Beth Andrews - His Secret Agenda

“I wouldn’t dream of messing with you,” he said, his voice husky and somehow intimate.

Oh. She blinked. Pried her fingers open and stepped back. “Well then.” She swallowed. “How do I make a Sex on the Brain?”

“I’ll show you.” He took off his jacket, and she could’ve sworn every female in the room sighed. His black T-shirt hugged the smooth planes of his chest and molded to his biceps. The man was beautiful.

Now if only he’d left his hat on, the moment would’ve been perfect. Allie knew she was going to have some erotic dreams about that hat.

Dean tossed his jacket on a shelf under the bar. “Fill a tall glass with ice.”

She set the glass of ice in front of him. He stuck a straw in it and added a shot each of peach schnapps, vodka and Midori melon liqueur. He then laid an upside-down spoon against the glass and slowly poured in pineapple juice, followed by orange juice and then sloe gin, resulting in a drink that resembled a stoplight: green on the bottom, yellow in the middle and red on top.

“You’re a genius,” Allie declared. “And my personal hero. I’ll give you three hundred bucks to work the rest of the night.”

She forced herself not to back up when he leaned toward her. “Darlin’,” he purred into her ear, his warm breath causing her to shiver. “I thought you’d never ask.”

ALLISON MARTIN DIDN’T know squat about tending bar.

But she sure knew how to work a crowd, Dean thought as he collected empty bottles and carried them to the recycling bin. She’d flirted, socialized and kept her customers happy while they waited for their drinks.

He glanced at her as she cleared tables. They’d had last call twenty minutes ago and after the final drink had been served, she’d turned on the lights and dived into the cleanup with the same get-it-done spirit she’d demonstrated behind the bar.

The owner wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty.

And she was easy on the eyes. Tonight she had on a pair of snug, dark jeans tucked into those same pointy heeled boots she’d worn during his botched interview. Her shirt was the color of cranberries, with a wide, square neck and long, filmy sleeves that billowed out over her wrists.

Dean took the mixers apart to be washed. She’d had every poor sap in the place drooling over her, wishing that somehow, miracle of miracles, she’d end up with him tonight.

“Well, you sure proved me wrong,” Allie said as she came behind the bar and set down her full tray.

She’d told him to call her Allie, although he wanted to continue to think of her as Allison. Or better yet, Ms. Martin. He needed to keep as much distance and formality between them as possible. But she didn’t make it easy.

He stacked dirty dishes to the left of the three-bay sink. “How so?”

“I should’ve hired you in the first place.” She gave him a pat on the arm, and damn if he didn’t want to back up. Out of range. She moved away to empty the garnish tray. “You charmed every girl in here—heck, you even managed to get Noreen to smile, which, believe me, is an accomplishment.”

“She was laughing at my suggestion that she stay to help clean up.”

“Well, that makes more sense.” Allie washed her hands and dried them on a clean towel. “I’m sure she told you cleanup’s not part of her job.”

He rubbed the back of his wrist over an itch on his forehead, then resettled his hat on his head. For some reason, Allie had asked him to wear it while he worked. “I couldn’t repeat what she told me. At least not in mixed company.”

Allie waved at a departing customer. “Noreen was one of the very few females in here tonight immune to your charms. And don’t think I missed that brunette with the big—” he raised his eyebrows and she grinned “—lungs hand you a cocktail napkin. I’m guessing it had her name, phone number and even a hand-drawn heart on there, as well.”

He kept his attention on the glasses he was washing. “It wasn’t a cocktail napkin,” he mumbled.

“I saw her give you something, and it wasn’t very big.” Allie swept her hair back and put it in a messy, sexy knot at the back of her head. “Please tell me she didn’t write her number on toilet paper.”

“Not toilet paper, either.”

“Come on,” she said, swatting him with the towel. “Don’t be cruel. I’m too tired to play guessing games.”

He pressed his lips together as he rinsed a glass, then cleared his throat. “It was her thong.”

Silence filled the room. He glanced at Allie, just to make sure she was still breathing.

Her mouth popped open. “Oh, my God. You’re a rock star.” Chuckling, she shook her head. “Well, the poor girl was no match against you. You throw out some mighty strong pheromones.”

To Dean’s everlasting shame, heat climbed his neck. “She was just…friendly.”

Allie laughed even harder. “I think it’s safe to assume she wanted to show you how friendly she could be. Now I have to ask—did you keep it?”

“I thought it’d make a nice addition to my collection.”

“No doubt about that.” She poured herself a diet cola. “I hope you washed your hands after touching it.”

“Washed them and then stuck them in the disinfectant just to be safe.”

Allie picked up her tray. “You don’t know how relieved I am to hear that.”

He waited until she was out from behind the bar before saying, “And you were right.” She stopped and looked at him. “Her name and number were on the thong,” he said, “along with a little heart.” Which had half amused, half horrified him.

Allie laughed again as she went to finish clearing tables.

Dean lifted his hat long enough to run a wet hand through his hair. He needed to watch himself. She was damn likable, but he couldn’t let his guard down.

Allie came back and set her tray on the bar. “So, tell me about this job in Saranac Lake.”

She stood on tiptoe and reached for her soda. He caught a brief, tantalizing glimpse of smooth cleavage and a lacy black bra.

He cleared his dry throat. “Tending bar at the Valley Brook Resort. Starts Monday.”

“I’m impressed. The Valley Brook is pretty upscale. You must’ve wowed them with your interview.”

“Like I didn’t wow you?”

She tapped her fingertip against her glass. “Let’s just say I’m used to more…vocal interviewees. You know, people who speak when spoken to.”

“Good thing for me the people at Valley Brook didn’t have the same problem.” He dried his hands and grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler. “Besides, I’m not sure what you’ve heard, but it’s important for bartenders to be good listeners. Not talkers.”

She set her glass down with a soft clink. “Well, then you must be a great bartender.”

He almost grinned. “I saved your ass tonight, didn’t I?”

“That you did. Could you hand me a clean rag so I can wash off the tables?”

He handed her one, making sure he didn’t touch her, then took a long drink before asking, “What happened to the bartender you did hire?”

“Not sure. She seemed excited to get the job, and was even apologetic when she called to tell me she wasn’t coming in.” Allie shrugged. “Guess she had a better offer.”

Yeah. She had. He’d made sure of it. Katherine had found out that Terri Long’s real ambition was the stage. She’d followed her boyfriend—a ski instructor—to Serenity Springs. Dean had pulled some strings and got Terri hired as an understudy in an off-, off-Broadway show, effectively ending Terri’s desire to work at The Summit.

He wondered if it ended her desire for her boyfriend, as well.

“That’s too bad,” he said. “Hope you find someone else.”