“Don’t worry, we don’t bite. Sherri thought you might like one of these.” He placed a drink in front of her, his eyes dancing with amusement.
Maggie eyed the glass uncertainly. She’d already had a few shots of what remained of her grandfather’s Irish whiskey before she left the house, just to get herself out the door and into Sherri’s car. Not being much of a drinker, she was not particularly adept at holding her liquor, but she figured her supercharged case of the jitters was probably burning off the alcohol before it could fully absorb into her bloodstream. She glanced back to the stage where Sherri was seductively removing the ankle-length trench coat she wore, and decided that she definitely needed more alcohol if she was going to pull this off.
With trembling fingers, she lifted the glass and tipped it into her mouth as she’d seen her grandfather do. Whatever it was, it burned like crazy but went down smooth. Much more so than the cheap stuff she had at home. She coughed a bit as her eyes started watering.
“Thanks,” she rasped out in a choked voice.
The bartender laughed. It was a rich, deep sound that made her feel all warm inside. Or maybe that was the bourbon. She curved her index and middle fingers toward her, indicating that she wanted another. He smiled, and she couldn’t help thinking how beautiful that smile was.
Clearly the alcohol was playing tricks with her, because she’d never been quite so stricken simply by looking at a man before. Now it had happened twice in one night.
“I take it this isn’t your day job,” he said as he poured her another drink.
“It’s that obvious?”
“It’s very subtle, really. I doubt anyone else would notice.”
He was being kind, but she appreciated it all the same. Men typically weren’t all that kind to her, if they noticed her at all. And why was he talking to her when he could be watching Sherri dance?
It took a moment for her to remember that tonight she wasn’t her usual, boring self. Tonight she was a temptress, a seductress. The veils and the mask were proof of that. And that explained everything. There was no way in hell a man like him would ever be talking to a woman like her otherwise.
The bartender folded his arms on the bar between them and leaned in close as if to share a confidence. He smelled heavenly. Feeling bold, Maggie took a deeper sniff. She’d never smelled a man like that before. She had the sudden strange desire to bury her face in his neck and take a little nibble, see if he tasted as good as he smelled.
“You don’t have to dance if it makes you uncomfortable,” he said quietly. “I’ll tell them you weren’t feeling well. They’ll understand.”
He was giving her an easy out. The question was, should she take it? Maggie looked uncertainly at Sherri dancing in front of the men. She sure looked like she was having a good time. What would it be like to feel that free, she wondered? To move like that, like some wicked fantasy?
They were hooting appreciatively, but not one of them tried to touch her. Even when Sherri grew bold and slid into their laps, they were careful to keep their hands off of her. No wonder she liked dancing for these guys. And there was the strong allure of five hundred dollars cash in her pocket.
“Thanks,” she said, lowering her voice a little in an attempt to make it sound sexier. At least she hoped it did. She really had no experience with this sort of thing, but that’s what always happened in the movies. “But I promised my friend...”
He smiled again, and she couldn’t help but notice that one side of his mouth curved a little more than the other when he did so. He had nice, full lips. Maggie fixated on them for a few seconds as she felt the warmth of the bourbon coursing through her limbs, wondering what it would be like to be kissed by lips like that. No doubt she’d find out when she drifted off to sleep that night, because she was pretty sure this hot tender would have the starring role in her dreams.
“Taking one for the team, huh?”
She giggled, surprising herself. This guy really made her feel at ease, which was strange, because people – especially men of godlike beauty – tended to have the exact opposite effect. But, she supposed, that was one of the things that distinguished a mediocre bartender from a great one – the ability to put people at ease. And this guy was definitely good.
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Ah, then I think you’d best get ready,” he said, glancing up to where Sherri’s performance was coming to an end. “Because it looks like you’re up.”
A brief moment of panic shot through her at his words. She took the shot glass he offered, brushing his fingertips in the process, and tossed it back in one shot. His eyes glinted with surprised amusement, his deep chuckle lending her courage.
“That I am.” She winked at him, feeling a bit wicked as she let the feel of the hard, pounding bass reverberate through her body. Touching the mask to make sure it was in place, she walked carefully toward the back, letting her hips sway just a bit, praying she would not trip over her own feet.
As it turned out, it wasn’t nearly as hard as she thought it would be. With a bit of liquid courage and the anonymity of the mask, she let her body respond to the music. The cheers and catcalls died away as the men watched, transfixed, as she moved before them. Her muscle control and isolation were excellent, the result of more than a dozen years of dance and yoga. She spun around them, teasing them with veils, jingling the trinkets that dangled from her hips, and encircled her ankles and upper arms. Her natural, ruby colored hair hung loose, moving with her body; her emerald eyes, outlined in a smoky black, sparkled through the openings of the mask. Tonight she wasn’t Maggie, jilted anti-social recluse; she was Magdalena, exotic male fantasy.
She lost herself in the music, in the lights, in their blatant appreciation. For a little while, she allowed herself to become someone else, someone sexy and desirable, someone without worry or fear. Before she knew it, she was on her last song. With a deep-seated feeling of satisfaction, Maggie worked her way back up to the stage for her grand finale, her movements serpentine and hypnotic.
Her heart pounded in excitement, her mind and heart freer than it had been in a very long time. She felt wonderful as she gave her final bow to their appreciative applause, her steps light as she walked out of sight. Sherri was already taking her place back on stage, the music transitioning into something hard and sexy.
Maggie felt like her body was filled with light. Dancing in front of those men had been one of the most exhilarating – and terrifying - things she’d ever done. She had let herself go, mind, body and spirit, freed by her costume and mask, and they had been enraptured. It was a feeling she would remember for a long time. And if Sherri asked her to do this again, she realized, she probably would.
At least until her mask shifted and she stepped off the back of the stage. Then the trance was broken and she tumbled down, all grace forgotten as she landed face-first against one of the small bar tables pushed back there in storage.
Lights exploded behind her eyes with the impact. Her body followed behind, crumpling unnaturally as she rolled off the corner and hit the floor with a resounding thud. As if from far away she heard deep rumbling applause. Or maybe it was thunder.
Thunder was good, she decided, her head swimming deliriously. Maybe it would bring with it cool rain to ease some of the white-hot pain across her face.
She cried out when someone tried to turn her over, the sound not unlike the keen of a wounded animal. Instinctively she curled herself into a ball to make a smaller target, though for the life of her she couldn’t fathom why someone was trying to hurt her.
The music was still playing, the vibrations of the bass were hammering into her head like a sledgehammer. Someone was talking, but it sounded muffled, wrong. A bright light shone in her eyes and she tried to bat it away. Then she had the feeling of movement, right before the blackness claimed her.
Chapter Three
Michael was enthralled, unable to take his eyes off the woman. He was quite sure they hadn’t met before;
he definitely would have remembered the exotic-looking redhead. She hadn’t even noticed him behind the bar, which gave him a chance to study her. Not old, but she was no kid. A full, lush figure. And totally out of her element – she looked scared stiff.
And then she’d spoken, and he knew he had been right. Her voice was soft and gentle, completely at odds with the lusty harem girl costume.
All traces of uncertainty vanished, though, when she took the floor. There was no hesitation in her movements, just sensual, hypnotic beauty. He barely moved during her entire performance, unwilling to turn away even for a moment.
“Her name is Maggie,” Sherri said, when she joined him at the bar. Michael’s rapt attention hadn’t escaped her. “Maggie Flynn.”
“She’s incredible.”
“Yeah, she is, isn’t she?” Sherri said thoughtfully as Maggie worked her way around the room. “This will be good for her,” she mused.
“Yeah, why’s that?”
Sherri fingered the glass Michael had placed before her. “She has no self-confidence.”
Michael looked again at the beautiful woman dancing with total abandon, casting a spell over all of them, then tore his eyes away to cast Sherri a doubtful look.
“No, I’m serious. She’s become a total recluse ever since...” she stopped mid-sentence, clamping her lips together.
“Since...?” he coaxed.
Sherri shook her head. “Forget I said anything. Mags would be mortified if she knew I said anything.”
“I won’t tell.” Michael pinned her with those hypnotic blue eyes, leaned in a little closer, practically whispering the words as if they would be sharing an intimate secret. It was beneath him, he knew, to manipulate her like this. He usually left that kind of thing to his brothers. But something about the redhead intrigued him. He wanted to know more.
Sherri stared into his eyes, transfixed, then shook herself free with a little extra effort. “Oh no, you don’t,” she chided. “If you want to know, you find out for yourself.”
“Come on, Sher. Help a poor guy out here, will you?”
She laughed and slid off the stool. “No way. Maggie’s the best friend I’ve ever had and I’m not vapid enough to jeopardize that, not even for the likes of you, Michael Callaghan.”
Sherri left to prepare for her next number. Michael continued to watch Maggie even as she left the tiny stage. She was out of the sight of everyone else, but from the back of the bar he could see her perfectly. The look of pure joy on her face was something to behold, and he found himself smiling right along with her.
She didn’t seem to notice that the back edge of the stage ended abruptly. He knew what was going to happen an instant before it actually did. He vaulted over the far end of the bar even as her foot stepped off the stage and into nothing. She clawed at the air, twisting her body instinctively in an attempt to protect herself as gravity did its thing. She couldn’t have known about the extra tables they had moved back there.
Michael reached out, but he was a step too late. The side of her head slammed against one of the tables, the rest of her body following milliseconds later, literally bouncing with the force of contact. Her big eyes, wide with fear, looked right into his face as he bent over her, but she didn’t acknowledge him at all before they closed and her body went limp.
A quick check assured him she had no broken bones, but she was going to have one hell of a bump on the side of her face. Lifting her carefully, he took her back to the kitchen and placed her gently on the padded bench seat there, then turned on the lights to take a better look.
Her mask had dislodged in the fall. Blood, matching the shade of her dark ruby hair, trickled along the side of her face where she had hit, creating a goth-like image against her pale, creamy skin and dark kohl liner. Satisfied that none of her injuries were immediately life-threatening, Michael covered her with a warm blanket and kneeled beside her to begin the task of gently cleaning away the makeup she had so artfully applied to expose and properly treat the wound.
When he was finished, Michael sat back on his heels and took a deep breath. In costume, she had been striking and exotic. But without all of the makeup, with her eyes closed and her face relaxed, she was the picture of innocence. From her sinfully long lashes to the smattering of freckles across her nose, she barely looked old enough to legally enter a bar, let alone dance in one.
She let out a soft moan as she began to come around. Michael quickly finished applying an antibiotic ointment and bandage to her wound, then placed a soothing ice pack on top.
* * *
“Maggie?” The low voice was very pleasant, though it held a trace of worry. No voice that rich and deep should sound worried, she decided. The music was much fainter now, and she was laying on something soft.
“Maggie, can you hear me?”
She tried to pry her eyes open, but only one would cooperate. The other seemed to be stuck, covered with something cold and heavy. She lifted her hand, but another bigger, stronger hand covered hers and gently pushed it away.
“Leave it,” the nice voice said. “The ice will help with the swelling. Do you know where you are?”
Maggie tried to focus, the image before her large and blurry. But the voice was familiar, as was the scent. The bartender? The gorgeous guy with the heart-stopping smile and bedroom eyes? She was dancing, she was free, and then... she winced as she remembered her fall.
“Hang on, I’m going to turn off a few of these lights.” Seconds later, the level of brightness – and thus the sensation of knives shooting through her optic nerves - was substantially reduced. “Better?”
She nodded gingerly. The right side of her face felt like she’d been slammed with a two by four. Or a table. Her cheeks flamed red.
“Maggie, I’m going to take you down to the ER, get some X-rays, maybe an MRI, alright?”
“No,” she protested, her voice sounding distant and far away while still echoing painfully throughout her skull. ER’s were expensive, and X-rays even more so. No steady employment meant no health insurance, and she did not have an overabundance of funds. And after this little tiptoe through the tulips she was quite certain she wouldn’t be getting paid for this job. If she was lucky, the cost of any damages she caused wouldn’t be more than what she had in the petty cash fund she kept for emergencies.
Not to mention that the only way she would go to the hospital was if someone was carrying her unconscious body there without her knowledge or consent. She would never go willingly, and definitely not for a little bump.
“I just need to get home.” She hissed audibly as she tried to sit up, but strong hands kept her down.
“I don’t think so. You might have a concussion.”
“No concussion,” she insisted, trying for a wan smile. “I’m naturally obtuse.”
The corner of Michael’s mouth tilted up in that lovely crooked grin. “And inherently clumsy?”
There was a twinge of amusement to his voice. At least she hoped it was that, as opposed to him making fun of her outright. He had seemed so nice earlier. It would be a shame if he turned out to be a jerk. Not surprising, based on her track record with men, but disappointing all the same.
“Now you know.” Her cheeks flamed again.
“Seriously,” he said, “what happened out there?”
Maggie looked down at her hands. “I think I just got a little dizzy. I probably should have eaten before I came. And I shouldn’t have had those shots to calm my nerves.”
“How many fingers am I holding up?” He was persistent, she had to give him that, holding up two – no four – no two, definitely two – long, tapered fingers. Geez, this guy even had sexy fingers. Given the sharp, stabbing pain through her temple, she should not be having visions of exactly what he might do with those fingers.
She pushed his hand away irritably, annoyed with herself and uncertain of the answer. “What are you, a doctor or something?”
“Yes, actually,” he said, shining that damn light in
her eye again. “Michael Callaghan, at your service.”
The combination of the pain and the humiliation made her snappish. She snorted, wishing immediately that she hadn’t because it hurt.
“Yeah, right. Why would a doctor play bartender?” It was almost as insane as a mild-mannered farm girl doing the dance of the seven veils at a bachelor party.
As if he had read her mind, he answered, “Probably for the same reason a nice girl would play exotic dancer.”
His fingers, warm, gentle and feeling way too good, wrapped around her wrist to take her pulse. Maggie groaned. “Touché.”
“That aside,” he continued, “my family owns the Pub. And I enjoy tending sometimes.”
Oh. Come to think of it, he did bear a striking resemblance to several of the men there. Just her luck. As if he hadn’t been unattainable enough just being a perfect male bartender. He was a Callaghan and a doctor. Totally out of her league. Now she felt even more foolish.
“Look, uh, Dr. Callaghan, I – “
“Michael.” Why did his voice have to be so damn low and smooth, wrapping around her like a favorite down comforter? It would be so easy to close her eyes and listen to that wonderful voice as she drifted away again, away from the pain and embarrassment. But she couldn’t do that.
“I really think I should go before I embarrass myself any further,” she said. If that was even possible.
“You have nothing to be embarrassed about, Maggie. Accidents happen. But you do need medical attention.”
“And you gave it to me. Thank you, by the way. I’m feeling a lot better.” She forced a smile and sat up – this time he let her - holding the smile in place while she fought the urge to heave. Wouldn’t that just be the perfect end to a perfect day? Fall on her face, insult the sexy doctor, then vomit in his lap. Yep, that would be priceless. Best to cut her losses and get the hell out while she could.
House Calls: Callaghan Brothers, Book 3 Page 2
