Bachelor By Design: Bachelor By Design / Too Hot For Comfort

“You want my honest opinion?” He took a step closer to her. “I love the way you look. The problem is that every hoodlum in the bar is going to love it, too. I can’t help you find Ramon if I’m too busy fighting off all your admirers.”

“In the first place,” she said, her voice low and tight, “I never asked you to fight anyone. You’re barely able to walk, much less defend my honor. And in the second place, it may surprise you to learn that not every man looks at a woman as a sex object.”

His jaw tightened. “This has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with that blouse you’re wearing. Or should I say, barely wearing.” He frowned at the way the red peasant blouse exposed her creamy white shoulders and generous cleavage. “Don’t you have a sweater or something you can put on?”

“A sweater?” She rolled her eyes. “It’s ninety degrees in the shade.”

Standing so close to Chloe made it seem more like a hundred and ninety. He reached out and pulled up the elastic neckline of her blouse, tugging it up to her chin. “There. That’s much better.”

“I think you’re overreacting,” she muttered, tugging her blouse back down but keeping it on her shoulders this time. “But I don’t have time to argue. We’re here to find Ramon, remember?”

“Just let me do all the talking.” Trace moved toward the door. “This Ducky woman may be the owner, but I’ve heard she’s a real wacko. She’s been married four times.”

“That hardly makes her crazy,” Chloe said wryly. “Just unlucky in love.”

“Her husbands were the unlucky ones. They’re all dead.”

She stopped short.

“Just what are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything. I’m just telling you she’s a rough old broad who needs careful handling.” He smiled. “But I’m sure I can soften her up. Women find it hard to resist me.”

“It must be your modesty.”

“Must be.” Then his smile faded as his gaze flicked to her blouse. “Let’s make this quick. And try not to draw attention to yourself.”

She didn’t say anything as he held the door open for her. He followed her inside, taking a moment for his eyes to adjust to the haze of smoke in the air and the low lighting. An old Hank Williams tune wailed from the jukebox, accompanied by the shrill bells and whistles of the two pinball machines in the corner.

Trace had only taken three steps inside the bar when a burly bouncer blocked his path.

“I’d like to see some identification.”

“What about her?” Trace asked, watching as Chloe walked past the bouncer unimpeded.

“What about her?”

“You didn’t card her, so why single me out? You can’t seriously believe I’m under twenty-one.”

“Must be your baby face,” the bouncer sneered. “You’re one of them pretty boys that all look about twelve years old.”

No one in their right mind would ever call the bouncer a pretty boy. He wore his dark hair in a military-style crew cut and had a long scar running along his forehead, just above his bushy eyebrows. His nose veered a little to the left.

Trace could see Chloe frowning at him from the bar. “I’m twenty-seven. So why don’t you quit wasting my time.”

“Why the hell do you keep stalling? Got something to hide? I want to see some ID and I want to see it now.”

Trace could either argue with the cretin or join Chloe. “Fine,” he muttered, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. Only he came up empty. Both pockets were empty. “Damn.”

“Got a problem, pretty boy?”

Trace definitely had a problem—and his name was Ramon. Not only had Chloe’s little brother sicced his Chihuahua on him, he’d also stolen his wallet. Which meant Trace had no money, no credit cards, and no identification.

This just wasn’t his day.

“Would you believe somebody stole my wallet?”

The bouncer snorted. “That’s original. I’ve tossed out underage teenagers with more imagination.”

Before Trace could reply, Chloe ambled over to them. “What’s going on here?”

“Let me handle this,” Trace said.

The bouncer’s eyes narrowed. “Is that any way to talk to your girlfriend?”

“I’m not his girlfriend,” she interjected.

The bouncer turned to her. “That’s good to hear. Why don’t you let me buy you a beer? Then we can have a little private conversation.”

Trace stepped in front of Chloe. “Forget it. She’s off-limits.”

“Trace…” she began.

But this was one time Trace didn’t intend to let her interrupt him. He took a step closer to the bouncer. “The woman belongs to me. If you have a problem with that we can handle it outside.”

The bouncer smiled, the light reflecting off the gold crown on his front tooth. “Lead the way.”

“Neither one of you are going anywhere!” Chloe exclaimed, stepping between them. Then she glowered up at the bouncer. “What exactly is your problem, Viper?”

“Viper?” Trace echoed, looking from Chloe to the bouncer.

“Meet my cousin,” she said, nodding toward the bouncer. “Viper D’Onofrio. Viper, this is Trace Callahan.”

Viper shook his head. “Another pretty boy. Why don’t you go for a real man, like my lawyer? That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. He told me he’d really like to date you.”

“Your lawyer is a slimeball.”

“Maybe so. But just think how useful it would be to have him in the family. Free legal advice twenty-four hours a day.”

“If you think it’s such a great idea, you date him,” she retorted. “Besides, I’m not here to talk about my love life. I’m looking for Ramon.”

“Your brother Ramon?”

Chloe arched a brow. “How many Ramons do you know?”

He shrugged, avoiding her direct gaze. “Even if I did see him, I’m no snitch.”

“Then I’ll have to ask Ducky. You told me she knows everything that goes on in this place.” Chloe looked around the crowded bar. “So where is she?”