work in the daytime.” His deep voice pulled her from her thoughts, and she must have been quiet too long for his liking, because he said, “You shouldn’t be here at night.”
The comment tweaked her nerves, and she found her voice. “I’m fully capable of deciding where and when I should go places.”
He chuckled, which infuriated her, turning her jitters into irritation.
She slipped her purse from her shoulder and slammed it on the counter, hard. “Are you pushing my buttons on purpose, or are you really a jerk?”
She felt him watching her as she rooted around in her purse for her measuring tape and notebook, trying not to let him see how nervous he made her.
“I definitely enjoy pushing your buttons, and I’m pretty much an asshole. So, I’d say both.”
Her hands stilled, and she glared at him. He shrugged with a half-cocked smile, which she found strangely endearing.
“At least you’re honest,” she said, and began measuring the countertops. “Why do you care when I work?”
“Why do you care about the length of our countertops?” He crossed his thick arms, watching her with a stern expression.
“Because you need enough space to prepare food. We need a deep fryer, and if we replace the oven and the refrigerator with slightly larger appliances, we need to make sure you’ll still have enough room to work.”
He motioned toward the table in the back of the room. “We can make sandwiches there.”
“Yes,” she said as she wrote down the dimensions. “But that’s not efficient.”
“Why? Your legs broken?” He lifted his brows, and his eyes went hot again. “Because they’re looking mighty fine and functional to me.”
Her cheeks flamed. Instead of responding, she turned her back to him and began measuring another counter, telling herself to calm the heck down. She felt him move behind her, as stealthily as a ninja. His proximity made her acutely aware of the heat filling the miniscule space between her back and his front. Her pulse raced as she finished measuring and scribbled the dimensions down in the notepad while he watched over her shoulder.
“That’s wrong.” He reached around her and picked up the measuring tape.
He stretched the tape out between his big hands, measuring the countertop while still standing behind her. The farther his arms reached, the more his body pressed against hers. Her girly parts tingled and clenched like they’d been starved for a man’s touch. Okay, maybe they were. She closed her eyes, trying to focus on anything but the hardness of his thick thighs against her ass, the feel of his belt buckle pressing into her back—
“See? You missed an inch.” He showed her the measuring tape.
It was all she could do to blink up at him, over her shoulder.
“Every inch counts,” he said as he set down the measuring tape. “I thought all sweethearts knew that.”
Nervous laughter bubbled out before she could stop it. “Sweethearts? Really?”
“What? Women are sweet.” He ran the back of his knuckles lightly up her arm, then wrapped his long, strong fingers gently around her upper arm and slid them down to her elbow, leaving flames in their wake.
Her entire body shuddered with his strong touch.
“And you’re extra sweet, like a sugar rush.”
She bit her lower lip, caught between being turned on by his touch and amused at his lines. Then he leaned in closer. His hot breath slid over her ear, and his beard scratched her cheek, tipping her toward the turned-on side. The man was a walking roller coaster.
“Don’t fight it, Finlay. You know you want to take me for a ride,” he whispered, deep and raspy.
“Take you for a ride?” She giggled and peeled his hand from her arm, turning in the sliver of space between them. He pressed his hips against her, and while she tried not to react to the size of his package, she knew by the look in his eyes she’d failed—epically.
“A long, hard ri—”
She reached up and put her hand over his mouth. “Don’t even say it. I’m not sure what type of girls you’re used to, but all this”—she waved toward his body—“is not working for me.”
He glanced down at her pert nipples, which pressed against the thin material of her dress, and a cocky smile lifted his lips. “Your body says otherwise.”
“Ugh. You are so arrogant!” She pushed out from between him and the counter, and cooler air swept over her, making her nipples pebble even tighter. “It’s the air in here.”
“Uh-huh.” He stepped toward her, pinning her in place with his piercing gaze.
What was it about him that was drawing her in even as warning bells went off in her head? She needed a distraction, enough space to regain control. She snagged the measuring tape from the counter to give her hands something to do and began measuring the refrigerator. Her darn hands were trembling.
He moved behind her again. “Why do you want to replace the appliances? This refrigerator works just fine.”
“There’s not enough space in it, and it’s old as dirt. You want your appliances to function properly so your ingredients don’t go bad.” She moved to the counter again and jotted down the dimensions.
“It’s fine,” he said sharply.
“Are you always like this? Hitting on women one minute and arguing with everything they say the next? Don’t you have to mind the bar?” She measured the stove, then quickly shoved her notebook in her bag, needing an escape.
“Jed’s got it covered.” He put his hand on her bag. “In a hurry?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. I’m meeting friends and I don’t want to be late.”
His fingers fisted in her bag, and his brows furrowed again. He tucked her bag against his side like a football and headed for the door.
“Hey!” She hurried after him. “That’s my bag.”
He pushed open the door and held it for her. “I’m carrying it to your car.”
Confused, she passed by him and walked into the bar. His arm swept possessively around her, and suddenly all eyes turned toward her again. Only this time, there were no heated glances or haughty whistles. Both were replaced with respectful nods directed at Bullet. Anger simmered inside her.
She hurried out the front door and twisted from his grip. “What the heck was that all about?” She ripped her purse from his hands, unable to stop her voice from rising. “I am not your property, and that was…Oh my gosh, Bullet. I don’t even know how to classify what you just did. It was the equivalent of dragging me by my hair into your cave.”
“You work there now,” he said evenly.
“What the heck is that supposed to mean? Just because I work for your family doesn’t mean you own me.”
He stepped closer, and she held up her palm. “Stop. Why do you always do that?”
“What?”
“Encroach on my personal space. Stay there. Say what you have to say, and it darn well better include an apology, because I don’t need this job enough to deal with this every time I’m here.”
FINLAY GLARED AT Bullet as if she could visually cut him to shreds. “I am not some biker guy’s old lady! I am a professional woman, and if you refuse to treat me like one, then I’m gone, Bullet. And you can explain to your family why I left.”
“What the fuck are you so pissed off about?”
“You! You think you can just push your way between my legs? Maybe other girls like all that bad-boy mojo you have going on, and I’ll admit, there’s something hot about it, but all that heat tends to fizzle when you treat a girl like property.”
There’s something hot about it glowed in his mind like a beacon. “I was putting a stop to the bullshit leers you were getting. Would you prefer I let you throw yourself to the wolves and allow those guys to eye-fuck you like that’s all you’re worth?”
For the second time in twenty-four hours, her jaw hung open, and she snapped it shut. She stepped closer, a hair more than five feet of confident bravado, all wrapped up in a frilly dress with a sweet little ribbon tied around her waist. He’d never met anyone like this feminine, smart little waif, and even though he knew he should probably take the golden ticket she was offering and let her walk away, he couldn’t do it.
“Isn’t that exactly what you have been doing to me?” she said in a calmer, accusatory voice. “Leering and making lewd comments? Trying to get me to ride the Bullet train?”
Aw, fuck. She had a point. “Yeah, but that’s just because I’m into you. It’s different.”
She wrinkled her nose, as if she couldn’t believe he’d said that, so he tried to explain.
“You may not be ready to ride yet—”
“Oh my gosh,” she said under her breath.
“But one day you will be, and I’m not going to let those horny bastards look at you like you’re a piece of meat.”
“But it’s okay for you to do it?” Her eyes bloomed wide.
He nodded, then quickly realized what she’d said. “No. Wait. That’s not what I’m doing.”
“Yes, it most definitely is.” She reached into her purse as she spoke. “Look, Bullet. I don’t know what your deal is, but I like your family, and I want to help make this place better. I’m sure I’m not the type of person you’re used to, but I know my way around the kitchen, and I could do this job in my sleep.” She pulled out her keys and said, “Obviously I have to pull up my bootstraps and be more confident around your customers, but now that I know that, I’ll do it. What I won’t put up with is having to fend off your advances every time I come in. So let’s lay it all on the line, right here, right now.”
“Great.” He crossed his arms. “Go out with me.”
She laughed.
“Not the response I was looking for,” he grumbled.
“How can you even ask me that after everything that just happened?”
He splayed his hands and felt a smile creep across his lips. “You put up a few roadblocks, and I’m navigating around them.”
“Roadblocks?” Her shoulders dropped. “Okay, listen, we’re not going to go out. Like, ever.”
“Yes, we are, Finlay. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but one day you’re going to go out with me.”
“No, I’m not.”
Refusing to play this game, he looked around the parking lot, zeroing in on a pale-pink Suburban parked by the road, and stifled a laugh. “That yours?”
“Don’t laugh. It’s for my catering company. I have to stand out. I want people to take notice and wonder why there’s a big pink truck on the road.”
“You don’t need a pink vehicle to stand out. All you need to do is flash that traffic-stopping smile of yours.”
“Bullet,” she said softly, and headed toward her truck.
“You do have trouble with honesty, don’t you?”
She turned and glared at him. “No.”
“Bullshit.”
“Do you always curse?”
He shrugged. “Only when I feel like it.”
She studied him for a long moment, her big blue eyes moving from his face to his chest and down his arms. He wondered what she was looking for. Just as he was about to ask, she said, “Are we clear about everything now?”
“I am, but you obviously have a few things clouding your vision.” He reached for her keys, and when she lifted her hand up, as if she could hold them out of his reach, he smiled and covered her hand with his. “Keys, lollipop.”
She huffed out a breath and let go. As he opened her door, she said, “Lollipop?”
He wasn’t about to tell her that he’d like to lick her all over. “Best type of sugar rush there is.”
“I’m not sure if I should slap you or thank you.”
As she climbed into the van, he put a hand on her back, and she glared at him.
“Put that scowl away, lollipop. If you think I’m not going to help you into your truck, you’re wrong. And as far as slapping goes, if that’s what you’re into, you can try it. But don’t be surprised if that gorgeous ass of yours sees its turn.”
She turned bright red. “I can’t believe you talk like that.”
“Like what? Oh, right. You have that thing about honesty. A proper girl like you? I’d think you were all about honesty. Where are you headed?”
She settled into the driver’s seat and started the engine. “Out.”
“Drinking?” He couldn’t imagine her drinking anything stronger than a Shirley Temple, but he felt the need to know she was safe.
“After tonight? Most definitely.”
He imagined her in a bar and immediately envisioned sleazy guys trying to pick her up. “Give me your phone.”
“What? No.”
“Jesus.” He pulled his phone from his pocket. “What’s your phone number?”
“Why?”
“Because I’m your boss and I should have it.”
She rattled off her number and he sent her a text. Her phone dinged from within her purse.
“Now you have my number in case you need me.” He put his hands on the roof of her car and leaned in, purposefully encroaching on her personal freaking space. “Or if you want me.”
She blinked up at him, cheeks flushing, eyes heating.
Yeah, that’s right, lollipop. I want to get so deep in your personal space you won’t be able to tell where I begin and you end. “I’m only a phone call away.”