Love on the Line (Love Beyond Danger Book 3)

by Diane Holiday

  The band tuned their instruments, getting ready for the next set. She took a deep breath and pushed through the crowd to get closer.

  The lanky lead singer, with sleeve tattoos and multiple piercings, paused to pick up his drink. She stood on her tiptoes and waved to him. “It’s my friend Emily’s birthday. Do you take requests?”

  He leaned down. “Depends. What song?”

  She told him, and he nodded in an I’m-so-cool way. “You got it.”

  His fingers fiddled with the guitar strings as his gaze wandered down her body. “Why don’t you stop back when we take our next break?”

  “Thanks, but I’m with the girls tonight.”

  “Bring them with you.” He jerked his head in the direction of the drummer and bass player. “We love a party.”

  “Maybe next time.” She smiled and walked away. Her face was on fire, but she’d done it.

  His voice came over the mic. “Got a request from a pretty lady. Can’t turn that down. This one’s for Emily. Happy birthday.”

  Anne’s friends let out a whoop from their table as she returned.

  “Oh my God. My favorite song. Did you do that?” Emily high-fived Anne as the girls moved to the music. Worth the nerves to make Emily so happy.

  Anne glanced across the bar at Wyatt. The group around him had grown. A guy clapped him on the back and another passing by gave him a fist bump. She ignored the tiny sinking of her spirits.

  Wyatt was out of her league, and she’d promised herself she’d stick to her plan.

  No room for players in her life.

  Chapter 2

  Devon Blackwood drove into the Corner Bar parking lot and hit the brakes. Neon beer signs blinked like beacons in the windows of the cedar building. He double checked the GPS to make sure he’d gone to the right place. Whenever he and Paul met for drinks to discuss their next bet, they picked a different bar. They’d started the whole thing back in college to make life more interesting. Paul must have misplaced his glasses or something when he’d chose this dive.

  After zigzagging through a pot-holed maze, Devon parked his BMW in a spot far away from the jacked pickup trucks. A cold January wind blasted his face, and annoyance grew with every step he took. His shoes would need polishing after the trek through the dirty gravel, and his car would need washing.

  He opened the heavy, paint-chipped wooden door and stepped inside. His nose wrinkled in disgust at the stench of stale beer and fried food. The scent took him right back to his father, passed out drunk on the couch, reeking of alcohol.

  No need to relive those days. Now Devon was in control, always in control. He slid out of his coat. First thing tomorrow, he’d call the dry-cleaning service to pick up his suit and jacket.

  His gaze swept the room. Mostly a blue-collar crowd wearing T-shirts, flannel, and jeans. Servers grabbed plastic pitchers of beer from the bar, while a band blasted music as if volume could make up for their lack of talent. A peanut shell crunched under his designer shoe, and a vein pulsated in his forehead.

  Everything about the place made his skin crawl, including the women who elbowed each other as he passed, like he’d give any of them a second look. Tall, with dark hair and a martial-arts-trained body, he commanded attention. Females were putty in his hands.

  He spotted Paul at a table away from the band. Even the finest clothes couldn’t make up for his small stature and the receding hairline that highlighted his pastiness. Both of them were thirty-five, but Paul could pass for mid-forties.

  “Haven’t seen you in person for a while.” Paul took off his glasses, wiped them with a lens cloth, and put them back on.

  Devon sat across from him. “No need any more with a virtual world.”

  “Probably for the best, considering the sensitive nature of our business.”

  “You have a problem?” Devon arched an eyebrow. “Because I can easily find someone else to keep the books for what I’m paying you.”

  “Nope.” Paul shook his head. “I’m good. Don’t need to know the details. See no evil, hear no evil—”

  “Exactly, Paulie. Remember that.” Devon wasn’t worried. Paul liked the finer things in life and wouldn’t do anything to risk losing his lucrative income.

  Paul’s lips drew into a thin line. “You know I hate it when you call me Paulie. I wish you would drop that old college nickname.”

  A brunette server, who he’d guess was in her late twenties, stopped by the table. “I’m Trish. What can I get you to drink?”

  Devon frowned and eyed the bar. “Scotch on the rocks, the highest quality of whatever you carry in this place.”

  Trish stiffened, and the smile fell from her face. She took Paul’s order for a merlot and walked away.

  Devon’s head ached from the noisy band. “Why on earth did you pick this slum to meet?”

  “The online pictures made it look much nicer.” Paul shrugged. “We’re just here for a drink and to set up the next bet.”

  “I hope it’s something good. My boredom has reached an absolute high.” And so had Devon’s tolerance for the bar.

  “A man of your means and money really shouldn’t be bored,” Paul said.

  “That’s why we started this game, isn’t it?” Devon sat back in his chair. “What’s the challenge when I have the money and influence to get whatever I want?”

  Paul nodded. “True. It’s made life more exciting.”

  “What I wonder is why you even bother anymore. You never win.” Devon snorted.

  “Oh, I won once. Remember back in college when Lynn picked me over you?” Paul smoothed down the edges of his cocktail napkin and blew out a breath.

  Devon’s ears burned. That bitch. He’d been shocked when she’d turned him down, choosing instead to go out with Paulie. The first woman to ever reject Devon. He fisted his hands under the table.

  Trish returned with their drinks. She plopped Devon’s down, smiled at Paul, and placed a bowl of nuts next to his merlot. “Would you like a menu?”

  “No, thank you.” Paul said. As she returned to the bar, he waved a hand at her back. “You really charmed her, didn’t you?”

  Devon glared at Trish, his face heating. She had ignored him, fawning over Paul, who had a lot of nerve bringing up that ancient-history bet that he’d won. Like Devon could ever lose another bet over a woman. “I wouldn’t spend a second trying to impress some low-class waitress. I can have any woman in this bar that I want.”

  “Really?” Paul took a sip of his wine and rolled his eyes.

  “What’s that look for? You think I’m kidding?” Devon glanced around the room. “Fine. That will be our next bet. You pick someone here, and I’ll get her to go out with me.”

  Paul sat up in his chair. “Hmm. This could be fun. Only…” He tapped a finger on his lip. “Let’s make it a little more challenging.”

  “How?” Devon swirled his scotch.

  “I imagine you could buy or charm a woman into your bed if you put your mind to it, but as far as I know, you’ve never had a lasting, meaningful relationship. Whoever I choose, you have to date exclusively for three months.” Paul smiled a Cheshire-cat grin.

  A thrill of anticipation climbed up Devon’s spine. This would be the easiest wager he’d ever won. He’d come a long way since college when he’d lost that one over Lynn. Sure, he’d been popular back then, but nothing compared to his status now. Wealthy, handsome, respected in the community, he had his choice of women. Any of which would marry him if he ever proposed.

  Paul had no idea how much power and lure Devon had over the opposite sex. They always wanted more, but he tossed them to the curb once they bored him. He wasn’t sharing his fortune with any gold diggers. Date some cheap bar chick for three months? Hell, he could do that in his sleep.

  “Tell you what, Paul-ie.” He dragged out the name. “I’ll up the ante and get the woman to agree to marry me in three months. Put a ring on her finger.”

  “Really?” Paul’s eyes widened. “You actually think yo
u can?”

  “I don’t think it. I know it.”

  “I can’t wait to win this one. I’m pretty sure I’ve already found the woman, but first I need to set up a little test.”

  Devon rubbed his chin. “What kind of test?”

  “You’ll see in a second.” Paul jerked his head. “Take a look over there.”

  Devon followed Paul’s gaze to a table of five women who appeared to be in their late- twenties or early-thirties. Trish brought them a tray of drinks. They all knocked back shots except for a short-haired blonde, who drank from a soda glass. She stood and slung her purse over her shoulder, saying something to a tall redhead before leaving the table.

  She headed toward the restroom and passed by without a glance in Devon’s direction. That was a first. Women always noticed him. His gaze raked down the back of her body. Nice ass and curvy in all the right places.

  “You thinking of her?”

  “Maybe. Her table has been pretty rowdy all night, so I’ve noticed them. I’ll need Trish’s help, though, to see if that blonde is the right person for the bet.”

  Devon snapped his fingers as Trish passed. She flinched, but continued on, carrying a tray with pitchers of beer and mugs. Slowly pouring them, she chatted with the men at another table.

  Total ignorant bitch. She’d just lost her tip. He would leave her a one-cent tip so she’d know he didn’t forget it.

  She finally came to their table and spoke directly to Paul, with no smile this time. “Ready for another?”

  “We’d like to order a round for the ladies over there.” Paul gestured to the group of women.

  Trish nodded. “Okay.”

  When Anne returned from the restroom, Trish showed up with another tray of drinks.

  “Some guys bought you a round,” she said.

  “Who?” Anne asked.

  Trish pointed across the room. As Anne turned to look, three men at the next table stood, blocking her view.

  Anne frowned. Free drinks were nice, but who’d sent them? “I can’t see who ordered these. Is it a group of guys or what?”

  “Nah. Just two. One of them seems kinda nice, but the other is a jerk. Can you believe he snapped his fingers at me to get my attention?”

  “That sucks. I waited tables when I was in college. I hated when people did that.”

  Trish cocked her head. “And he looks like he stepped out of a magazine, wearing designer clothes and acting snobby-like. I mean, what’s he doing here anyway?”

  “Hmm. That is kind of strange.” Then again, there was no law against dressing nice.

  “For what it’s worth, I think the guy’s a jerk. It’s a gut thing, but I’ve learned to trust it.” Trish gave a curt nod.

  Emily snagged one of the shots and raised it in the air. “Bottoms up.”

  The girls picked up the others and drank them.

  The back of Anne’s neck tingled. Something didn’t feel right. She lowered her voice and spoke to Trish on the side. “I don’t like it. One time a group of men followed us after they bought us a round of drinks. I don’t want to make a big deal out of it, though. Can I pay you separately for these, and you tell the guys we said, ‘Thanks but no thanks’?”

  “I’ll be happy to deliver the message.” Trish clamped the drink tray under her arm and left with a bounce in her step.

  Devon glanced up when Trish returned to the table.

  She faced him, meeting his eyes with a smug smile. “The ladies paid for the round you sent over and said, ‘Thanks, but no thanks.’”

  Heat flushed through Devon’s skin. He didn’t give a flying fuck about whether the girls accepted the drinks. It was Paul’s deal, not his. No one smirked at him and got away with it like this bitch of a waitress with a stick up her ass.

  She must have realized her mistake because the smug look disappeared, and she swallowed, taking a step back.

  Paul clasped his hands together. “Great. We’ll take our check.”

  Trish blinked, and her brows furrowed like she was trying to figure out a puzzle. “All right then…I’ll get it.”

  She hurried toward the bar. Good, she should be nervous. Devon would have a word with her manager before he left. He dragged his attention back to Paul. “Why are you so happy those girls paid for the round?”

  “It confirms I’ve chosen the right person for our wager. The blonde is the only one who spoke to Trish.”

  “So, what of it?”

  “I’ve been watching her. She’s obviously the designated driver, been taking care of her very tipsy friends, and now refuses free drinks.” Paul leaned across the table. “She’s a person of character, which I think will make it harder for you to win her over with your usual tactics.”

  “Just wait and see.” Devon scoffed and held out his hand. “We have a deal?”

  “Absolutely.”

  They shook on it as Trish came by with the check.

  Devon snagged the bill and said to Paul, “I got this. You’ll be paying up later.”

  Paul stood and grinned. “Good luck. I believe this will be harder than you think. I look forward to winning.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  After Paul left, Devon slid his credit card onto the tab and waited for Trish to return with it. On the tip line he wrote, “.01”.

  Standing, he shot a look at the blonde again. Not hard on the eyes, but clearly beneath him. He’d have her eating out of his hand. This was going to be fun.

  Let the games begin.

  Chapter 3

  Wyatt glanced at John, sitting in the passenger seat. “What’s the cat-that-ate-the-canary grin for?”

  “Nothing. I’m enjoying my DD ride. Losing sucks, not that I’d know.” John slid a hand to the top of his forehead and formed an “L” with his fingers. He let out a long sigh.

  Wyatt snorted. “Wait ’til next week.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “You’re a real dick, you know?”

  “Yup, and I try hard.” John closed his eyes and faked a snore.

  “I’m not even going there.” Wyatt held in a laugh. Smart ass. “Why don’t you make that snore real and zone out?”

  “I should. Monday morning I’m back to work.”

  A pit formed in Wyatt’s stomach. His best friend put his life on the line every day as a Baltimore detective.

  John waved a hand. “What was up with that chick you dumped your soda all over?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean.” John slid a heavy-lidded glance in Wyatt’s direction. “I haven’t seen you wimp out like that since middle school. Why did you? Women ask you out. Professional football player and all the hero-worship shit.”

  Wyatt stopped for a red light. “That’s former player, and she didn’t exactly seem like a fan.”

  “No. She didn’t faint at the mere sight of you.”

  The light turned green, and Wyatt checked for jaywalkers before accelerating. On Saturday nights, the city streets crawled with people.

  “Doesn’t matter.” John shifted in his seat. “You have plenty of other fans.”

  “Maybe I’m tired of that.”

  “What?” John did a double take and straightened.

  “Just saying, it’s getting old. Something about Anne was…different.” Refreshing. The second he’d seen her, he’d fired to life. With gorgeous blue eyes and dimples that popped when she smiled, she’d caught his attention. Never mind the curvy body her understated T-shirt and jeans couldn’t hide. And when he’d held her elbow, she’d blushed. All his fault for spilling a drink on her, yet she’d taken it in stride.

  John dragged him back to the present. “You saying your playboy days are over?”

  Wyatt shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, with sports and travel I’ve kept my dates casual. Then my mother needed me.” A heaviness settled over his heart. He cleared his throat. “With her gone now, it’s just me. I’m not sure what I even want anymore.”

  “I’m sorry, du
de. That was some heavy shit to deal with.”

  “Yeah. Not that I don’t like spending holidays with your family, but—”

  “Stop right there. If you tell me your biological clock is ticking, I swear I’ll revoke your man card.” John held up a hand. “I get it. I get it.”

  Wyatt waved at him. “Nah, it’s not that.”

  “Good, because I think at thirty-three your swimmers still have plenty of stamina.”

  “Christ, does everything go there with you? Your mind’s always in the gutter.”

  “And I drag you right down with me, bro.” John settled back in the seat.

  “I can’t even think about having kids. And besides, if I get that offensive coordinator job at USC, I’ll be moving to California.” Wyatt switched lanes and kept his eyes open for pedestrians. “What about you? You ever consider having a family?”

  John gazed out the passenger window, street lights flickering over his face. “Not many women are lining up to be a cop’s wife. Especially if they want kids.”

  Silence hung between them. Wyatt had no words. The truth was the truth. Most women couldn’t handle the stress of their husband on a job from which he might never come home. His shoulders pinched, and tension ran a track through his body. His friend bled blue, as did generations of his family. They all deserved a medal and a chance to have children.

  John brushed a hand down his pants. “So, what are you going to do about this Anne?”

  Wyatt let out a slow breath. Maybe she’d come back to the bar, maybe not. What was he even thinking? They’d had one short encounter, but somehow, she’d gotten to him. “Beats the hell out of me. All I got is her first name. Not much to go on.”

  The way her eyes had grown wide had stopped him from asking her out. He didn’t pressure women. He never put them on the spot. Probably best to forget about her.

  Only, the cute way she’d tried to stifle her laugh at the pink umbrella, and the electric current that came from touching her refused to fade.