by Eden Bradley
Bat nodded and she wondered why she was telling him all of this. She blamed the scare, the fact that no one here talked to her, the fact that being in his arms eased an ache of loneliness she hadn’t realized ran so deep.
“Why didn’t you just leave all of this for lawyers to handle? Why pick up and drive halfway across the country?”
“You want something done right, you’ve got to do it yourself.” Less disappointments that way.
“Sounds like you don’t need me at all,” he said, and he let go of her, too suddenly. She immediately missed his touch, the warmth from his body.
“None of them trust me—not the employees or the town. Half of them tell me to not give up the bar and the other half just want me gone. City girl doesn’t understand.”
“People are loyal.”
“Loyal to a dump.”
“Wasn’t always a dump. Doesn’t always have to be,” he said. “But you’re too young to understand that, just a baby.”
“I’m twenty-four, and I’ve seen plenty.”
“Yeah, you’re all grown up.” He reached out to caress her cheek with his hand, and she pushed it away.
“I just want out of here—out of this bar, out of this town,” she said firmly.
“That’s pretty clear, considering you offered a bonus if I could get the job done in half the time. You really want to dump this place, don’t you?”
“Is that a problem?”
“No. It’s just that most people don’t bother fixing something up that they plan to let go of. Makes things that much harder,” he reasoned.
“Is it hard for you to go after you’ve cleaned up a place?”
“I wasn’t talking about me.”
“No, Bat, I’m not going to have a problem walking away,” she told him as she pushed past him to go back inside the bar.
“Makes two of us, then,” he drawled.
“So since you’re so much older and wiser, let’s see you put your mouth where my money is, old man.”
He laughed softly as he held the door open for her. “You’re on, Catie chere. Let’s go close up for the night.”
CHAPTER
Two
Bat knew he’d come to the Bon Temps once or twice as a teen, but the bartender ringing the ancient bell above the bar to signal last call confirmed it. The feeling of déjà vu made sense, even though the concept of coming home after ten years still left him uneasy.
Home was three towns over. Not more than twenty miles, but a comfortable enough distance for now. He shrugged out of his jacket and laid it across one of the few unbroken tables. “Come on, Catie, dance with me.”
“I don’t dance,” she protested, even as he tugged her toward the middle of the room, which served as the dance floor. She didn’t resist as hard as she could, mainly because most of the patrons were watching them now.
He drew her into his arms and they began to sway to the slow, steady beat of the zydeco music. Truth be told, he wanted her back in his arms. She fit there well, even as she continued to protest.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m marking you. Letting them know you’re mine.” His mouth tugged to one side as her eyes widened. He wanted to take her hair down, run his hands through it, get her down and dirty naked on the bar.
“Why would you do that?”
“So they’ll leave you alone. That’s what you want, right, to be left alone?”
“Yes, Bat, that’s what I want.”
“I like the way you say my name. You sigh it, almost like you’re rolling it around in your mouth.”
“I don’t say it any special way,” she told him, but he knew she was lying. Wanted her to be anyway. “And I thought you said fine city girls weren’t your type.”
“Don’t you know a liar when you meet one?” He released her from his arms as the music ended, and together they watched the patrons file out of the bar, some stumbling, others paired up for the evening. The bouncers would follow them out to the parking lot, where, no doubt, more fights would ensue. Bat had known he’d have to bring in a couple of his own people, had called Keith and Jase—men he’d counted on for help in bars in the past—before he’d left Houston for Louisiana. They’d be here tomorrow, in time for Bat to meet with the staff.
“Who told you I fired Darren?” she asked as the last of the revelers left, the bar suddenly completely quiet.
“Bartender. Waitresses. Bouncers. They couldn’t wait to fill me in on the new girl in town.”
“What else did they say about me?”
“That you’re unfriendly. Uptight. That you don’t know how to have a good time.”
“You call this mess a good time?”
He walked across the now empty floor, toward the bar, spoke over his shoulder, “Some people do—or they did, until things got out of hand.”
“I believe in work, Bat. Business and pleasure just don’t mix.”
“That’s where you’re dead wrong,” he said as he ran his hands along the length of natural grain of one section of the bar, where it was still pretty smooth. Yes, it would clean up nicely.
“This is the worst I’ve ever seen this place,” she muttered as she began to right chairs.
“I’ve seen worse. Your staff should be here to help clean up.”
“I can’t afford to pay them to do that,” she said, refusing to look in his direction. “What made you want to clean up bars for a living anyway?”
“Money’s good,” he said. “Locations change. It’s an honest living.”
“Do you really think you can turn the Bon Temps around?”
“I wouldn’t take your money if I didn’t,” he told her. “I’m going to grab my bag from my bike, then you can show me where I’m staying.”
“I know I promised that you could stay in the upstairs apartment, but it’s not exactly ready yet. I was going to spend the day tomorrow cleaning it.”
“Then where do you sleep?” he asked, and she lifted her chin in a proud gesture she couldn’t stop.
“I’ve been staying on a cot in the back office.”
“Then I’ll stay on the floor.”
“I can’t stay in the office with you.”
“I’m supposed to get free room and board in exchange for this job. I know Dominick told you that.”
“Yes, he did.”
He strolled over to the front door of the bar to check the lock, found it woefully insufficient. “I’m not leaving you here alone with a door lock that a three-year-old can pick. It’s not safe. Not after what happened. We’re going to have to work together. You willing to do that, Catie chere? Work with me?”
She blurted out, “I don’t have the money to pay you.”
He stopped from where he’d been shoving a chair under the doorknob and turned slowly to stare at her. And then he took two strides with his long legs and stood in front of her, eyes locking her in place, strong hands on her shoulders. “What the hell is going on here, Catie Jane?”
Her eyes were ringed dark and mysterious, a startle of contrasts against the cool, pale blond of her hair which would feel like silk between his fingers, he was sure, and far too fine for him. And he was even more pissed that he’d think about that now, when she’d just told him that she’d screwed him.
“I’ll have the money for you in a few weeks,” she said. “As soon as business starts to turn around.”
“That’s not the way this works. It’s not a gentleman’s agreement and I’m no gentleman.” It was the truth. Even though the Marines had instilled a moral code in him and Big Red had done more of the same, he still had the Kelly blood to contend with. Drink and deviance running on both sides of his lineage left him with desires he couldn’t contain, and he’d never tried all that hard.
No promises to anyone, including himself. Other people lived by their own rules. He did the same.
They were the only rules he could handle.
But his hands stayed on Catie Jane’s shoulders, and like before, she felt both fr
agile and strong at the same time, and something was happening here.
And she didn’t have shit to pay him with. “I don’t do something for nothing—that’s a good way to get screwed.”
“These people, they know you.”
He let go of her and shrugged. “Some of them know me. Others by reputation.”
“But you used to live around here. The locals will listen to you, right? You can really help.”
“I help clean up bars for a living. I don’t do it for damsels in distress, and I sure as hell don’t do it for people who lie to me.”
“I knew you wouldn’t come any other way. I didn’t have any choice.”
“We all have choices, Catie. You made yours. And I’m not happy with it.”
“This place isn’t my past, it’s my family’s. I don’t belong here. Don’t you understand, I want to put it behind me.”
He wanted to tell her that trying to outrun her past was futile, that she would just chase her tail and end up in the same spot, the same place everything had started. But there was something in those deep brown eyes that tugged him in a way he’d never been tugged before and he couldn’t tell her anything of the sort. “Yeah, well, this is my past too. I guess I’m trying to make peace with my ghosts as well.”
“Then you understand. Bat, I need the money from the sale of this bar. I can’t do this without…” It was as if she couldn’t bring herself to say the word help. He suspected that had been the case for her for some time.
“You don’t want to give up control. But sometimes it’s the only way to get things done. The only way to let yourself go.”
“Who said anything about wanting to let go?”
“Everything about you screams let go, Catie chere. Every time you move your body to the jukebox and then stop, like you’ve done something wrong. Every time I catch you looking at me.”
“It’s not your job to fix me, Bat. It’s the bar you’re supposed to be breathing life into.”
“I’m not talking about fixing you. I’m talking about sharing your bed.” He saw the flash of something behind her deep brown eyes—amazement, desire, maybe even a hint of fear as well.
It took her a moment before she found her voice again. “You want me to sleep with you because I don’t have the money to pay you?”
In two strides, Bat was in front of her and she was pressed against him again, his voice fierce and low and touching all the right buttons. “I’d share your bed for free. You want my other services, you’ll have to pay up front, just like everyone else.”
Catie was glad to know that Bat had responded to her in kind, that she hadn’t imagined the tension between them, hot and unmistakable. His arousal jutted against her belly, her throat tightened as her hands played along his shoulders. His mouth—that fine, lush mouth—could play with her body in ways she’d only imagined, and all she had to say was yes.
And still, she couldn’t let herself go. “I don’t think…I don’t think I can do that, Bat,” she heard herself whisper, even though everything in her body was pulling her to say yes. Her nipples hardened as though she’d entered a freezing cold room, and she was painfully aware of their swell.
Bat was too; his gaze raked her up and down, a possessive gesture that she liked. “I’ll stay tonight, Catie. And I’ll install a few new locks tomorrow before I go.”
She crossed her arms in front of her, feeling horribly vulnerable and completely, utterly turned on at the same time, wished that he hadn’t left the decision up to her. Wished he’d just grabbed her and kissed her, so she could acquiesce that way.
Wishing now she could beg him to stay, offer him something—anything—in return.
The fact that he’d agreed to stay the night meant something—that he had a heart hidden under that layer of badass, tough-guy persona—but if she wanted to keep him around longer, she needed to find cash, fast.
God, she was in such trouble.
He’d walked past her, toward the office, and now she hurriedly followed him to the back.
Her sketch pads were strewn around the floor and on the desk, some opened to the useless pieces of crap she’d drawn over the past weeks, and one opened to the series she’d begun a few months earlier—her only drawings worth anything over the past year, and they were only for her private collection. She’d been inspired by a book she’d been reading—and when she’d come across a particularly graphic scene, she’d found herself reading…imagining…fantasizing. And then she’d blocked the scene on paper the way she’d imagined it happening.
The pictures she’d drawn were all done with soft charcoal—shaded, black and white and grayscale…and in the one Bat was looking at intently, the hero’s head was between her spread legs.
The sketches were beautiful—graphic and sensual—and she was proud of them. But she was also sad at how much longing they represented on her part.
Her face flushed hotter than she thought possible, but Bat didn’t say a word, just finished his perusal and walked out the back door, presumably to grab his things.
She wondered if Bat would’ve turned the pages if she hadn’t walked in so soon, if he would’ve liked the pictures of her on her knees in front of a man, a man whose face was always shaded in the shadows, since she couldn’t quite picture him.
Her knees went weak as she realized she’d just put Bat’s face to the man, and she knew she’d never be able to look at those pictures in the same way again.
She closed the sketchbook hurriedly and put it to the side of the desk. There was no good place to hide it, and it wasn’t as if she was ashamed of the work at all.
But God, he’d seen that she’d drawn her own face.
She could barely recognize the woman in that drawing, no matter how hard she stared.
Before she could clean up further, the lights sputtered off with a heavy thump and she was plunged into darkness. The door creaked open, but it didn’t do anything to alleviate the pitch black that filled the office. “Bat, please tell me that’s you.”
“It’s me,” he drawled.
She couldn’t see her hand in front of her face, much less Bat, and the frustration rose in her throat. “I paid the last electric bill. I know I did.”
“Relax. These miniblackouts happen all the time. The county can’t handle the heat.”
She backed up a step, reached out a hand to find the cot before she tripped over it. The old mattress sagged as she lowered herself onto it, and finally she was able to see the darker shadow that was Bat looming in front of her. She missed seeing the detail of his face and she held the picture of him in her mind.
“Why don’t you lie down and get some rest?” he suggested. She heard the thump of what she assumed to be his bag hitting the floor and she wondered why her eyes weren’t adjusting to the heavy blanket of darkness.
“I can’t sleep when I’m too hot,” she admitted.
“Then you’re in the wrong town.”
“Tell me about it.” She heard the groan of protesting wood as the small window across from the desk was opened. A light breeze fluttered through the room, but she knew it wouldn’t be enough.
“I’ll be right back,” he told her.
She heard his footsteps echo out into the hallway that separated the bar and the office, and then things got quiet.
She was still spooked from the mugging, was glad she’d never considered how stupid it was for her to stay in the office all alone for the past two weeks. She’d been lucky.
The footsteps returned. “Bat?”
She heard the flick of a lighter and saw his form outlined by the small glow. She fought an urge to ask him to stand there while she did a quick sketch, with the combination of the dark and light tones dancing in a mesmerizing pattern around his face.
“Were you expecting someone else?”
“No, I…” She stopped, feeling foolish.
“Hey, it’s okay. That’s why I stayed. And I brought some ice to cool you off.” He held up the bucket, then walked over to
the cot and put it down next to her.
Then he snapped the lighter shut and darkness surrounded them again. “You might want to think about stripping down to sleep. More comfortable that way,” he said casually.
“Yeah, right.”
“I’m planning on it.” She heard the sound of a zipper and then the light scraping sounds of jeans being pulled off a body.
She lay down and tried not to think about the naked man on the floor, and quickly discovered she couldn’t think of anything but him. A thin trickle of sweat worked its way between her breasts and she reached for the ice.
She took a cube and brought it to her neck. She ran it along her throat for a few seconds of blessed relief, and the water dripped along her skin as ice melted on contact. And she wanted more.
Bat couldn’t see anything if she couldn’t. She couldn’t even make out his shadow anymore, though she knew he was only a few feet away from her, stretched out on the floor below the cot.
Tentatively, she lifted up her T-shirt, almost sighing in relief as the slight breeze touched her bare stomach and breasts. After a few minutes, she grew bolder and left the T-shirt hiked up completely, enjoying the way the air brushed her bare skin and wishing the tickling came from Bat’s fingers instead.
“I wouldn’t have pegged you for an artist.” His drawl floated up around her in the darkness, thick and comforting, and she trailed the ice along her belly, traced a figure eight around her breasts and smiled.
“How come?” Her voice sounded lazy and far away even to her own ears.
“You’re too tightly wound.”
Bat didn’t know the half of it. But that lazy, decidedly unwound feeling was beginning to take over as she ran another ice cube along each breast and shivered in silence as hot and cold converged to tighten her nipples.
“Yeah, well, you would be too if your entire future was riding on the Bon Temps.” She would just keep him talking, let his voice take her to the place she wanted. He’d be gone tomorrow and she’d have nothing left but a memory.
“What are you going to do with the money?”
“I’m returning to art school.”
