Shaken (3 page)

Friday night at Coveted meant four on-duty bartenders, two upstairs, two down. By midnight, that number would grow to six. Tiffany sailed over with a tray.

“Time for coffee?” he asked.

“Yep. The doc has rounds. She wants a double espresso. Better start the pot for the other two.”

“On it.” He glided along the bar, checking the other patrons, mixing drinks for the waitresses, and hitting the brew button on the coffee. The weekly gathering ritual followed a predetermined pattern familiar to everyone in Coveted from the drink orders, the martinis and appetizers, to closing the night with coffee and espresso. The first to leave would be the attorney or the doctor. The former was a leggy blonde with a real figure to match her height. Though attractive, she lacked the easy charm and dewy eyes of the accountant.

Accountant
.

If his accounting teacher had been half as interesting to him, he’d have enjoyed the class a hell of a lot more. He filled two more beer orders and opened a bottle of wine, setting up the trays faster than the waitresses could swing by to pick them up. Three more tabs were closed at the bar, and he rang them through the register and ran their credit cards. Another burst of sparkling merriment rolled over the muted hum of a packed lounge. The women huddled forward over the table, all of them focused on his favorite.

Amused by their playfulness, he added more change to the tip jar and tucked receipts with pens into their bill wallets, then delivered them to the businessmen at the bar grumbling about getting home to their wives, girlfriends, and families.

If only they understood just how lucky they had it.

Another sweep of the bar and he removed a half-dozen empty glasses. A signal to Lavon sent the other bartender on a refill check to their current customers. Tony rested against the bar back and rolled his head from side to side, stretching the rigid muscles in his neck. The energy in the lounge rode high, with most of the clients enjoying a well-earned Friday night revel.

His attention roved again and again to the corner booth, and he lost the mental bet with himself when the doc rose, counted off some bills, and left them on the table. She headed out before the attorney. Her pace clicked decisively across the floor, and she gave him a wide smile and friendly wave before descending the steps to the door.

The wave wasn’t unusual, but the speculation and bright cheer in the grin had been. The attorney rolled out next, arm in arm with the artist, and they both gave him the same wide grins. His insides tightened at the almost predatory cheer lighting their faces. Tiffany swept by their table and picked up their check. She paused while the ladies spoke to her, then lifted the flowers. Tony frowned.

The white roses had been his idea when Coveted’s owner, Daniel, mentioned the women had been regulars for five years. He and the other bartenders tossed in the money together, because, like Tony, they all adored the women, who marked the end of the weekday ho-hum and signaled the beginning of a great weekend.

Tiffany delivered the roses to the quiet end of his side of the horseshoe-shaped bar. The sexy little accountant—Zip and, damn, if he didn’t like her name—slid out of the booth and shimmied to fix her skirt. His dick twitched at the way the linen framed her heart-shaped ass before the skirt flared and disguised the sweet cheeks.

The advertising guru—Julie, Gemstone, something—stood and tugged Zip’s bags from the booth and handed them over. The
accountant’s
bags. Better not to think of Zip by her name. So much better not to. Ms. Advertising bobbed her head three times, and her mouth never stopped moving.

Tony turned and forced himself to start wiping down the counters, but he watched the unusual conversation in the mirror. Encouragement flashed through the brunette’s face, and she pointed to the bar twice, in half-formed gestures that Zip waved off. Curiosity nibbled at his insides when she let off a half-exasperated, half-amused laugh and bid her friend good-bye.

But, instead of following the path of all the other ladies, including the sassy brunette, Zip headed straight for the bar. Her bulky backpack and laptop case bounced lightly with every step.

Tony couldn’t ignore her or the parted lips of her curving smile even if he’d wanted to. When she settled on a bar stool and kept her attention on him, his dick twitched again, and he frowned.
Get it together, Giordano. She’s probably waiting for a date.

Anger fisted in his gut, and he slowed his wiping to a more deliberate measure.
So what if she has a date? Out of your league, remember?
Not quite sure toward whom he targeted that mental repudiation, himself or his cock, he concentrated on getting his mind back on work. He’d loved everything about Zip since meeting her his first night on the job. She’d met his gaze, said hello, taken the time to learn his name, and earned a firm spot in his affections.

It didn’t hurt that she’d come packaged in an uptight professional dress that begged him to peel it off and discover the tempestuous woman he’d seen in her eyes. When they’d met, he definitely had not been on the market, and the act of wanting—of even being interested—left him guilty. So he’d worked on it.

He didn’t look.

Except that night, when their eyes met, awareness of her rolled over him like a lazy, summer storm, igniting a wild cacophony of wants and needs.

“Hey, Tony.” Her hot-fudge-on-cold-ice-cream voice melted him. Turning, he didn’t bother to disguise his pleasure at her greeting. Everything about the woman was sinful and decadent.

“Evening, Zip.” Damn, he loved her name. He tried not to think about it because it conjured all kinds of delicious ideas—like her fingers on his zipper or the sound of the zipper on her dress letting go.

“How you doing tonight?” She propped her bags on the stool next to her. The sway of her body to the right telegraphed the motion of her crossing her legs. It was a damn pity he couldn’t see. Despite the noise in the lounge, he swore he heard the sound of her skirt rasping against her stockings.

Head in the game, Giordano.
But he ignored the angelic warning of his conscience and feasted his attention on her. From the wispy curls of her hair to the smattering of freckles on her pale nose—the perfect picture of the girl next door.

And her luscious, full lips would feel divine around his cock. His dick flexed in agreement, and Tony coughed, swallowing his next line because it was a lot closer to
hey, nice shoes, want to fuck
than he cared to admit.

“I’m good.” He followed his body’s desire and roamed back to her, wiping the white oak finish along the way, giving his hands something to do.
Something else to do….
He needed the reminder for his libido suddenly gone wild. “How are you doing?”

“Can I reserve the right to answer that question later?”

He couldn’t be imagining the playfulness on her face or in her voice. At least, he hoped he wasn’t, anyway.

“I suppose. Any reason why you can’t answer it now?” Arriving in front of her, he cocked his head to the side. The air around her seemed warmer than the rest of the bar, sweeter and perfumed with a hint of Angel Mist—her preferred scent. The scattered details he’d acquired over the last year coalesced.

She lived in a modest brownstone in Brooklyn, worked at an accounting firm in Midtown, had never owned a car or ventured far from the boroughs of New York City, enjoyed reading, running, had a mild addiction to show tunes, and, despite her buttoned-down appearance, dressed in costume every Halloween. Perfectly practical in every way, but with a streak of whimsy that reeled him in like a fish on a line.

“It’s tax season.” Her nose wrinkled, and she patted the bulging backpack. “Which means long hours of
no-you-can’t-deduct-your-cat’s-vet-bills-as-a-medical-expense
conversations, and more.”

Tony gaped. Was she serious? “People try to deduct that?”

“Oh, you’d be amazed what some people try to deduct. I had one client insist that his bar tab should be fully deductable as a mental health expense, or at least divided between business and mental health.”

He flicked his gaze along the bar, aware of where all his waitresses were, Lavon ringing up someone’s tab, and the general mood of the customers. No one needed him immediately, so he indulged himself and settled across from Zip. The exasperation in her tone amused the hell out of him because she couldn’t disguise the sparkle in her eyes.

“Let me guess—he didn’t mix business with drinks.”

“Oh, he did. But more to the tune of a couple of grand over the course of the year, not the full twenty-one thousand he wanted to charge off.”

“Holy hell….” He didn’t bother to disguise his admiration for the soaring tab. “I guess alcohol consumption can’t be that much of a write-off.”

“It depends on why you buy it. If you’re a wine taster and you’re training your palate, absolutely. If you’re a bar owner and you’re gauging the competition, sold. If you’re out chasing skirts or drowning your sorrows, sorry, no dice.”

He latched onto the second item on her list. “What if you’re researching businesses? Shopping around for the right combination?”

“Arguably, if you can show a business plan and that’s a part of your strategy, it can be a legitimate business expense.” She rested her elbow on the bar and propped her chin in her hand. The mild pink flush suffusing her skin gave her the rosy look he’d imagined would spread over her whole body when she rolled over in bed in the morning. He’d love to kiss his way across it and see just how red her body could turn.

And back to business, Tony….

“Good to know. Can I get you anything?” He tried to ignore the kick in his gut being so close to her gave him. Her mouth parted at his question, and he couldn’t help following the swirl of her tongue moistening her lower lip. The woman acted like a drug on his system, and he didn’t want to get clean.

She seemed to struggle with an internal indecision, but the corners of her mouth kicked up and she blew out a breath. “You know, I’d love another glass of wine.”

“You sure you haven’t already had enough?” He’d shaken two martini pitchers, and she’d had at least three glasses that he’d counted, not to mention the wine he’d sent over earlier. No way in hell would he send her out tipsy into the wilds of a Friday night. Not on his watch.

“I have nowhere else to be, and, yes, I’m sure I haven’t had near enough.”

The husky words poured through him. It would be awesome if she meant she hadn't had enough of him, but he couldn’t let his brain go there even if his cock warmed to the thought and strained against his zipper.

“One glass of wine for the lady it is.” He bowed his head teasingly, and her laughter bubbled, filling the air with a quiet joy and wrapping around him like an embrace.

She could have the whole damn bottle for free with that laugh, but he took care to pour her only a half glass. He laid out a cocktail napkin and set the glass down, but her fingers trapped his hand with one light, casual touch of her nails on his skin. A myriad of sexually explicit images roared through his mind and began to gnaw on his good intentions.

“I don’t suppose you have time to talk tonight?”

Tony checked the bar’s customers and the pair of businessmen settling in at the horseshoe’s curve. They were in his section. His heart punched his ribs. “Let me get their drinks, and I’ll be right back here with you.”

“I can’t wait.” The gentle stroke of her nails along his skin left a wave of heat and tingles in their wake. She picked up the wine glass and took a very deliberate sip, all the while holding his eyes captive.

Oh, hell. I am not imagining it.

She is flirting with me.

Relief poured through his restraint, and his desire bucked. “Hold that thought.” With more verve than he’d felt in months, he double-timed it to get the customers’ orders, but every ounce of his awareness seemed focused on his sexy little accountant watching him from her perch.

Unfortunately, the nine o’clock rush hit as the migratory clubbers moved down the Midtown line. Dancers came from the club downstairs to eat, late evening daters strolled in from their museum and theater runs, while still more businessmen and women poured up the stairs, on missions to whet their weekend whistles.

The orders had him hopping, but, when he cast Zip an apologetic look, her cheery expression didn’t falter, and she gave him a thumbs up. She didn’t seem to mind waiting, but he’d never rushed through a series of mixed drinks so fast in all his years of tending bar. He served tray after tray of mojitos, margaritas, and piña coladas.

Jerry strolled in at nine-thirty, and Tony put him to work on the loop of the horseshoe before he detoured over to Zip and her half-drunk glass of wine. She sat daintily on the stool, iPad open. At his approach, she lifted her head and met his gaze with a frank welcome. His heart did another fist bump with his ribs.

“Thanks for waiting,” he murmured. He wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d abandoned him. Friday nights were just too damn busy for a great conversation, and he had at least two-and-a-half hours of shift left.

“My pleasure.” She thumbed the iPad dark, closing down whatever she’d been reading. The flush in her cheeks blended with the freckles on her nose and he longed to lean closer to see if he could count them against the pale pink blush.

“So, what did you want to talk about?”

“You.” She gave his hopes a fresh burst of hot air, elevating them. “And, hopefully, me.”

Chapter Three

Zip couldn’t focus on the book in front of her, not when the characters were busy torturing each other with sexual pleasure and pushing the boundaries of how many caresses it took to get to the center of their orgasms. Pretending to read did allow her to watch Tony work. Stoked on liquid courage, she didn’t hesitate to admit to the delicious pressure building between her thighs.

Without a doubt.

The Magic 8 Ball answered nearly every inquiry she’d made about Tony with a
without a doubt
. Coaxed and cajoled by her girls, she’d lingered until they made their exits before walking over to the bar. She could have kept going; they would have been none the wiser, but, truth be told, she liked Tony. She’d liked him for a year, and she couldn’t wait to see him every Friday night.