His Secret Agenda

Go her. If she didn’t have another, oh, twenty or so people wanting drinks, Allie would take the time to pat herself on the back.

Too bad memorizing the ingredients in a few select drinks was about the only thing that had gone right tonight. After a small Saturday night dinner crowd, The Summit had been inundated with college kids ready to party. The sight of her bar packed wall to wall with customers had made Allison’s heart go pitter pat.

Until Terri Long called five minutes before her shift was to start to say she wouldn’t be coming to work for Allie, after all. Seemed she had a shot at the big time—whatever that meant—and wasn’t even in Serenity Springs anymore.

Allie viciously shook her cosmo ingredients and filled two glasses. She hoped there was a special place in hell for people who blew off work.

That was the last time she’d ever hire someone without checking references.

She tossed straws into the cosmos and poured the margarita into a glass. She sent tube-top girl on her way and began filling the next order as the too-familiar opening chords of “Hotel California” came on the jukebox. Allie gritted her teeth. No doubt about it. This was not her night.

She finished the drinks and recorded the sale on the register. At least her male customers were easy to please. A smile or flip of her hair and they were falling all over themselves to charm her. Even after waiting in line for a solid fifteen to twenty minutes to get a beer. She just thanked God all they wanted to drink was either beer, shots or the occasional rum and coke.

Noreen, her very grumpy middle-aged waitress, was keeping beer pitchers full and the rowdiest customers in line.

Allie glanced at the door, where Luke Ericson was perched on a stool, a grin on his too-handsome face as one of the three girls surrounding him whispered in his ear. When he’d walked in an hour ago, Allie had given him free drinks for the night in exchange for him checking IDs at the door.

None of that made up for the fact that her feet were killing her, she had a huge cranberry juice stain on the front of her favorite jeans and she was starting to wonder if she was breaking a fire code with so many people in the place.

She stepped back toward the line of customers, but stopped when something at the far end of the bar caught her eye.

Her heart thumped heavily in her chest—once, twice, before it found a quick rhythm. Well. Her night might be getting better, after all.

“You must’ve found something in town to keep your interest,” she called over to Dean.

“How do you figure?”

She crossed to him. “You’re still here.”

“I’m heading out tomorrow. Got a job in Saranac Lake.”

She kept her smile firmly in place. Well, that’s what she got for not hiring him when she’d had the chance. “Congratulations. How about a drink to celebrate?”

“Whatever you have on tap is fine.”

She got his beer and took it over to him. When he pulled out his wallet she waved him off. “On the house.”

He studied her for a moment before putting his wallet away. “Appreciate it.”

For the next half hour, she poured drinks, all the while aware of a pair of aquamarine eyes following her every move. She set a fresh beer in front of Dean—who seemed oblivious to the fact that the three giggling, just-this-side-of-legal girls next to him were vying for his attention.

Sometimes men could be so clueless.

“What can I get you?” Allie asked the girl with the cute pixie haircut.

She slid a look at Dean. “Sex on the Brain.”

“Sweetie, sitting next to this guy—” Allie motioned to him “—would give my ninety-two-year-old grandmother sex on the brain. What drink do you want?”

The girl giggled and leaned on the bar, the better for Dean to have a clear view down her low-cut top. “Sex on the Brain is a drink.”

Allie glanced at Dean, arching an eyebrow. He nodded. She sighed and brushed her hair back. Well, that figured.

“Could I speak with you for a moment?” Before Dean could answer, she walked around the end of the bar, took him by the arm and pulled him off his stool. “Don’t worry, ladies. I’ll bring him right back.”

He didn’t fight her and she easily hustled him behind the bar. “Quick. What’s in a Sex on the Brain?”

He scratched his cheek. “Couple of things.”

“Okay,” she said to no one in particular, “that’s it.” She wrapped both hands around the lapels of his jacket and yanked him forward. Noted how his eyes widened slightly. “I’m not in the mood for games, so you can drop the laconic cowboy act.”

He kept his hands at his sides. Just tilted his head to the side. “What act?”

She growled. “Listen, I’m tired, I have an endless supply of people waiting for drinks and I’m surrounded by about a million overly perky, faux tanned coeds.” Allie inhaled, then rushed on when he opened his mouth. “I’ve had to pull the same girl—intent on showing everyone her coyote-ugly act—off the bar not once, but three times, and I’ve been hit on by just about every guy in here. But the worst thing is I don’t know what I’m doing. And I can’t call my sister-in-law to come and show me because she caught some nasty stomach bug from my niece. Suffice it to say I’m not in the best of moods.” Allie tightened her hold on his jacket and stood on her toes so that her forehead bumped his chin. “So do not even think about messing with me.”

“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.”

CHAPTER THREE

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.