Page 12 of Renard's Deliverance

He wondered how old she was, but he knew not to ask. A man never asked a woman her age unless he was willing to risk his life.

Or his balls.

“I get that,” he said gruffly, staring down at the glass of rum still sitting in front of him.

Where it had sat for the last hour without him taking a sip.

Devon, the owner of Dirty Delights, had come over to check on him a few times.

Nosy asshole.

“Yeah, of everyone in this town, I figured you were the one who would get it. It’s why I came over when I saw you staring at that glass of rum that you’ve got no intentions of drinking.”

“You don’t think I will?”

“How long have you been sober?” she asked.

He sighed. Christ save him from women who saw too much. “Five years.”

“So you’re not going to drink that. Because you don’t want to unravel those hard-earned years of sobriety.”

“I don’t? Maybe that’s exactly what I want. To drown myself in alcohol.”

“Oh, darlin’, if that’s what you wanted, you’d already be doing it.”

“I don’t need your sympathy.”

Opal held up her hands. Her nails were long and painted a bright red that matched her lipstick. “I wasn’t offering it. Wouldn’t dare.”

He eyed her.

“Just figured I’d come sit over here for a few minutes until I’m on.”

“On?” He glanced around again. “What are you doing here on your own? Shouldn’t you be home in bed, asleep?”

Her lips twitched. “Remember, I’m not a child. And I can decide for myself when I need to sleep. I’m singing. And yes, I came here all by myself.”

He didn’t like that at all.

“You drove? Do you have a car? Did someone walk you in? Will they walk you back out?”

She stood and patted his arm. “Go home. Get some rest yourself.” She stood and turned toward the small stage area down the other end of the bar.

Damn.

His mouth went dry as he took in that pert ass in her tight jeans. They were molded to her body, and he couldn’t help but think about peeling her out of them.

Her hips swayed as she headed to the stage and picked up a guitar.

Was she going to play the guitar? Sing?

He’d come a few times to listen to Lara perform, but he hadn’t been here in months.

“She’s really good.” He glanced over as Devon sat in the same chair Opal had just been in.

“Jesus,” he sighed. “Why does everyone think I want to talk?”

“Must be your cheerful personality,” Devon replied. “Just draws people in.”

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