Long after the boat parade and the annual displays of fireworks, long after the holiday revelers had shuffled out to their cars, and a few hours after the Fourth of July became July 5th, Gigi savored the quiet of her empty bar. This time last summer, her crew of bartenders had turned the herculean task of cleaning up into another party of sorts. Last year's crop of summer staff took forever to close down for the night, partly because of the larger than average crowd, and partly because they hadn't been cleaning as they went, while they were working. Gigi blamed herself for the delay, although she didn't begrudge the younger employees their happiness. She believed in hiring energetic people who loved the job, but sometimes her staffing decisions led to raucous, playful inefficiency.

These days, her bartenders were a more established bunch, with families waiting at home or places to go once their shifts were over. They lived by the old bartender saying—time to lean is time to clean—and used their rare moments of downtime to keep the bar and their stations tidy. Under bright and unflattering lights, they still sang along with the music but moved briskly while they reveled. They made short work of closing out after last call and went their separate ways for the night.

Now, seated in her favorite spot at the far corner of the bar, Gigi pushed aside the remnants of a very late dinner. A glass of water stood neglected and sweating in the center of a sodden cocktail napkin, and she finished matching the figures from a long, curling band of paper to the spreadsheet on her iPad.

From the kitchen, distant clinking sounds announced the end of another dishwasher cycle. Noah would be pulling a tray of dishes and glasses out of there now and preparing for what would likely be the last cycle for the night. Something about hearing him move back there, tucking the kitchen in for the night, comforted Gigi. He'd spent the last two months proving that he could take excellent care of her business. Ignoring Gigi's advice not to get attached to him, Heather had created a "Noah-do" list that would take him far longer than the summer to complete. Against her better judgment, Gigi had stopped discouraging her. Together, they played it off as a challenge—let's see how much of this he manages to get done before he has to leave.

If self-deception was what it took to get through the summer, then Gigi would not discourage self-deception.

Noah strode through the kitchen's swinging door, drying his hands on the tail of a once-white apron. Gigi folded her hands on the bar and watched as he approached her. If she didn't already know he was a damn good barback, she would never have guessed it to look at him. He moved briskly, his eyes taking in the details of the familiar room, as if he were preparing to take command. He looked like the man in charge.

"Last call for the dishwasher," he said.

His big hands dwarfed her plate and fork. A favorite fantasy swam to the surface of her mind, and the thought of his broad, rough hands on her thighs and her ass set arousal smoldering stubbornly within her. Those palms and long fingers would steady her as she rocked the slick petals of her pussy toward his waiting mouth. Her own mouth watered.

He moved to take her glass, and some mischief she couldn't suppress made her reach for it first. Slowly, she pushed it away from him, leaving a trail of cool water on the bar. When he leaned toward it, she tugged her drink farther away.

He could have it when he asked her for it.

His gaze followed her hand at first. Then his eyes met hers.

Everything went still, just the way it had in the storage room a few weeks before. The same weird energy crackled between them. She met his stare with her own, facing down the intensity that radiated from him. She felt the power that had driven him through blazing heat and desert dust, and her very essence sang with the need to mate that strength with hers.

He was still, the plate in one hand and the other on the bar near her glass. Motionless, he waited for her.

He needed her direction. Her permission.

Jesus, why can't you just work in your office?

The tension between them shuddered and then broke.

"I got it," she said. She tried to smile. "I haven't done it for a while, but I think I can manage one glass."

His hard mouth bent into a grin, an expression that was just innocent enough. He nodded and took the plate into the kitchen to join the rest of the dirty dishes.

Gigi watched him go and swallowed hard before reaching for her water. The cool drink soothed her suddenly dry mouth.

He knew. Somehow he knew she'd been teasing him… and why.

Damn. Good thing Noah had somewhere else to be come September. She couldn't face this every night forever. Everyone would have to work a little harder without Noah, and they'd all hate her for a while. But that happened every year when the summer staff left. This year, Gigi would much prefer to deal with a little extra work than go on fighting whatever this was between them.

The overhead fans did little to stir the air, and while the empty bar smelled freshly cleaned, it felt like lightning was about to strike. This new atmospheric condition could bear his name.

She toggled the iPad into standby and slid off the stool. She wasn't going to get anything done out here. She poured a fresh water from the gun behind the bar and mopped up the wet spot left by her glass.

* * *

The wooden patio on top of the building offered little in the way of scenic views. It faced the neighboring salon, not the beach, and from an ancient Adirondack chair, Gigi could look down into the parking lot and the Dumpster. Beyond her building and the hair salon, the neighborhood crept up the hill into the suburbs. She could make out a couple of beach house backyards. Muffled rhythm thumped from a screened-in porch in the distance.

How many summer bartenders had found their way up here for an after-shift beer? All of them, probably. She chuckled at the memory of her two year-round bartenders hauling a mini-fridge up the narrow wooden stairs to the corner, where she now sought a drink of her own. The privacy up here provided a much-needed escape from the commotion of the bar, and with the mini-fridge, it wasn't a bad spot for a drink with friends. Or a hookup.

Her iPad lay next to the abandoned glass of water and a candle she'd found on the weathered wooden table near the door. The lights hadn't worked up here in years. Seeing a candle here, as she did every time she went to the patio, reminded her that she needed to get someone to take care of that. Between the candle and the fridge, one day someone was going to burn the place down.

Well, that would stop Dad from worrying about fraternization, wouldn't it?

Maybe she could get Noah to handle it. Speaking of fraternization.

Heather's months-long list rose to mind. They'd have to put a leash on all those expectations. He was just not going to be here that long.

Still, Gigi's traitorous mind fluttered around thoughts of drinks and stolen kisses in the dark. Noah wasn't the first employee who'd caught her eye, but she'd been a spectator to the game of attraction when it came to her line of work. Every summer, she and Heather placed bets on which bartenders would succumb first to the hookup culture that ran like a fever through the bar business. But Heather had married the sort of man who didn't mind that she shed her ring at work, and Gigi knew that management, staff and pleasure should never mix at a bar. Her father's obsession with that paramount rule just reinforced her feelings, although sometimes she wondered where one ended and the rest began.

She and Heather made themselves content to watch heads turn wherever Noah went.

Still, something about him reached into her. Something about him settled into her bones and smoldered.

Heavy steps on the creaky wooden stairs captured her attention. "Here you are." Noah's voice liquefied something low in her belly. "I didn't know where you got to."

"I came up for a little fresh air. I thought I'd be back by the time you finished."

He came out onto the patio, making the boards protest beneath his weight. "Well, it's all done downstairs. You need anything else?"

Gigi breathed deeply of the hot summer air. That question.

"No, I'm sure it's fine. I hope I didn't keep you too long; I'm sure you have places to be tonight."

"Me?" Noah chuckled. "No, I'm not going anywhere."

"No?" She gestured at the other chair with the bottle. "You want to sit down for a minute?"

Noah dropped onto the neighboring Adirondack chair with a barely suppressed groan.

"That's a blessed feeling, isn't it?" She leaned back in the chair. "Sitting down after barbacking a double shift."

"God, yes." He stretched his arms over his head, arching his back until the joints popped.

"You want a beer?" She glanced over the shoulder toward the mini-fridge. "Might have two more back there."

His body reclined in the chair. "No, I'm good."

"You sure? Not even to thank you for your service?"

He lifted one hand toward her, as if to ward off incoming beer. "No thanks necessary."

She turned to watch him in repose. She could hardly make him out in the dark, but the sound of his sigh squeezed her heart. Weary. How long had he been weary like that?

"So how do you know how it feels to sit down after barbacking all day?" he asked.

More pleasant memories made her smile. "I was a barback. Dad always wanted me to take over the bar, but he refused to just hand me the job. He started me at the bottom of the totem pole."

"Which is my job."

"Yes, sir. You can't bartend here until you're twenty-one, and you have to be eighteen to serve alcohol as a waitress. But you can barback as soon as you can start working."

He chuckled. "I have a new respect for you."

"I loved it. I kind of grew up here, anyway." She turned over onto her side to face him. "I mean, you've been here. This place is a lot of fun, even if you're working, right?"

"It is a pretty good time."

"Right?" She drank from the beer. "A far cry from what you used to do."

"You'd be surprised. I mean, this is a lot less dangerous, sure. But I was part of a team, with specialized skills. We each knew our part. We each exceeded expectations." He smiled into the dark. "We succeeded by anticipating needs and working on instinct, and this job is basically anticipating needs and working on instinct."

"Like your feeling with that guy," she said.

"Frank." He looked over his shoulder at her. "I have a lot of That Guys in my life."

Gigi set the beer bottle down next to the chair. "Frank."

"Yeah, Frank is a perfect example. Figure out what Frank needs and get there before he does."

She remembered the sound of Noah's laughter coming from above as she listened from the storage.

"I think Frank is more than just a perfect example."

He was quiet for a few seconds. She waited, giving him the space to respond or decide not to. He didn't owe her an explanation to satisfy her idle curiosity.

"My uncle went to Vietnam. Used to slip away like that, just looking at nothing." Somewhere in the neighborhood's distant cul-de-sacs, squealing tires drew his attention briefly. The sound drifted into the silence, and he said, "He had a hard time when he got back."

"Things are different now," she said.

He nodded.

"I don't mean to sound ungrateful for the best barback I've ever hired." She sat up, elbows on her knees. "But I'm sure you didn't come back here from Afghanistan to shovel ice and fill dishwashers."

"Well, if it's any consolation," he said, "I'll be doing plenty of hauling ice in Florida. The job is on a fishing boat."

"Ah."

"Not as many college girls out there."

"Is that a pro or a con?"

He laughed. "No comment, boss."

They looked out into the darkness. Faraway firecrackers popped, and a lone bottle rocket arced through the sky in a shower of sparks.

"I'm glad you're here, Monroe," she said. "Even if it's just a summer thing."

"I'm glad I'm here, too, boss," he answered.

She considered a friendly jab about the task list she and Heather should not be keeping for him, and how much they needed him around to handle the aging bar's growing set of needs. But instead she let the silence wrap around them both. Another bottle rocket squealed in the dark before exploding with a crack.

"I guess we should go," she said.

He rose from the awkward chair with ease and offered her his hand. She slid her palm into his warm, work-roughened one and let him pull her to her feet. Inches away from him now, she felt that electricity again, a heavy thickness in the air between them.

She shouldn't. Not this. Not with him. She should be responsible and walk away. She should go downstairs, lock up, and get in the car to go home.

She shouldn't give in to this magnetic force, but it demanded surrender. It would have both of them sooner or later. She wasn't strong enough to resist it forever.

Right now, she didn't want to be. She only wanted him.

Her fingers resting lightly in his, she swayed toward him. Her arm wound around his shoulder and she lifted her face to his an instant before his mouth settled on hers.

Moving as one, their lips parted. She pressed her palm to the back of his neck, where the summer heat and hard work had made the skin sticky with sweat. She claimed his mouth with her tongue. The perfect satiny skin of his lips gave way to the heat of his mouth, and her tongue traced the back of his teeth, the hard shelf above and behind them. He released her hand, freeing her to embrace him. His arms wound around her waist and he pushed into her kiss, taking her mouth boldly.

Yes.

She lifted her chest up to meet his. The contact with his hard body brought her nipples to taut peaks.

She took his face in both hands and pushed herself just far enough away to breathe.

"That night, in the storage," she whispered. "Did I imagine that?"

He shook his head. "No."

She rocked her pelvis against his, her body landing against the stiffness in his pants. "Am I crazy for wanting to act on that?"

"You don't seem crazy to me."

"Good." She took a step away from him and traced a line down his chest with her fingernail. "Take off your shirt."

She took a step away from him, then another, before sliding her hands into her back pockets. For a moment, they stood there in the dark and watched each other in silence.

"Come on," she said. "Take it off."

He crossed his arms in front of him, grabbing the bottom of his shirt and then peeling it off. Smoothly, he pulled it over his head, and he stood with it clutched loosely in one hand. He watched her with an enticing mixture of caution and defiance in his eyes.

Gigi's insides fluttered with an excitement that she hoped her face didn't reveal. She'd expected some measure of hesitation from Noah, if not outright resistance. She'd thought it would take more than a simple command to bend him to her will. And yet here he was, bare chested, waiting for her instructions.

She approached him slowly. Her footsteps creaked on the weathered wood as she surveyed him. She drank deeply of the sight of him, the body she'd only been able to imagine beneath those clothes.

Her fingertips found his chest again, and she lightly raked her nails down to his stomach. His abs twitched at her touch, making her smile.

Ticklish. Nice.

She wanted to be behind him now, knowing her presence would trigger his reflexes. As she predicted, the muscles in his strong back went taut, and she could see the column of his neck in stark relief in the dim light.

Damn.

Wary, he turned to look at her over his shoulder. She spread her fingers over a big shoulder blade to reassure him, the way one might try to calm a skittish horse.

"Is this a little weird?" Her voice was almost a whisper.

"A little," he answered. His mouth curled into a half-smile.

She wound her arms around him, pressed her body against his back. Her soft midsection met his tight ass. Her hands smoothed the coarse hair that dusted his chest. His scent, sweat and the whispery hint of cheap shampoo, teased her.

She longed to touch her lips, her tongue, to the base of his thick neck. To feel the bone there. Caress his earlobe with her mouth to see if he was ticklish there as well.

Not yet. Not now.

Instead, she whispered to him, "Do you like it?"

His head fell back toward hers, and his chest expanded into her hands. His surrender sent a thrill surging through her.

"Mmm," he said, his voice rumbling through her. "I like it."

She went on touching him, this man who gave his body over to her. She ran her hands through that short, sand-colored hair, and found it almost wiry beneath her palms. She stroked him as if he were an animal, a prized, well-bred beast born to serve her. She let one palm rest on his throat, where the pulse beat steady and strong, and traced his lips with the other hand.

This breath was hers now. This blood was hers.

She tucked her fingers inside his mouth. He curled his tongue around them, closing his mouth and sucking at the sensitive flesh.

Her insides went liquid, and she let her body undulate against his, let him feel how well he pleased her. Her own lips parted of their own accord. She longed to taste him, to lick and suck the skin salty with sweat.

She pulled her fingers free and squeezed his shoulders.

"Come here," she said. She led him to the chair she'd struggled out of a moment before. When she pointed at it, he lowered himself into it. She studied the flex and release of his muscles.

Casting a shadow over him, she steadied herself on the chair and straddled him. Before he could reach for her, she went for his cock. Her hand rested on the long, stiff bulge beneath the zipper of his pants.

He'd feel so good inside her. Big enough to make her greedy flesh stretch for him. He liked this, the possessive way she touched him. His hips bucked up toward her, and he closed his eyes, silently asking for more.

"You have a condom, Noah?" She sat on his lap to rub his erection through his clothes.

His body went still. He opened his eyes and shook his head.

"No?" Her arousal began to recede, leaving her frustrated and achy.

He shook his head. No condom.

"That's very disappointing, Noah."

He groaned. "No shit."

She put her fingers to his lips to silence him, but not before his response made her laugh.

"I think this will be hardest on you, though," she said. She turned around so that her back was facing him and lay down on top of him. Then she looked at him over her shoulder, sweeping her hair out of the way. "You're going to make me come. And if I come hard enough, I'll see you're taken care of." She made herself comfortable on him, grinding her ass into his hard on. "You really ought to remember to carry a condom, Noah."

From behind her, he tugged her shirt over her bra but not all the way off. "I'll do better next time," he whispered.

"Yes, you will," she said.

The band of her bra tightened for a second and then went loose when he unfastened it. It tangled with her shirt as he exposed her breasts to the night air. She lifted herself into his hands, and he pushed her tits together. God, his touch engulfed her, so strong and sure. She needed more of him.

His mouth touched the column of her neck, his tongue tracing a line from her shoulder to her ear. Desire made her body tighten and ache for release. She covered his hands with her own and arched her back more.

He dug his fingers into her, engulfing her with his savage caress. She let up a long moan. He wanted more, too. His need for her came through with every touch.

He pinched the hard points of her nipples between his rough fingertips, rolling them until she squirmed on his lap. A cry of pleasure poured out of her. She opened her legs on his lap, spreading them wide, and he rested his thigh between them. She ground her pussy against his iron-hard leg. Abundant juices made her panties stick to her heated flesh. Honey-sweet friction built between her legs.

"You're making me so wet," she said. She released his hands and opened the button of her jeans before slowly lowering the zipper. The metallic rasp seemed very loud to her heightened senses. Her whole body hungered for stimulation, for sound and scent and touch. "Give me your hands."

He obeyed her by letting his broad palms slide down over her stomach to her waist. She met him there and took hold of his thick wrists, guiding them into her open pants.

"You know what to do, Monroe."

He reached in beneath her panties, making the fabric peel away from her slick folds. He rubbed her mound slowly, as if taking care not to miss any part of her. The rough pads of his fingers teased her clit. The pressure created a swell of need inside her.

He smoothed slippery juices over her swollen lips. Maddened with pleasure, she steadied herself as best she could against the chair and the floor so that she could stimulate herself. Her own nipples in her own hands. She flicked and tugged at them until she thrashed against him. As ecstasy and lust transformed her, the steady sound of his breath, in and out against her shoulder, anchored her on the edge of reality.

Then he plunged three fingers into her. Her gasp opened into a cry. Her core clenched greedily around him, gripping him tight as he started to work her. He stroked her hard and deep, and the wet sound of his fingers inside her kept time with the sharp edge of her breath.

Deep within her, his fingers curled to find the center of her pleasure. His firm, forceful touch there sent her spiraling up to a stratospheric climax, one that kept her floating a long time, impaled on his capable fingers until her slow descent to the steamy summer heat and the tangle of her clothes. He waited for her to catch her breath before he withdrew. She turned over on his lap as he lifted his fingers to his lips.

She took hold of his hands again. "Not all of it."

He raised one eyebrow, smiling around his index finger.

"Now I want you to make yourself come." She unwound her legs from his and dropped onto the deck to watch him. "Show me what you'd give me if you had the condom."

He chuckled as he opened his pants. "You'd get better than this if I had the condom."

More of that defiance in his tone. That definitely excited her.

"Show me."

He unfastened his pants and freed himself. She couldn't see him perfectly in the dark, but the way his hands moved told her that he was just about the size she'd imagined.

He tucked one hand beneath his cock, cradling his sack as he squeezed his shaft. He turned to face her. A soft, dreamlike expression overtook his features as he pumped himself.

He stared at her as he masturbated eagerly. He tugged and stroked his balls while he handled himself. Gradually his tempo increased. His fist slid up and down over his thick tool, and the sheet of muscle that was his stomach clenched as his pleasure grew.

The sounds he made stirred her, and her pussy ached and throbbed in time with each ragged breath. Soon, he closed his eyes, his jaw set as he jacked off. His body rocked up and down in the chair. Unseen, she fought the temptation to join him, to stroke herself as she watched him.

At last, he bit his lip, suppressing a coarse growl. An instant later, he came in his hand, his spunk spattering his abs in pulses. When his orgasm subsided, he came to rest in the chair, panting. He waited for what seemed like a long time before he opened his eyes again.

"I was halfway there by the time I started," he said. He groped around in the darkness beneath the chair for his shirt. "If I had the condom, you'd get better." He swiped at himself with the shirt before looking at her. "I promise."

Gigi swallowed hard, hoping he couldn't hear the sound it made in her suddenly dry throat. To her surprise, she couldn't come up with a suitable response.