One Last Dance (Oak Grove Series Book 2) Page 2

  She gasped. It was him, the bartender she’d flirted with. She hadn’t planned on meeting anyone on her visit to Oak Grove, but she couldn’t help herself. Once she laid eyes on him, she couldn’t look away. His smile drew her in, but that wasn’t all. She’d also seen an emotion below the surface when he was focused on his work and the bar. His smile didn’t reach his eyes and felt forced at times. He was handsome and rugged, not “metro-sexual” like a lot of the men she met in New York. Broad shoulders, thick brown hair, intense eyes. Exactly the kind of man she’d choose if she were looking for one. Which she wasn’t. That wasn’t why she’d come to town, and she certainly had no intentions of starting any kind of relationship with any man in Oak Grove.

  They hadn’t exchanged more than a few words, but the sound of his voice rang in her mind long after she returned to the booth. His gaze had lingered on her when she walked away, and she couldn’t help but wink at him a few minutes later. A huge smile had broken out on his face when she did. But he hadn’t asked for her name and number. And she hadn’t offered it.

  One thing could be said for Oak Grove—it had its fair share of good-looking men. And its fair share of losers, like the creep who had tried to dance with her when she’d been out on the floor with Karen and her friends. Brittany had laughed it off when he’d first grabbed her ass, but the pervert had gripped her even harder when she tried to skirt away from him. But she’d taken care of the jerk with a stiletto to his foot. Surprisingly, his touch, his aggressiveness, hadn’t bothered her as much as she thought it would. Maybe she had finally progressed beyond her childhood. Beyond the fear.

  Guys were the same everywhere.

  After a moment, the sexy bartender propped his broom in the corner and swaggered to the door, his thick, muscular arms swinging with each step. The corner of his mouth quirked into a comfortable grin like he didn’t have a care in the world or a timetable to live by.

  Her heart beat heavy in her chest and her head swam. She ran her hands down her hair. What did it look like? Had her makeup worn off? She rubbed her palms on her jeans, wiping some of the sweat that had dampened her skin the minute she saw him.

  Her hands shook. What was wrong with her? This was just a guy. And she was just here to get her purse. Despite that, her pulse raced, and she shifted from one foot to the other before the door lock clicked.

  An initial confused expression on the man’s face changed to a smile as his eyes landed on her. His brown hair stood out from his head in several directions, like he’d raked his fingers through it more than once during the night. She could help him fix that. Her fingers itched to run through the silky strands. His square jaw sported a sprinkling of whiskers well past a five-o’clock shadow. How would they feel beneath her fingers? How would they feel rubbed across her…

  She shook her head. What in the hell was she thinking?

  His black T-shirt with J.J.’s on the breast pocket stretched across his broad chest and tucked into the waist of his tight jeans. She imagined running her hands over the tight muscles, to the top of his jeans, tugging the shirt… Damn. They just didn’t build them like this in the city. It had been a long time since she’d craved a man’s touch like she did at this moment.

  “Ahem.”

  “What? I’m sorry.” This entire time, she’d been staring at Mr. Hot and Sexy. And he knew it. Oh, he knew it, all right. She had this. Just a second to regroup and she’d be good to go.

  Square shoulders? Check.

  Big smile? Got it.

  She was just here to get her purse. Nothing more. She didn’t need him thinking she’d left it behind on purpose. That she’d done it so she could see him again. Oh, God. That was what he thought, wasn’t it? Deep breath. Deep breath. You will not, under any circumstances, flirt with the sexy man.

  “Can I help you? We’re closed. Last call was an hour ago.” Oh yeah, he knew, all right. He leaned against the doorway, his lazy smile lighting up his eyes. She clenched her fists so she wouldn’t cover her heated cheeks. Was she embarrassed? Maybe a little. But she’d never see this guy again after tonight, so why was she worried? She’d learned a long time ago that she couldn’t sit back and let life happen to her—she had to make it happen. And she would. As soon as she could get her brain to connect with her mouth.

  “I’m sorry. I think I left my purse. Did you happen to find one?

  “Come on in.” He motioned for her to enter.

  Her shoulders relaxed, and her stomach calmed as she took a tentative step into the room. The bar wasn’t as bright as it had been, the long shadows casting a peaceful glow over the tables with the chairs placed up on them. The shiny mirror behind the bar gleamed. Gentle strains of music filled the air from a jukebox in the corner. It was a marked difference from a few hours ago, when the room had been packed with bodies and music thumped through the speakers.

  He’d been staring at her the entire time she admired the place. She extended her hand. “I’m sorry I’m being so rude. I love your place. My name is Brittany Carlson.”

  “Joey Bennett.”

  His large hand swallowed her smaller one, the rough callouses so different than the manicured hands of the men she typically met in New York. Strong hands. Someone who worked with them for a living.

  A sharp jolt traveled up her arm, spearing her straight in the heart. She nearly reeled back, his touch jumpstarting her heart to a rapid beat. His touch conveyed warmth and strength, and it triggered a not wholly unwelcome ache deep in her gut. She held his hand for too long as her gaze stayed locked on his. She eventually withdrew her hand. Heat rose on her cheeks. Maybe he didn’t notice her complete awkwardness. Time to get a grip. Say something, anything. “So, Joey, did you draw the short straw for closing tonight?”

  Joey smiled at her, sweeping his hand over the room. “No, I didn’t draw the short straw. This is my place. I own it.”

  Her mouth gaped and her eyes widened. This guy? The sexy bartender was actually the owner? Of course, she’d assumed a guy like him, someone this young, couldn’t be the owner. She’d assumed he used this kind of job to meet women.

  “You seem shocked. I don’t look like I could own a bar?” A hint of amusement lingered in his voice. It was like he could read her mind.

  She scrambled to answer in a way that didn’t make her look shallow. “No, it’s not that. I guess I’m surprised you’re so young. You wouldn’t find a bar owner your age in the city. You should be proud. It’s a great place.”

  “Thanks. Tonight was our grand reopening. We expanded the dance floor and added a band platform, as well as the outdoor patio. We’re going to have a bonfire out there tomorrow night. You should come.”

  “Sounds fun. Maybe I will.”

  “Can I get you something to drink? Beer? Soda?”

  Was he ever going to get her purse? She’d ask, but she was enjoying his company way too much to interrupt him now. “A glass of water would be great.”

  Joey pulled two chairs off the nearest table and motioned for her to sit. She obliged him, her nerves dancing in her stomach. Music filled what would have otherwise been an uncomfortable silence.

  Joey hurried behind the bar and soon returned with her glass of water and a mug of beer. He lowered himself to the chair beside her, leaned back, and crossed his ankle over his knee, giving her another good look of his sexy legs encased in a well-worn pair of jeans. Either he knew what he was doing to her, or he was so confident in who he was that he didn’t care. She had to close her mouth to keep from drooling.

  “So, Brittany, where are you from?”

  “What makes you think I’m not from around here?”

  He raised a single eyebrow at her, a gleam in his eye. His smile turned her insides to mush, and warmth swept through her entire body.

  “You’re right. I’m not. I’m from New York City. West Village. Are you familiar with it?”

  A bit of the glimmer in his eye dulled. He gulped on his beer before responding. “Can’t say that I am.”

&nb
sp; Interesting. What was behind his reaction? This man had been happy, even flirty. But not now. He was angry… or disappointed. Had she offended him? She liked living in New York, and she didn’t have to justify her choice to anyone. “It’s great. I live in this fantastic third floor apartment in the cutest little restored brownstone. I can walk everywhere I need to—the subway station is a few blocks away, the market is just around the corner, and there are so many great restaurants and clubs. I never have to leave the Village, or at least Lower Manhattan, to get everything I could ever want.”

  Dammit. Stop rambling. No amount of talking would convince this guy there was anything good outside the Oak Grove town limits. “What about you? Have you always lived in Oak Grove?”

  He scrubbed his hand over his chin and she focused on his finger, thinking of their rough scratch against smooth skin. It wouldn’t take much for her to lean over and replace his hand with hers. “Me? Not much to tell. I’ve lived here my entire life.”

  “Really.” Living here all his life meant he’d put down roots and would never leave. The man owned a bar, for crying out loud. Most of her friends her age were still clawing their way out of entry-level jobs toward middle management. He was accomplished, no doubt. This was his home. Small towns were a “no go” in her books. She’d even hesitated before coming home with Karen for the weekend. Memories tried to creep up, bad memories from another small town… her hometown.

  No, she wouldn’t go there, not when she was having a conversation with the first man who’d intrigued her in a long time.

  “So what brings you to town?” Joey drew another gulp from his beer.

  “My friend Karen.”

  “Karen McKenzie? Emma’s daughter?”

  “You know her?”

  “Of course I do. We grew up together. She graduated a year ahead of me in school.”

  “We went to NYU together. She brought me home with her this weekend to visit her parents.”

  “That’s great. Everybody loves Emma. She makes the best coffee in town.”

  Brittany laughed. Coming from the land of a Starbucks on every corner, that remark tickled her. “As far as I can tell, she makes the only coffee in town.”

  Joey laughed, too. “Maybe. She’s still the best, though. I can’t start my day without a cup and a muffin.”

  Joey lifted his beer and swallowed several large gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing with each swig. Even that was sexy. What was going on with her? She was falling over herself for this guy she’d just met. He set his mug back on the table and licked his lips. What would it feel like to have those lips on hers? Were they strong or soft? He stared at his beer for a moment. Did he want to kiss her as much as she wanted to kiss him? “Tell me something else about you. You said you grew up here. Does your family still live in town?”

  His smile grew wider, a genuine one, and his eyes softened. “Mostly. My parents still live in the same house I grew up in. We’ve all moved out now. One of my brothers lives in Philly, but he’s not too far away. He tries to come home for Sunday dinner when he can. My sister still lives here, and my oldest brother lives in town with his fiancée and her daughter.”

  His expression changed when he mentioned his brother. Curious. “What?”

  “I was just thinking about my oldest brother, Lucas. He met his fiancée last fall. He fell hard and fast for her. She’s great and perfect for him. Her daughter is cute as a button. She’s five and she’s got these blond curls. I can’t wait to be her uncle for real, once they get married.”

  He loved his family. It showed through with every word he said. But she’d learned first-hand that not all families were the same. Certainly hers wasn’t. Her childhood had sucked… plain and simple. Joey expressed a lot of good feelings about this small town, but she knew not every community was the same. Bad things happened… just sometimes behind closed doors.

  For the next little while, their conversation spun around about nothing and anything, laughing and joking. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had such a good time talking to a man. And the conversation wasn’t awkward. They never ran out of topics. It was easy. Comfortable.

  She glanced at her watch, shocked at how much time had passed.

  “Oh, my gosh, look at the time. I told Karen I’d be right back. I had no idea I’d be gone so long.” She couldn’t believe she’d spent more than an hour with this man she’d just met. In New York, she didn’t trust the men she met in bars. But the authentic look in Joey’s eyes, the honesty she heard in his voice, soothed her nerves. She stood. “I guess I’ll figure out tomorrow where I left my purse.”

  Joey jumped out of his chair. “I found a purse tucked in the booth where you ladies were sitting. It’s probably yours. But …” Joey paused, and in the silence, the sweet strains of a country ballad piped through the speakers. “… it’ll cost you. One dance.”

  Joey extended his hand. She stared at it. Her head told her no; her heart said yes. She’d come to Oak Grove to get away from the city… to think. She hadn’t planned to meet a man. But this one intrigued her, and her body craved his chest pressed against her.

  Finally, she accepted his offer. He pulled her to him and wrapped his other arm around her waist. His touch was firm but gentle. Exactly as she thought he’d be. He danced her around the empty floor of the bar, big sweeping movements, their clasped hands tucked between them. She fingered the soft fabric of his shirt while his heart beat a steady rhythm. In his embrace she felt safe and protected. Like she hadn’t been for most of her life. Like his arms could ward off all the evils of the world.

  She tilted her head up. Even in her four inch stilettos, he towered over her. He smiled at her and their eyes locked. Every second grew more intense, as though he could see into her soul and expose every secret, every shame she’d worked so hard to bury. If she didn’t break her gaze soon, he’d realize how attracted she was to him. He was not one of the safe city men that she typically dated. Most of them were shallow, more concerned about themselves and being “seen” than achieving any real connection and intimacy.

  Joey was different. His laughter, the twinkle in his eye, hid something deeper. There was so much more to him than she originally thought when she’d first spotted him behind the bar. This man was dangerous to her. Because every moment she spent with him intrigued her. She wanted to dig beneath the surface, discover what made him tick. But she couldn’t. This was all too much.

  He pulled her closer as he continued to spin her around the floor, the sweet notes of the song echoing through the bar. He didn’t appear affected at all. At least not as much as she was. Her heart fell. She’d just met this man, but she felt a connection that she hadn’t had for a long time. To him, this was probably a normal Friday—work a shift, dance with the girls, maybe even take one home for the night. But to her, this evening out with friends had become so much more because of the man whose arms squeezed her just a bit tighter.

  As the final strains tailed off, Joey stepped back, no longer looking at her. He seemed almost flustered. “I’ll get your purse.”

  Chapter Three

  SUN STREAMED THROUGH the thin linen curtains Joey’s mother had hung on his bedroom window. He cursed the brightness that stung his eyes from too little sleep and shoved the pillow over his head. Morning had come way too early. He’d barely slept last night. And not just because he’d had to close. Images of the stunning brunette had filled his mind each time he shut his eyes. He’d known she was different from most of the girls he dated from the moment he saw her stick up for herself on the dance floor. And then she’d winked at him. Flirty, yes? But something more, too.

  He’d thought he would have to track her down today to return her purse, but instead she showed up, knocking on the door. He should have just handed her the purse and sent her on her way. Inviting her in hadn’t been smart. Sharing a drink with her really hadn’t been smart. And asking her to dance? Definitely not the brightest move for someone who had sworn off one night stands or flings
.

  But he hadn’t been able to help himself when she stood outside the door, an expectant look on her face. Almost shy. A bit different from the confident woman who’d stomped on Walt’s foot. Vulnerable. That was what he’d seen in her eyes. That was what had prompted him to ask her to dance. He’d always been a sucker for someone in need.

  What he hadn’t expected was the warmth that had flooded his body when she’d stepped into his arms. Her soft breasts pressed against his chest, and he resisted the urge to press into her, to show her exactly what she did to him. She’d been stiff at first, uncomfortable. But then she’d swayed to the music, and he could have sworn she relaxed and gave herself over to him as the song continued. Her breathing grew ragged as they danced, and he found himself matching his breath to hers, each one more difficult to draw.

  He hadn’t expected the ache in his gut when he’d stared into her eyes. The depth of the brown color darkened as her gaze locked on his. The struggle was evident in the tensing of her muscles and in the furrowing of her brows. He’d pulled her closer but hadn’t looked away. She’d drawn him in, intrigued him. He wanted to know what was behind the conflict he saw. He couldn’t mistake that desire in her eyes. But she didn’t want to be attracted to him. A woman who didn’t want to want him was incredibly sexy.

  She didn’t know how attractive she was. Her long brown hair was silky and smooth beneath his fingers as he stroked her back. A deep breath had filled his senses with a clean, floral, musky scent. A heady smell he didn’t normally associate with women but one that stirred him deep in his gut. Her body was slender and fit. She was a woman who cared about her appearance but didn’t put on airs. A contrast to the city girl image she’d tried to project.

  Her smile had been genuine, had lit up her face, when she talked about living in New York. That should have been a clear sign to him to back off, but had he listened? No.

  After Shelby, he had no intention of getting involved with someone who lived in the city. No, strike that. Maybe Brittany didn’t know any better. Maybe she’d always lived in New York. He could show her what there was to love about small towns. About his hometown.