Page 18 of Riding Dirty for Christmas

Eden's eyes scan the slip, her lips curving up. The transformation is immediate – from flustered to focused.

She's hard to ignore when she smiles like that, all confidence and challenge.

Her hands move with practiced ease - spirits, bitters, vermouth. The cocktail shaker becomes an extension of her rhythm. She's got the timing down perfect—shake, strain, garnish.

“You're testing me.” She doesn't look up, focused on expressing the orange peel just right.

She's in my bar, in my space, making it her own. The way she belongs here hits me like a physical blow.

Having her this close, watching her pour drinks like she's always been here... it's torture of the sweetest kind.

“Maybe I like watching you work.” The words slip out before I can stop them.

Eden arches an eyebrow, not looking up from the cocktail she's building. “Please. I could make these drinks in my sleep.”

I lean against the bar, watching her hands move with practiced grace. “That sounds like confidence talking, Princess.”

Her eyes flash as she sets down the shaker. “You think I'm too good for this?” She scoffs. “I grew up in this town, remember? You're the blow-in. Let me show you exactly what I've got.”

She grabs my best bourbon without breaking eye contact, plus three bottles I rarely touch and some fresh herbs from our garnish station.

The challenge in her eyes, the defiant tilt of her chin - it takes everything in me not to drag her into the back room right now.

Instead, I watch her hands move, quick but precise, as she builds something I've never seen before.

“This,” she says, adding a final flourish of flame to the garnish, “is my specialty.”

Word spreads fast in a small bar. News about me having a sister travels even faster. She's drawing a crowd now, my regulars abandoning their usual beers to watch her work.

Every protective instinct in my body goes on high alert watching these guys lean in closer, even though I know they're harmless.

Eden handles herself with the kind of confidence that makes my chest glow with pride and something darker, more possessive.

My regulars press closer, but I shift my stance, creating a buffer between them and Eden.

Mine.

The word pounds in my head with every beat of my heart. Someone whistles as she slides the drink across the bar to its lucky recipient.

“Holy shit,” the guy breathes after his first sip. “That's incredible.”

“Right?” Eden's smile could stop traffic.

The crowd grows, and we fall into a rhythm, moving around each other like we've done this for years.

When she reaches for ice, I'm already sliding the bucket closer. When I need lime wedges, she's cutting fresh ones.

It's a dance we shouldn't know the steps to, but somehow do.

“Behind you,” I murmur, my hand grazing her hip as I pass.

Eden shivers but maintains her smile. “Professional,” she reminds me, but her voice has gone husky.

“Behind you,” I murmur, my hand grazing her hip as I pass.

Eden shivers but maintains her smile. “Professional,” she reminds me, but her voice has gone husky.

The rumble of motorcycles cuts through the night. Eden tenses, but I touch her elbow lightly. “Wait for it.”

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