“How you doin’ tonight?” the bartender asked.
“Um, fine,” I said weakly, clearly far from it. I swallowed again, biting my lip. I was all atwitter and it wasn’t just because of the harrowing drive I’d survived navigating through a raging snowstorm in a toy car.
I couldn’t help it. I snuck another glance. Wow. At least I hoped I hadn’t said it out loud. You could see he was strong, really strong, even though he wasn’t wearing anything like the type of shirt guys wore in L.A. to shamelessly flaunt their physique. Tissue-thin, painted on, I’d seen enough guys showing off to last me a lifetime. This man blew them all away in soft, faded cotton, the kind of shirt that looked like it had been worn to do work. Real work, work that made you sweat and weathered your clothes, out under the sun. It wasn’t tight, but it clung and draped, suggesting more than revealing. Those broad, strong shoulders, the glimpse of his forearm I got where he’d pushed up his sleeve, thick and corded with muscle.
“Is that a MINI you drove up in?” the bartender asked me. Because, right, he was still standing there in front of me behind the bar.
I cleared my throat. “MINI convertible,” I confirmed.
“Good thing you got here in one piece. Can I get you something?”
“Yes,” I responded, gratefully. I wasn’t a big drinker and, yes, technically I still needed to drive. But my nerves were shot and my feet were frozen blocks of ice and sometimes a girl just needed a drink. Maybe I could eat something along with it before I headed out again. My stomach growled at the thought.
“I’d love an appletini. And can I see your menu for apps? Something light, maybe a tuna tartare?”
The bartender squinted at me as if I might have spoken a different language. He had a big, bushy mustache and looked somewhere between 30 and 50, weathered and plaid.
I could still feel Mountain Man watching me, too, his gaze heavy and intent. It was definitely warm in the bar. They must be cranking the heater. Of course, I was also wearing the parka that ate all of the other parkas for dinner. I unzipped it and shrugged it off, draping it from my stool. It felt like shedding a cocoon and I stretched, enjoying my freedom.
“That’s the menu.” The bartender tilted his head behind him toward a chalkboard. Handwritten, it listed ten or so brews. I looked at it, no clue what to order. I’d never really drunk beer, and I couldn’t say I knew anyone who did, either. Cocktails were the way to go, preferably skinny. Beer bellies just weren’t done in L.A.
“Maybe…the one with the apple in it?”
“It’s a hard cider, made local. It’s good. You’ll like it.” I nodded and he moved to pull me a drink on tap.
I twiddled my fingers together. I looked down at the polished wood of the bar. But what was I supposed to do? I had a powerful magnet, huge and dark and brooding just a few feet over to my right. I snuck another look.
Fuck, he was hot. He was ready-for-his-closeup hot. And I lived in a city renown for its hotness. I got served coffee in cafes by actors and models. I went to parties with actors and models. Even my current not-exactly boyfriend—more like sometimes-around friend with benefits—was a model. All day, every day I was surrounded by men who made their living from being hot.
This man made them all look like little wispy wimps. He looked like he could pick them up and pump them into the air with one hand. If he were a firefighter, I’d burn my house down so he could come save me. His dark green Henley shirt had just one button undone at the top, but it drew my attention like a red flag drew a bull. I wanted to lick him, right there, right at the top of his chest and the base of his throat. Then I could unbutton the next one, and the one under that, then rip his whole damn shirt off.
“Where’re you from?” The bartender set a glass down in front of me. It was him asking me the question, not the man I was starting to pant for a few seats away. I needed to get a grip.
“L.A.” I took a sip of my cider. Crisp, refreshing, delicious. “This is so good!”
“Told you.” The bartender gave me a nod.
“What is it again?”
“Hard cider.”
I was about to ask the calorie count, but stopped myself with the question on the tip of my tongue. Everyone in L.A. knew the calorie count of anything and everything you might possibly ingest. Somehow I guessed here, not so much. Like a shy eighth-grader nearly embarrassed in class in front of her hopeless crush, I felt a rush of heat from the blush on my cheeks.
What was going on? This wasn’t normal for me, not at all. I had friends who went off their rockers, crazy over guys. I was the one who talked them down, told them not to do anything stupid. I was queen of practical sex, career before fluttering hearts. But right now, my perfectly manicured nails were clutching the bar to literally Get. A. Grip. Could he tell I was having this reaction to him?
Maybe it was the beard. I’d seen beards before, of course. They’d made their way to L.A where they were frequently paired with carefully styled hair, earrings, suspenders, wingtips, all the trappings of a hipster. I knew beards were popular, starting to show up in all kinds of ads and on young celebrities. But the kinds of beards that had surfaced in L.A. were tame, mild little cousins of the beard on this man.
I’d never found one sexy until now. Holy hell, his beard. Why did it make him look even more rugged and mysterious? Like he might drag me off to his mountain cabin, strip me down and take me all night long.
Was there a chance he lived in this town? My body growled MINE. But my brain fought for space and announced, “goldmine!” Did I want real people with major sex appeal to feature on a reality show? Had one just landed in my lap? Or had that been me who had wanted to land in his lap?
“What’s a girl like you doing around here?” There it was, the come on, only it wasn’t from the man sitting a couple stools down from me. The one I was about to start hitting on myself because a woman could only stand so much hotness. No, it was from a guy of indeterminate age sporting a trucker hat and a big hunting jacket. He sat down next to me.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes!” Another one who looked pretty much the same sat on my other side.
“Hi,” I sighed and dug in my bag for my phone. Of course, it wasn’t the guy I wanted to hit on me who was hitting on me. It was the guys I hadn’t even noticed when I’d walked into the bar. Different town, same story.
On a happier note, my phone had one bar! I checked messages and texts. Nothing from Sam. He was probably partying the night away at hot nightclubs in Boston. Nothing from Vincent, either, my somewhat, kind of guy at the moment. That wasn’t a shocker, though. We had an open thing, casual. I didn’t expect him to check in on me after a harrowing travel day. But it would have been nice.
“You up here to ski?” one of the guys next to me asked.
“You lost?” the other one guessed. “We can help you out.”
“Thanks, guys. I’m fine.” I tried to adopt an authoritative tone as I scrolled through emails trying to find the one with the address of my rental condo. Or the address of the place where I was supposed to pick up the key.
“You need a place to stay?” one of them asked, taking a swig of his beer and leering at me. He had yellow teeth, foul breath and a lecherous glint in his eyes.
“Nope,” I answered, wondering if I was going to have to leave the bar. I didn’t want to head back out into the storm just yet, but I’d do it if I had to.
“Hey.” A man spoke in a big, deep voice. I knew who it was even though I’d never heard him speak before. I turned and my mountain man stood behind me. He had to be 6’5”, a solid wall of brawn.
With only a mild grumble or two, the other guys stood up from their seats. I guess they knew the pecking order. The big guy had said “hey.” It was time for them to leave.
I took a quick sip of my cider as he sat down next to me, hoping the drink would help cool my flush. No such luck. His thigh brushed up against mine, thick and powerful as a tree trunk. He sat there, saying nothing, and took a slow sip of his be
er. No teasing smile, no compliments about my model-quality good looks. It was not the kind of calculated flirtation I was used to. This man simply occupied space, yet I felt myself wanting to lean closer into his massive frame. He was built like a solid block of granite, only warm. I could feel the heat radiating off of him. I bet he knew how to keep a woman warm on a cold January night.
I took another sip of my drink and made myself sit still. No laps.
“You’re not driving out of here tonight in that MINI convertible.” His voice sounded low and sexy.
“What’s that?” I licked my lips. They just did not grow men like him back in the city. This man, he didn’t look like he’d even fit in an office cubicle. He’d push the partition right over with his manly brawn, then grab the nearest girl—preferably me—and haul her into an office to have his way with her. Over and over. I knew I’d beg for more.
“I said, you’re not driving out of here tonight in that MINI convertible.”
Wait, what was he saying? Was he trying to boss me around? “I just need to get to my condo.”
“It’s not safe.” He shook his head no, done deal, no arguments accepted.
“It’s probably only a mile away,” I huffed.
“Doesn’t matter how far. You’re not getting there in that car.”
OK, the Neanderthal appeal apparently had its limits. I’d taken care of myself for years now. The only child of a busy single mom, I’d been making myself dinner since I could press start on a microwave. I’d lived on my own for the last seven years in L.A. I didn’t need anyone to tell me what I could or could not do.
“What exactly do you suggest?” I tossed my hands up in frustration. “Can I hop on my Uber app and have a car here in two minutes?” He kept looking at me, flat and stubborn. The man probably hadn’t even ever heard of Uber.
“Listen,” I continued. “I just need to get to the condo where I’m staying. But I don’t have GPS and I wasn’t getting a signal on my phone.” I held it up, suddenly aware that my iPhone was in a pink case sparkling with rhinestones. The kitchy, tongue-in-cheek glam worked in L.A. He looked at it skeptically before returning his attention to me.
“You don’t have GPS in your car?”
“No, I didn’t think I’d need it.”
“You need it.”
“Well, I didn’t know that before!”
“Cell phone service isn’t reliable here. You could get lost.”
“Thanks. A little late for that advice.” My feathers ruffled, I sipped my cider. Part of me felt all tingly, the other part bristled right up. The tingle came from the way this big, handsome man seemed so protective and demanding about my safety. The other half shouted, “I can do this myself!” I wasn’t a little kid. He shouldn’t treat me like one.
But I was lost and had barely made it to the bar. He had a point. I just didn’t like admitting it.
He looked at me, seeming reluctant to say what he was about to next. Resigned, shaking his head as if he overcame his better instincts to do it, he said, “I’ll get you where you need to go.”
I swear, he didn’t say it like a sleazy come-on, but that’s exactly how my body wanted to interpret it. All sorts of flirty, outrageous replies popped to mind. I came dangerously close to batting my eyelashes and bantering back, “Oh, I bet you could get me right where I need it.”
But I didn’t. When had I ever batted my eyelashes? I took lunch meetings. I sealed deals. He might make me feel like a Highland lass in need of a rescue, but I wasn’t that, not by a long shot.
I looked down at the bar, at my cider, my nails. Anywhere but at him. And I breathed, in and out, and forced myself to not say any of the crazy thoughts racing through my head. Because just then where I felt like I needed to go was nowhere near a rented condo all by myself. My pulse pounded with need to go anywhere he was going so long as it was just him and me alone.
“You’ll be safe with me,” he added, deep and husky.
I bit my lip, knowing I was anything but.
Untamed will be released in May, and is available for preorder now:
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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thank you so much for reading!
Thank you thank you to my family and friends for their love and support. I am so grateful every day for each of you!
A huge thank you to Lauren Blakely for her advice, encouragement, humor and friendship. You blow me away with your generosity!
Jada D’Lee Designs designed the covers for all three volumes of Undone. Thank you so much for your talent. You are a pleasure to work with.
A big thank you to helpmeedit.net for proofreading, and to Jesse Gordon for formatting the book so well.
Thank you also to Emily and the team at Gossip Girls PR, Kylie and the rest of the group at Give Me Books, and Sophie at Bookalicious Babes Blog for all of their help and support. I’m so grateful to all of the book bloggers out there who’ve helped spread the Callie Harper word!
Thank you to all of the fantastic, entertaining writers I adore reading.
And so much love to all of the amazing book lovers! You make it fun to write! You make it possible to write as an indie author, so thank you thank you! I so appreciate each of you taking the time to read my books.
CONTACT
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Undone, Volume 3 Page 21
