Tropical Bartender Bear (Shifting Sands Resort Book 3)

by Zoe Chant

  “It was a long time ago,” Laura agreed with a careless shrug. It was tricky pretending disinterest when everything about him made her heart race and her breath catch. “Small world.”

  ‘He’s a cowboy,’ she reminded herself. ‘You hate country music.’

  She clung to that and took a sip of the drink.

  He was still staring at her.

  For the first time on the trip, she was actually glad to hear Fred’s voice. “There you are, Jenny!”

  She turned with a warm smile for the bartender’s benefit and a little wave. “Hey Fred.”

  Fred plopped down beside her on a barstool, completely innocuous and out-classed in his flip-flops and sunburnt balding head.

  The bartender’s face, when she snuck a look, was a hilarious mixture of jealousy and confusion. Laura might have laughed out loud under different circumstances. “This is Fred,” she introduced casually. “We work together.” She wasn’t actually that sure where in the hierarchy of the law office Fred fell, or for that matter, what Jenny’s exact position was, which did nothing but complicate her acting efforts.

  The bartender tipped his hat automatically to Fred. “Pleased to meet you,” he drawled. “I’m Tex.”

  Of course he was. Laura had to keep her eyes from rolling.

  “We met a few years back when I was in Austin for spring break,” Laura offered.

  Fred extended a sweaty hand for a handshake. “Did you go to college down there?”

  Tex looked abashed. “No, sir. I’m not a college man. I’ve been a bartender since the law let me.”

  “Nothing wrong with that,” Laura snapped in his defense before she could stop herself. She’d never managed more than a semester or two of college herself, and Tex’s embarrassed look hit her in several ways.

  “Of course not,” Fred said jovially. “It’s not for everyone.”

  Laura gritted her teeth as his patronizing tone, but couldn’t say anything. She was supposed to be Jenny, who’d done seven or eight years of higher education, so she shrugged and took a sip of her drink, nearly stabbing herself in the cheek with the stupid umbrella.

  She let Fred and Tex fumble through a conversation without her, sipping at her drink like it would save her. A “Shifter’s Mate,” it was called, and just like the real thing, it was sweet, with a kick of intoxication and a twist of sour.

  Her mate. She’d found her mate.

  Our mate, her wolf corrected, practically purring in her ear. She, for some reason, did not seem to consider the cowboy hat a deal breaker. Nor did she mind that Tex was a bear, something that they both seemed to instinctively know.

  These things don’t matter, her wolf said dismissively.

  How about the fact that we’re masquerading as our twin sister, and he’s already met her. That might confuse the issue.

  Aren’t you humans used to confusion by now? You certainly seem to thrive on it.

  Sometimes Laura felt like Jenny was the lucky one, not being a shifter.

  She caught herself watching Tex out of the corner of her eye. He was telling Fred his choices of high end gin for a gin and tonic, and Fred was trying to look knowledgeable about the selection.

  Laura emptied her drink, wishing it had been four times as strong, and ate the fruit off the umbrella stick. “I have to use the ladies,” she said, hopping down off her barstool. Fred would probably wait here for an hour or more before he figured out she wasn’t coming back.

  “Wait,” Tex said too loudly. Other patrons of the bar turned to look curiously, and a pause in the tinny Spanish radio music gave the moment a surreal edge.

  Laura turned back, and gave what she hoped was a cool stare back at him.

  “I’m pretty sure I don’t have to pay,” she said dryly. “This place is supposed to be all-inclusive.”

  “No, of course, it’s just…”

  He was adorable, fumbling through his obvious confusion. Laura could not get over how expressive his mouth was, or how perfect the line of his jaw was. She’d been turned on by men before, but none of them had ever made her as literally weak in the knees as this. Between the tropical heat and the sanity-eating lust this man was igniting in her, she thought she actually understood why heroines in dirty novels sometimes swooned.

  “Can I see you, later?” he finally stammered.

  She wanted to say yes. She honestly didn’t want to leave his presence; every move away from him felt like betrayal.

  But he was a complication in a plan already made painfully complex by Fred. A mate wasn’t a mandate, and she was past the point in her life where she let her loins lead her around.

  “I’m not interested,” she lied. She was entirely too interested. “Sorry,” she softened it, hating the lost look in his eyes.

  Before she could change her mind, she turned on her heel and left.

  Chapter 6

  “Mr. France was disqualified because he was a dragon,” Bastian said with a snarl. “Everyone knows it. Specism is a thing, and mythical creatures get the short end of every stick.”

  “I don’t know,” Travis said thoughtfully. “They said it was drugs. Besides, Mr. Ireland is a pegasus.”

  “Maybe they just have something against dragons, then, and not sissy flying horses. And what drugs could possibly survive a dragon’s bloodstream?”

  “It was some designer thing, specific to dragons,” Travis explained, reading from his tablet. They call it goldshot, and it has some kind of enhancing properties.”

  “Enhancing what?” Breck asked suggestively from across the room.

  “Hey, there’s Graham!”

  The surly landscaper made a brief appearance in the background of the interview on the screen, scowling and vanishing as soon as he realized he was in the field of the camera’s view.

  In person, Graham grunted and took a drink from his beer.

  The Mr. Shifter competition was on the staff television, streaming through the Internet, rather than broadcast television. Shifters weren’t acknowledged in all of the countries represented, which made the competition more complicated, and the contest was being hosted through a webpage. At least part of the contestant elimination was done through Internet voting, though there were also a half dozen celebrity judges wandering the resort acting important.

  Tex sat at the other end of the couch from Graham, nursing a beer and paying the barest of attention to the screen he was staring through.

  “Damn, this place looks great on camera,” Travis said proudly. There were aerial shots of the pool, zooming in through the palm trees to the Greek columns and grand steps, flanked on each side by waterfalls. Mr. India was stepping out of the water, and the camera lingered on the water slipping off his dusky skin, and the tight, shiny spandex of the very spare swimsuit he was wearing. It was a bit of a disconnect, seeing the sunlit resort when the darkness outside was so complete.

  “Man, that French villa is wishing they hadn’t fucked up their contract,” Breck agreed. Every shot made the resort look good, with gleaming cottages and landscape that was dripping in riotous flowers. There had been multiple shots of the pristine beach, with its jeweled jungle backdrop and crystal blue water. It was the kind of advertising you couldn’t buy with money.

  “That probably had something to do with Mr. France’s disqualification, too,” Bastian muttered acidly.

  “It could have just been that Mr. France couldn’t fake his way through the part of the contest where he had to actually speak in complete sentences,” Travis suggested.

  “Not that he has to for the swimsuit portion,” Breck countered merrily.

  Bastian’s face went black and he rose up out his seat with a growl, but he pivoted on his foot and left in a grouchy huff.

  “What’s his problem?” Tex asked, momentarily distracted from his own problems.

  Breck shrugged, and surprisingly, it was Graham who answered.

  “He had to move his hoard. It’s a dragon thing.”

  “Oh,” Breck, Tex, and Travis
said in understanding unison.

  Bastian had been in a vicious mood since they’d moved out of the hotel, though any of the other staff would have cheerfully said that the house by the cliffs was actually a step up. It wasn’t as private, but the rooms were bigger, and the common areas were stunning. The only real problems were that the toilet clogged if you flushed anything larger than a grape, and that Breck refused to tie his bathrobe closed when he was wandering around early in the morning drinking coffee.

  The pageant stream went to a sponsored commercial for energy drinks and Travis muted it.

  “I have a question,” Tex finally started, and stalled out. He had his guitar in his lap, but his fingers were uncharacteristically still on the strings.

  “Out with it, Cowboy,” Breck prodded him.

  “Do you… believe in mates?”

  “Hard to deny them,” Travis said solemnly.

  Graham just grunted, but Tex thought it sounded affirmative.

  “I just hope it never happens to me,” Breck said, clutching his neck in a choking motion.

  “But if it does,” Tex pursued. “If it does, it’s supposed to be at first sight, right? You’re supposed to know immediately.”

  Even Graham nodded at that.

  Travis said, “My grandfather used to say that if you aren’t sure, it’s just lust.”

  “It’s not just lust,” Tex said before he could stop himself.

  The others stared at him.

  “Cheers!” said Breck. “Who’s the lucky girl?”

  “You lucky dog,” Travis added. “The sex is supposed to be amazing.”

  Graham gave him a crooked smile and raised his beer can in a toast.

  Tex groaned and put his face in his hand, tipping back his hat.

  “I just - I don’t understand. We met before and it was nothing like this. Not even a spark. And now, she acts like… like…” Tex flailed. “Like she doesn’t feel what I do.”

  “You already met once?” Travis asked, puzzled.

  “Years ago, in Austin. Had a little after-hours chat when I was closing a bar I worked at.”

  “Just a chat, eh?” Breck could make anything sound suggestive.

  “Just a chat,” Tex said firmly. “She needed a little help, and even though she was gorgeous and willing, nothing actually happened.”

  “And this time…?” Travis prompted.

  Tex pulled his hat back down over his eyes. “Sweet daisies help me. I cannot get her out of my mind. I want to do unspeakable things to her, and I want to get down on my knee and propose on the spot, and she’s looking at me like I’m a sun-touched fool.”

  “Is she a shifter?” Breck asked.

  “No,” Tex said, just as his bear inside him said, Yes.

  “What?” Tex said in confusion.

  “Well, if she’s not a shifter, she might not know about mates. Probably she isn’t sure why she’s all hot and bothered for you in a crowd full of Mr. Shifter contestants.” Breck’s explanation was plausible.

  “Doesn’t explain why he didn’t get the lightning bolt the first time they met,” Travis added thoughtfully.

  “Not you,” Tex said impatiently. “My bear says she’s a shifter. But she said she wasn’t.”

  That earned him curious looks.

  “Bizarre,” Travis said with a shrug.

  Graham looked darkly suspicious.

  “Have you always been able to tell who’s a shifter?” Breck asked curiously.

  “Sometimes I can smell it on them, but not always,” Tex said, baffled. He poked at his bear curiously, but his companion was distracted, all attention focused on their mate. All he could get was -- “A wolf. She’s a wolf shifter.”

  “Can you tell what Scarlet is?” Travis asked avidly. Most of the staff had bets going on the topic.

  Tex shook his head, shrugging.

  Graham shushed them, pointing at the screen, and Travis turned the volume up as the program returned with the interview and videography of Mr. Austria, an eagle shifter with Alps for muscles and a thick Germanic accent.

  He was just explaining his plan for improving world peace when there was a timid tap on the door.

  Breck rose to answer it.

  “Excusez-moi!” came a familiar voice. “I wondered if Tex was free to, how do you say, walk with me? If he is still up, I know it is late.”

  “Is that her?” hissed Travis.

  Graham gave a lopsided grin and raised an eyebrow at him.

  Tex grimaced and shook his head, but rose to his feet and came to the door to see Marie, elbowing Breck out of the way.

  “Ma’am,” he said politely, touching the rim of his hat. When she stepped back away from the door, he felt obligated to come out into the tropical darkness with her — there was no way he was inviting a lady into the bachelor house to the attention of his housemates. He closed the door behind him, knowing it wouldn’t do much good because the house had no air conditioning and all the windows were open. “Let’s step up to the staff garden.”

  She took his arm gladly, and Tex tried not to sigh too loudly.

  “You have been so kind to me,” Marie said, laying her head against his arm. “I just wanted to find some way to thank you.”

  “Marie,” he started, once he thought they were out of easy earshot. There was a bench under a flowering magnolia tree, and he sat with her there while he tried to find a way to let her down easy. A single garden lamp barely lit the little garden.

  Without warning, Marie launched herself at him, her mouth landing on his demandingly.

  Tex didn’t want to hurt her, and awkwardly tried to pry her off without manhandling her, finally standing up to escape her ardent kisses and insistent hands.

  “Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas?” she asked breathlessly. “What’s wrong? Have I offended you? Am I… not attractive?”

  She was wearing something frilly and very low cut, somehow it had slipped off one shoulder as Tex struggled to get away. As she spoke, her breasts heaved in a way that would have been very distracting indeed if Tex couldn’t help but compare them to the shape that Jenny’s must be.

  Tex had to laugh a little. “Marie, ma’am, you are lovely, and any man would be lucky to win you.”

  Her eyes were dark and glittered with tears in the faint light. “But you do not find me worthy.”

  “It’s not about worthy,” Tex promised sincerely. “If things were different… but there’s…”

  “Someone else,” Marie’s voice had an iron edge. “There is another amour.”

  Tex thought about Jenny’s haughty dismissal of him and sighed. “It’s complicated,” he said.

  Marie drew her shirt up over her shoulder and sat back, offended dignity in every line of her posture. “If it were not for her?” she pouted.

  Tex was already thinking about Jenny again, the flash of spirit in her brown eyes, the curve of her perfect mouth. “If it weren’t for her,” he agreed plaintively. If it weren’t for her, he could sleep at night, could close his eyes without picturing her. He shifted on the bench, embarrassed to find that he was having a physical reaction to just imagining her.

  He didn’t want Marie to think he was reacting to her, so he focused on where he was again. “Marie, let me walk you back to your room. You’re at the next staff house up, right?”

  Marie graciously let him escort her, keeping her hand on his arm, but not leaning on him this time.

  “Thank you,” she said thickly, when they arrived at her door. Tex could hear the sound of the Mr. Shifter contest blaring from the screen in their house, female voices laughing and appraising the contenders. “You are a true gentleman.”

  Tex tipped his hat at her. “Just trying not to shame the mother who taught me manners,” he promised with a little laugh to lighten the mood. “Have a good night, ma’am.”

  “Oh, I will,” Marie answered. Tex couldn’t identify the tone of her voice, but was happy that she went inside then without further protest.

  He walked back
down the manicured path to his staff house, decided he was done watching the contest for now, and slipped into the back door to his own room.

  He shucked off his staff shirt and lay down, to slide at once into dreams about Jenny.

  Chapter 7

  “I am very well-known in most of Europe,” the photographer told Laura. “Practically a household name. Everyone knows who Juan Lopez is.”

  Laura made an uninterested noise that was taken as an interested noise by the gold Speedo-clad man wearing so much suntan lotion he looked as greasy as he sounded.

  “I would love to photograph you,” he said, slipping his sunglasses down to give her a look that was only barely not a leer. “You have this joyous life to you. I wish to capture it on film.”

  Laura knew a line when she heard it. She hooked a finger on her own sunglasses and looked at him over the top in a deliberate mirror of his own. “Nude, of course,” she said dryly.

  Her sarcasm was lost on him. “Of course. It is the only way to do you justice!”

  Laura settled back into her sunchair, realizing that subtlety was not her friend here. “Nope.”

  “You won’t get another opportunity like this! I am an artist...”

  “Go find some other naive woman with low self-esteem to try this on,” Laura suggested. “I’m not interested, I won’t be interested, and I’m not above reporting you to the staff if you continue to harass me.”

  She tipped her head back and closed her eyes, every other sense alert. “Get lost.” She curled her fingers around her water bottle and prepared to throw it at him if the matter escalated.

  The photographer sputtered in surprised outrage, then muttered, “Bitch,” and took himself somewhere else.

  “Don’t mind if I am,” Laura muttered after him, then took a sip of her water. The old her would have fallen for his flattery. He wasn’t bad looking, if perhaps a bit outclassed at a tropical resort filled with male pageant contestants and staffed with men who could have given them a run for their money.

  But she knew better. He’d picked her because she was wearing a modest one-piece by the pool and wasn’t model thin like so many of the beauty coaches and personal assistants. She was probably obvious about dodging Fred at this point, so she looked like easy pickings for the self-esteem pickup… he’d flatter her, she’d decide to do the pictures to make herself feel better about her looks, there would be drinks, a pass that she wouldn’t feel good about saying no to. Men suck, she reminded herself. She was done with them.