Page 13 of Driving Whiskey Wild
His warm breath seeped into her skin as he whispered, “I think you remember how to kiss just fine. Go out with me, lollipop. You don’t have to be a biker girl. Just be my girl.”
“’Kay,” came out embarrassingly breathy.
“Fuck yeah, lollipop,” he said louder.
She was reeling from his exclamation when his mouth came down roughly over hers, with all the fierceness and fervor she’d braced herself for earlier. Gone were the slow sensual kisses he’d lavished on her, replaced with an aggressive, celebratory rush of excitement, which she felt from her head all the way down to her toes and every tingly inch in between.
Did they really have to finish working? Did they have to move from this very spot…ever? Couldn’t she stay in his arms, being kissed into the heavens, forevermore? She’d never known a kiss could be so intense and electric, and smooth and entrancing at the same time. Even her fantasies couldn’t come close to measuring up to the graceless power of his kisses.
When they finally came up for air, she was a boneless, needy mess.
How was she supposed to speak after that kiss? She was still clutching his shirt. She couldn’t recall grabbing it in the first place, and for some reason, she couldn’t unfurl her fingers. Nervous laughter fell from her lips. Good Lord, he’d kissed her silly!
She touched her forehead to the juncture of his rib cage. His big hands pressed against her cheeks, and he tilted her face up toward his, which only made her laugh more.
“I’m sorry,” she managed. “That was a pretty amazing kiss. How am I going to work, to function after that?” If he could make her lose her mind with kisses, what would happen when he touched her? When she touched him? Oh Lord, how she wanted to find out.
“Work can wait.”
His eyes were coal black and his voice was thick with desire, snapping her out of her fantasy. She lowered her gaze, concentrating on the hole in his shirt instead of the look in his eyes, reminding herself that she wasn’t one of those girls who lost her head over men. But she couldn’t resist stealing another glance at him, and his lips curled up in a wicked smile, causing lust to coil tight and hot, low in her belly.
Okay, maybe I am one of those girls who loses her head over…Bullet. Was that so bad?
No, she decided. It wasn’t bad. It was very, very good.
“We good? Play now, work later?” He said it with a tease in his voice, and she was glad for it, because her normal sure-of-herself-goody-two-shoes personality seemed to have fled the premises, leaving a lusty, horny, want-to-be-bad woman behind.
“Yes, we’re good, but no, we’re not going to ‘play.’ You’re taking me on a proper date tonight, remember? Despite losing my head for a few minutes, I’m not the kind of girl to kiss and then jump into bed. Besides, Dixie’s going to be here soon to go over the renovation plans. And I have some things I want to show you, too.”
His gaze ignited, and she swatted his arm. “Not like that! Gosh, Bullet, a few hot kisses and you think that’s a green light and you can take home the prize?”
“I happen to like green lights and prizes.”
Why did she find everything he said exciting now, instead of inappropriate?
Because now I know how fun inappropriate can be.
“Calm down, Brutus. We’ve got work to do.” She took a step toward the stool and turned back, seeing him through new eyes. Less judgmental, kinder eyes. She went up on her toes, hands pressed to his hard pecs, and kissed the tattooed snake on his neck, which was as high as she could reach. Without a word, she climbed up on the stool, strangely calm and focused for the first time in days.
FINLAY LEANED OVER a mass of documents as she explained to Dixie the technical differences between several appliances she’d deemed “the best for your money.” She seemed to have a mental checklist she was ticking off with each point she made and went on to explain why it was worth an extra few thousand dollars to opt for a twelve-burner stove rather than the eight-burner options. Though he was busy doing inventory, Bullet got caught up in her enthusiasm and the passion in her voice over something as boring as kitchen appliances. The more she explained, the clearer it became that she really cared about the future of their family’s bar.
“Based on the customer suggestions,” she said to Dixie, “they really do want mostly finger foods like sandwiches, fries, wings, you know, standard pub fare. But there were enough requests for other, more complicated dishes that I think you should renovate for the future of what Whiskey’s could easily become.”
“That makes sense, but how far out of our budget is it?” Dixie asked.
Finlay pushed a spreadsheet in front of Dixie. “It’s really not bad.”
Dixie studied the numbers. “Less than seven thousand dollars? That hardly seems enough to worry about.”
“Exactly,” Finlay said. “And with the increased profit from the kitchen, you should make it up fairly quickly. I’m glad you agreed to hire two cooks and two dishwashers, even if part-time, in case someone gets sick. I have some other ideas, too. I think once we make a few decorative changes, you could pull in a whole new crowd.”
Bullet’s enthusiasm came to a screeching halt. “Decorative changes?”
“Just a few small things,” Finlay explained. “Like clearing the black from the windows and maybe spiffing things up out front so it doesn’t look like such a dive from the road. Curb appeal goes a long way, and with a little love—”
“Hold up, sweet thing. We aren’t looking for a new crowd. Whiskey’s is a biker bar. It’s been a biker bar for several generations, and that’s what it’s going to stay. I thought Dixie covered all this with you.”
“I did. Don’t you have inventory to do? Finlay and I are capable of dealing with this on our own.” Dixie glared at him.
“It’s okay, Dixie,” she said. “Yes, Dixie went over it with me, but don’t you want it to be the type of establishment that people are drawn to? That new bikers in the area want to check out?”
“Um, not really,” Dixie said. “That can be tricky around here.”
“What do you mean?”
Bullet came around the bar and said, “The first problem with your idea is that Whiskey’s isn’t an establishment. It’s a bar. A dive. A place guys can come to after a hard day’s work and shoot the shit, have a few drinks, play a few rounds of pool, hook up with a hot chick. We’re not looking to be some fancy place like Whispers. And as far as new bikers go, babe, you’ve got to learn about our world before you can make those suggestions.”
“You know what? You’re absolutely right,” Finlay said enthusiastically. She picked up a pen and started jotting down notes. “I’m going to check out other biker bars here and in the neighboring towns. That will tell me what your competition is, and I’ll take a look at their menus, too.”
Bullet put his hand over hers, stopping her from writing any more nonsense. “Like hell you will.”
Dixie glared at him.
Finlay wrenched her hand free. “What is wrong with you? First of all, I’ll do whatever I think is right, and second of all, market research is important.”
“Putting your pretty little ass in danger is stupid. We’ve got all the market research we need right here in the history of the bar. I don’t give a flying fuck what other bars are doing. I only care about ours, and it’s not changing.”
Finlay gasped, shock rising in her wide eyes. “Just because I agreed to go out with you does not give you the right to demean me and call me stupid. In fact, it makes me wonder what the heck I was thinking.” She pushed to her feet, the shock in her eyes morphing to hurt, slicing right through his heart.
“You agreed to go out with Bullet?” Dixie asked.
Finlay looked at him with disdain. “Yes, but now I think it might have been a mistake.”
Bullet’s gut clenched. “Like hell it was.”
He pulled her closer and sank down to a stool, bringing her between his legs so they were eye-to-eye. He finally realized what his mother had meant when she’d said, Don’t go after your sweetheart with your brawn, baby. Go after her with your heart. The last thing he wanted was to hurt Finlay, and he’d done just that. He didn’t have much experience with apologies. In fact, he avoided them at all costs, living his life how he wanted to without anyone telling him what to do or how to feel. Now, faced with the pain he’d caused Finlay, he not only wanted to apologize, but he needed to. The nightmares from his military days wouldn’t come close to the haunting her sad eyes would inflict on him.
“Oh my God,” Dixie whispered. “Penny was right.”
He had no idea what the hell Penny had to do with this, but he wasn’t about to slow down enough to find out. He regretted hurting Finlay’s feelings, even if he stood behind his statement.
“I’m sorry, Finlay. I wasn’t calling you stupid. I meant the idea of a sweetheart like you going into biker bars wasn’t smart because you have no idea of the danger you’d be putting yourself in.”
“Well, you need to think before you speak.” Her gaze softened slightly, but the hurt remained palpable.
