With love from rose bend, p.32
With Love from Rose Bend, page 32
“What do you need from me, Korrie?” Korrie. Not Barbie. Because this wasn’t a teasing moment. She’d stripped herself in front of him, a relative stranger, and he’d honor that courage. “Make it plain.”
“Teach me how to...” Her face scrunched up as if she now scrounged for the words that had seemed to tumble out of her moments ago. “Teach me how to be me before I allowed myself to be tied up by so many restrictions. Show me how to let loose and have...fun. Please.”
He swallowed back a bark of laughter at that seemingly involuntary addition of “please.” Always mannerable, even when asking him to school her in being wild.
“Korrie...”
“Before you make up your mind, I don’t expect you to give me your time for free. I’ll pay you.”
His head jerked back, almost cracking the wall behind him. Arms and leg dropping, he pushed away from the wall and stalked forward, eliminating the small space that separated them. He stopped just short of looming over her. The anger glinting inside his chest like a hard diamond was not sharp enough that he’d abuse his height and strength to intimidate her.
“I may be a lowly bartender in your eyes, but I can’t be bought. I don’t need or want your money.”
Her eyes widened a fraction before what appeared to be shame shadowed them. “I’m sorry, Israel. I didn’t mean to offend you. I just didn’t want you to think I was taking advantage of you.”
“If I agree to this—and that’s a huge if—it will be because I choose to. Your first lesson in letting loose? Let go of the concept of people only wanting to be around you for what they can get out of you. I’m not here for that.”
His words throbbed between them like a heartbeat.
“Are you going to be here for me, then?”
Her voice didn’t tremble, didn’t waver, but her eyes... Shit, they were going to be the death of him. They had a language all their own, and they pleaded with him.
“Why me? Hell, you don’t even like me,” he said, grasping at straws. Because he hovered on the edge of a yes that wouldn’t be wise for either of them.
No way in hell he didn’t end this without being balls deep inside her.
And with her regretting she’d ever laid eyes on him.
Call him insane—and no, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d called himself that in the last two years—but he didn’t want to be one more regret on her list. Right under her asshole of an ex.
“And you don’t like me, either.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” he muttered.
He didn’t know her, not really. But he didn’t need to be able to pick out her favorite flavor of ice cream in order to have her screaming his name in his ears.
She loosed a low, rough laugh. “As odd as it sounds, it’s nice that you don’t really care for me,” she murmured. “It means you don’t have a problem being honest with me. I need that in my life. It’s...refreshing.”
He didn’t bother disabusing her of her idea regarding his feelings toward her. It was probably safer for both of them that she believed it.
“And to answer your question of why you...” She held up her hands, her delicate pale palms facing upward. “Because no one else would do it. They would worry more about handling me with kid gloves than helping me. And I want this too much to let their well-meaning interfere. No.” She shook her head. “I need you.”
Those three words stroked right down his abs and wrapped around his cock. But they also reached inside his chest and squeezed his heart. A heart he’d sworn no longer did things like hurt or even beat. He’d believed it’d atrophied a long time ago.
“I told you before, I’m no knight in shining armor.”
“And I told you that I’m not a damsel in distress. I don’t need you to save me. I need you to show me how to save myself.”
He scrubbed a hand over his hair then down the shaved sides of his head.
Aw shit.
“Fine.”
A smile lit up her face, glowing like the sun breaking over the horizon. Damn. He just managed to stop himself from stumbling back away from her. That smile was lethal.
And he was in danger.
Oh, yeah, this was not going to end well.
But too late now. He’d rather run naked through the field at the end of town in the middle of January and suffer severe shrinkage than steal that beautiful light from her face.
“When do we start?” She rolled to the balls of her feet and back to her heels, rocking back and forth.
He grabbed his cell from his back pocket and glanced at the screen. “I have to get back to work. Here.” He opened the phone and brought up a new message. “Text me so I have your number. I’ll get in touch with you tomorrow.”
“Okay.” Her fingers flew over the keypad then she handed the cell back. “Thank you, Israel,” she said. “I really appreciate this.”
“Yeah.” He turned to go but then jerked to a stop. Glancing over his shoulder, he murmured, “You’re welcome.”
Then he walked back into the bar, losing himself in the noise of the music and the crowd before he did something stupid.
Like tell her he was proud of her.
CHAPTER THREE
“I’M GOING TO be honest. This was not what I pictured when I asked you to help me let loose.”
Perched on a chair at a high table, she scanned the place that looked more like a dance club than the dive bar she’d ventured into only a week earlier. After having never stepped foot in a bar in her life, she’d visited two in two weeks.
When she went rogue, she went rogue.
“Do tell what you were imagining, Barbie.” Israel plunked a glass containing golden-brown alcohol with a lighter foam on top along with a bottle of beer on the table between them. “Did there happen to be a sex dungeon and a red room involved? C’mon, it’s a safe space here. You can admit it.” He waggled his dark eyebrows.
She wrinkled her nose at him and picked up the glass, assuming the Sam Adams wasn’t intended for her. Sipping the drink, she hummed, pleasantly surprised when the creamy, butterscotch flavor flowed over her tongue. “Wow. That’s delicious.” She took another sip then set it down on the table. “What’s this called?”
“A buttery nipple.”
A sputtering cough burst from her, spraying alcohol over the tabletop. He calmly reached over and patted her on the back, as if women choking and wheezing through a spasming fit were an everyday occurrence for him. She swatted his hand away. He disappeared and moments later, returned with a glass of water. Snatching it up, her first impulse was to gulp it down. But her tight throat wouldn’t allow it. She sipped the water, and after a couple of moments, lowered the glass and sucked in a deep breath. And threw him a death glare.
“You did that on purpose,” she rasped.
He widened his eyes trying for innocent and missing it by a country mile. The only thing missing was him clutching his pearls.
“I have no idea what you mean. As a bartender, I thought you might enjoy this particular drink. Butterscotch and Irish cream liqueur, what’s not to love? And I was right. Tell me I was wrong.” He nudged the glass with his finger.
“I swear to God, I’m being sexually harassed,” she grumbled, patting down the table with a napkin.
A big, long-fingered hand covered hers, and she glanced up, meeting his denim gaze. “If I made you uncomfortable, Korrie, I apologize, and I’ll do better. I didn’t intend any offense.”
She stared at him, frozen. Other than her father, had another man been so concerned with her comfort, her feelings? Maybe Derek had, in the beginning of their relationship. The very beginning but not after. God. What did that say about her?
That you’re so desperate to not be old and alone that you’ll put up with not being valued and appreciated as you deserve.
Well...okay, then.
That truth stung. Didn’t make it any less accurate.
“You do make me uncomfortable sometimes, but not because you offend me. You’re fine.”
His hand pressed down on hers for a brief moment. Then he slowly leaned back in his chair, his fingers trailing a fire-licked path along the back of her hand. Why flames didn’t spring up in their wake, she had no idea. She drew her arm under the table, unobtrusively rubbing her thumb over the suddenly sensitive skin.
Or maybe not so unobtrusively, she amended, when his gaze dropped as if he could peer through the wood.
“How else, Korrie?”
“What?” For the life of her she couldn’t grasp their conversation past the heat evaporating all the blood in her veins.
“How else do I cause you...discomfort?”
She paused, then almost winced. Yes, she’d said that. And couldn’t take it back now that he’d called her out on it.
“You are...different from other men I’ve known.”
“Different,” he repeated, tipping the bottle to his mouth and studying her over the rim. “Now I’m the one who doesn’t know if I should be offended.” His tone remained easy, but she caught the slight tightening of his fingers around the beer, the telltale firming of his mouth.
Or at least telltale to her.
Probably because she’d become an expert in the study of his hard but incredibly soft-looking mouth.
Drink up, girl. There’s courage at the bottom of this glass.
Obeying her subconscious’s order, she picked up her buttery nipple—Lord, that name!—and downed more liquor.
“As I’m learning, different isn’t bad. Derek was my norm.” She inhaled. “The way you look at me. Talk to me. Behave toward me...” A shimmering wave of heat undulated low in her belly. And she steeled herself against the shiver that worked its way through her. “It’s blunt and like a lot of drinks you probably serve—straight up with no chaser. Yes, it’s uncomfortable. But it’s also the most honest conversation I’ve ever had. So yes, you are different. And it’s good. At least, good for me.”
Something quicksilver and dark flashed through his eyes. What was that? What had she said? She ran her words through her head but couldn’t pinpoint what would elicit that particular reaction. An emotion that she couldn’t decipher but reminded her of pain, of anger, or a volatile mixture of the two.
But in the next instant, it disappeared, hidden behind his hooded gaze and a lazy smile.
“Let’s see if you’re saying that by the end of the night, Barbie.” He tipped his head toward the front of the bar. “Tonight’s ‘I don’t give a fuck’ assignment.”
Just then, the music cut, and a woman’s voice boomed over a mic. Korrie spun on her chair and located the source on the raised platform.
“Welcome to karaoke night at the Bull’s Head! Who’s ready to get their Beyoncé on?” The older woman with her tight Bull’s Head T-shirt—complete with horns shooting out of either side of the logo—and tighter jeans and boots, held up her hands. Hoots and hollers broke out all around Korrie, and the woman grinned. “Well, let’s get it started. Tammy, you’re up!”
A girl with beautiful sister locs bounced up the stairs onto the stage and accepted the mic. She waved to the crowd, and Korrie honestly expected her to break out in jazz hands. Then the music kicked in, she opened her mouth and belted out the first lyrics of “Wanted Dead or Alive” by Bon Jovi.
Korrie’s jaw dropped. She might look barely old enough to be in the bar but the pipes on her...
Her head snapped around to Israel.
“I’m not doing that.”
He shook his head. “Of course not.”
She exhaled, relieved. Maybe he just expected them to watch tonight. To ease into this whole letting loose thing—
“I picked a different song for us.”
Shit. Shitshitshitshit.
And yes. This situation so merited a curse. Several of them.
“No.”
“Now, don’t knock—”
“No way.”
“Korrie.”
“I can’t.”
In spite of the performance and cheering around them, silence hummed at their table, louder than the din in the bar. Or so it seemed to her. And her very telling I can’t vibrated between them.
After several moments where her impassioned, humiliating plea sat there, he simply asked, “Why not?”
“Why?” She splayed her hands wide on the table. “Because I’m not a college student. I’m too old to get up there.”
The opening notes to Patsy Cline’s “Crazy” filtered through the speakers and a pretty but creaky-with-age voice did, too.
“Next.”
Korrie briefly closed her eyes. Why me, God? Why?
She pinched the bridge of her nose, panic crawling up her throat like a spider with the light suddenly thrown on.
“That’s not me. I don’t do—” she flicked a hand in the direction of the stage “—that.”
“You don’t know what you do. What you’re capable of. Isn’t that the whole reason you sought me out? So next excuse. But—” he propped his folded arms on the table and leaned forward, his indigo eyes not allowing her to look away “—to save time, why not try the truth this time?”
“I’m scared.” The admission came out quiet, small. Ashamed.
“Scared of what? Name it, Korrie.”
“Embarrassing myself. People booing. People saying nothing at all.” She started slowly, but the more she talked, the more her words toppled over themselves faster and faster. “Me forgetting the words even though they’re right there on the screen. Feeling the stares. Freezing. Failing,” she whispered. “Again.”
“Korrie, look at me.”
She jerked her head up, not realizing until that moment that her gaze had drifted away from him, staring sightlessly over his shoulder.
“Do you trust me?”
Did she? She barely knew him. And she’d quietly asked around before seeking him out at Road’s End. A twenty-eight-year-old bartender who’d shown up in Rose Bend two years earlier. Jesse Ford, co-owner of Auto World, the local auto parts store and garage, with his father-in-law, was Israel’s brother. Maddox Holt, owner of the dive bar, his friend. That’s it. No other info. And the people of Rose Bend were experts at digging into others’ business.
Yet...she had sought him out. Because yes, she did trust him.
At least in this.
That honesty she’d mentioned minutes ago assured her he might carry secrets, but he didn’t intend to abuse her or the faith she’d placed in him.
“Yes.”
His wide shoulders didn’t slump, but his big body did visibly relax. As if her answer had filled him with tension. As if it’d been important to him.
“Then get this.” He pressed his palm to hers, his long fingers grazing her wrist. She bit the inside of her cheek to trap the gasp that tried to escape at the skin-to-skin contact. He’d briefly touched her before. But this... This somehow seemed more intimate, like a kiss, a mating. A promise. “I won’t let you go up there alone. I won’t disappear on you. I won’t fail you.”
His voice, low, almost fervent, rumbled through her, leaving her pulled taut and loose-limbed, on fire and wet. And his words... His words were so much scarier.
Because they left her feeling secure.
The last time she’d depended on, trusted a man, he’d abandoned her in the most humiliating and devastating way possible.
And yet, she nodded. Then slipped her hand out from under his. And ignored the tingling that refused to abate.
Turning back to the stage, she forced herself to relax and focus on the karaoke entertainers rolling onto the stage one after the other. And soon, she didn’t have to force anything. The sometimes good, sometimes downright awful singing, as well as the deafening applause and good-natured laughter and cheering swept Korrie up in their contagious fun. She laughed and clapped along with everyone else, and only when Israel stood next to her did she remember that, right, she wasn’t just a spectator.
Oh, God.
Her stomach bottomed out and panic swirled in like an eddying tide. She sucked in air through her lips. Deep breaths. Passing out in a bar full of people wasn’t a good look.
“You got this.” Israel wrapped her hand in his, squeezed. And as he led her toward the stage, he didn’t release it.
“I do. I got this,” she repeated, heart lodged in her throat, furiously beating there.
She could barely swallow, much less speak—or sing. But she was getting up on that stage. Even if Israel ended up doing most of the singing, she was dragging her behind up there and going through with this. If she wanted to break out of the too-tight, ill-fitting mold—out of the chains she’d had a huge part in cuffing to herself—then she had to start here.
With karaoke.
“Do I want to know what song you chose?” she muttered as they climbed the steps.
He glanced at her over his shoulder, the blue, green and white spotlights swirling over his mohawk, face and shoulders. And when he grinned, he reminded her more than ever of that Viking.
“Oh, just a little song about premeditated murder.”
Without giving her time to dwell on that, he pulled her up behind him and led her out to the mic stands and the karaoke monitor. He pressed a mic into her numb hand, and only reflex kept her from dropping it.
“What’s up, folks,” he drawled, and whether people whistled and yelled in response to the big, gorgeous man or the greeting itself was a toss-up. “I brought my friend up here and she’s a karaoke virgin so give her some love, yeah?”
The applause broke out again, but louder this time, complete with stomping that made it sound like they had only seconds before the floor caved in under them.
The panic spiked as Korrie stared at Israel, eyes wide, but underneath the sharp edges of that terror trickled humor and maybe, just maybe, excitement?
