Hard to Handle (20 page)

He'd see about that. Given the way she'd responded to a simple kiss, the fact that she admitted to wanting him, it was only a matter of time.

When he just watched her, waiting, she gave a crooked smile. “I keep telling you that I didn't come here for that.”

“I'm not sure I believe you.” He didn't want to believe her. What else could she possible want?

She folded her hands behind her and struck a more relaxed pose against the wall. “Actually, I was looking for a job.”

Something akin to disappointment stabbed into Harley. “A job?”

Nodding, she confirmed, “Here in Harmony.”

“In Harmony?” He felt like a deranged parrot, repeating her every word.

“That's right.”

Anger straightened his spine. “With who?”

“Actually, Harley…” A wide smile put dimples in her cheeks, giving Harley warning. “With you.”

Harley drew back—and a camera flash went off in his peripheral vision. The photographer was still lurking around, and the bastard had just caught Harley in a state of shock.

For a man who kept his emotions underwraps, being exposed, caught off guard, was unacceptable.

He'd have to do something about it, and that meant doing something about Stasia.

Like having her.

Enough times to get her out of his system, but on his terms.

He smiled at her. “I see.”

B
ARBER
sauntered up to the bar and ordered a beer. Because it'd be his third of the night, he made a mental note to find himself a ride back to his motel—either with a woman, which would be his preference, but if fate dealt a losing hand, then with one of the fighters who abstained from alcohol.

He'd made friends with many of the fighters, and sparred with a lot of them, too. The contrast of full-go physical activity to late nights performing kept him in good shape.

But damn Harley, he was right. He was getting old, at least too old to keep up the grueling schedule of late. Hell, five years ago, pulling two all-nighters in a row wouldn't have fazed him.

Especially when Dakota kept him company.

But Dakota was now married to a good guy, and whenever he put in extra hours, he spent the following day with a headache and a churning gut.

“Shit.”

“Ah…excuse me?”

At the intrusion of that squeaky little voice, Barber pivoted on the bar stool. He found himself looking down at a very short gal sporting a red button nose and chapped lips, bundled head to toe in bulky outerwear. On her head sat the most ridiculous hat he'd ever seen.

He stared at it in awe. Black velour felt with an asymmetrical fit, a pleated brim, and finished off with a silk band and of all things, a turkey feather, it was worthy of a little staring.

When the girl cleared her throat, Barber brought his gaze to her face. Clearly, she'd just come in from the outdoors. As he looked her over, her bottom lip trembled—from cold or something more, he couldn't say.

She looked to be a little chunky—maybe. Hard to tell under the boxy coat that hung well past her knees. Bright green eyes stayed glued to his face. Round cheeks and a rounder chin lent her an impish appearance.

Though she appeared a little bedraggled, she still screamed style, from her perfect makeup to her manicured nails, now clenched in tight hands, trying to find warmth.

Normally, she wasn't at all a woman to catch his attention…except that she also had beautiful long red hair. It spilled out from under the hideous hat, falling down her back, over her shoulders, wavy and thick.

Intriguing.

Interest sparked. Barber relished the familiar feel of fresh, instantaneous chemistry.

He locked gazes with her. “Hello there.”

She swallowed audibly. “You cursed.”

He hooked his boots on the bottom rung of the stool and leaned back against the bar. “Not at you, sweetheart. I didn't even know you were lurking there behind me.”

“Oh.” She licked her lips nervously.

He made a tsking sound. “Shouldn't do that.”

Startled eyes met his again. “What?”

“Lick your lips that way.” Just saying it tightened his abdomen. Damn. Maybe it was the combined thoughts of Dakota and missed opportunities with the reality of aging, but he was in a bad way, in desperate need of a little relief. “They're already chapped. Licking will only make 'em worse.”

“Oh.” She licked them again.

Barber narrowed his eyes, and resisted further comment on licking and mouths and any other thoughts guaranteed to give him a boner. “Is there something I can do for you?”

Her shoulders went back—which thrust her breasts forward. “I'm here to audition.”

When Barber started to speak, she stuck up a palm. “I know, I'm horribly late and I apologize for that. Public transit isn't entirely reliable and I don't have a vehicle of my own at hand. It took me several minutes to get the coat clerk to hold my luggage for me. And then finding you in this crush wasn't easy.”

She spoke fast in inane chatter. Barber despised inane chatter. Except that now, it was sort of…cute. “Been rough, huh?”

“Frustrating for sure. And it did put me behind schedule. But I want to audition nonetheless, and you should hear me. It's an imposition, I know, and for that I'm sorry. But I'm here and you're here, so—”

Barber leaned in close, stealing her thunder, her breath and her nerve. Near enough to kiss her, he whispered, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

He shrugged, and to keep her from fainting or fleeing, he settled back again with a smile. “On the merit of that hat alone, I'll hear you.”

“Oh.” Her hands went to her hat. “Yes. Thank you.”

Picking up his beer, he took another deep drink, then gestured at her. “Go ahead.”

Eyes widening, she dropped her hands and looked around at the crowded bar.
“Here?”

Demure women rarely—like maybe never—turned him on. Today, the personality trait pushed all his buttons. Measuring her reactions, Barber gave another shrug. “Why not?”

“But…I assumed…that is…” Her bottom lip started quivering again. In a near-desperate plea, she leaned in to say, “I'd truly prefer someplace more private.”

Now that deserved another drink. Barber finished off his glass and set it down for the bartender to refill. “All right, doll. I'll bite.” Relaxing on the stool, he put his elbows back on the bar and let his knees angle out.

Her gaze went straight to his crotch, but shot away with the speed of light. Bright color stained her fair cheeks.

Enjoying her, Barber asked, “I'm all willing, but just how private do you think we need to be?”

Just when he thought she'd either faint or run away, she pursed her pucker and stared him straight in the eyes. “Private enough that you can actually hear me, and that I won't be distracted with all the noise.”

“Maybe you're confused, honey—”

“No disrespect intended, but I am not your honey and it's very unprofessional to refer to me as such.”

Barber slapped a hand over his heart. “I've been smote through and through.”

“What?”

When he left the bar stool, she stumbled back several steps. “Listen up, sugar. I am who I am, and I speak how I speak. If you want in on the gig, you have to get used to it.”

Her round chin firmed. “Fine.”

“And we often perform in bars. If a little noise throws you off, that's a big problem, a real indication that you aren't cut out for what we do.”

Her lips joined the chin in firming. The redness of her nose deepened. “I see.”

“If crowds make you shy about your voice, for certain you can't—”

She inhaled a broken breath. “You've made your point, okay? I get it.”

Ah hell. Barber saw the tears hanging on her lashes, willed them not to fall, but she blinked and that was that. They trickled down, over those smooth cheeks and to the corners of her sexy mouth.

Great. Just freaking great.

As she swiped away the wet tracks forming down her face, he accused, “You're crying.”

“No, I'm not.”

He gave her an incredulous look. “Yeah, you are.”

She sniffled, started digging in her pockets, and said, “Ignore it, please. I'm tired and out of sorts, that's all.”

Snatching up a paper napkin from the bar, Barber thrust it toward her. “Oh yeah, it's real easy to ignore a babe bawling.”

She went rigid from head to toes. “I am
not
a babe!”

Barber eyed her. “Fine. You're not a babe. Just the opposite. A hag, even.”

“Now listen here—”

Relieved to see anger replace the weeping, Barber fought a laugh. “Take it easy already.” He watched as she mopped her face, and then loudly blew her red nose. “Better?”

“It's nothing. Don't concern yourself.” She held the now messy napkin in a fist at her side. “Shall I sing for you now?”

She had to be kidding. Barber worked his jaw. “At this point, I think I need the privacy.” He looked around, spotted Roger, and said, “Come on.”

T
RUSTING
her to follow him, Barber wove his way through hordes of customers across the crowded floor. When he stopped in front of Roger, the girl bumped into his back.

Eyes closed, Barber counted to five, then turned to face her. “I see you made it.”

She hastened back a step and said in accusation, “You're taller, so you could see your way better. If I hadn't stuck close, I'd have lost you.”

“Got it.” He turned to Roger with a “help me” look. “Got someplace private I can use for a minute?”

Jumping the gun on the wrong assumption, Roger glanced at the girl, then at Barber. “Seriously?”

Barber rolled his eyes. “It's an audition, Rog. And if you make her cry again, I'll brain you.”

“She was crying?” He looked at her more closely.

The girl gasped, which made Roger smile.

“Ignore Barber,” he said. “He's sometimes surly like that.” Roger held out his hand. “I apologize for any unintentional disrespect.”

“Thank you.” All prim and proper, she took his hand. “I assume you're the proprietor?”

“Roger Sims. Yes, ma'am.”

“I'm Jasmine Petri. It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Sims.”

“Call me Roger. Any friend of Barber's, and all that.”

“Thank you, Roger. But Mr. Henry and I aren't truly acquainted. Yet.”

Barber wanted to knock their heads together. “Can we wrap up these social niceties, or what?”

Jasmine said, “I see exactly what you mean, Roger.” Then to Barber, “I'm sorry that common courtesy is so distressing to you.”

Roger laughed.

After glaring at him, Barber asked Jasmine, “Do you want to audition or not?”

“I do.”

Great. “So Roger, do you have a damn empty room or not?”

Mimicking the girl, Roger said, “I do.” With a smile, he said, “Follow me.”

Digging out a hefty key ring, Roger led them to a locked hallway, let them inside, and said, “Use any room you want. I'll relock the outside here, but it should open from the inside without a problem. Be sure the door shuts tight, though, if you would.”

Jasmine again offered her hand. “Thank you very much, Roger. I appreciate the assistance.”

“My pleasure, Jasmine. Good luck with your audition.”

Before she could reply further, Barber caught her arm and hustled her away from the door. “If we're going to do this, let's get on with it, please.”

S
MILING,
Roger shut the door and headed back to the main area of the bar. He saw sparks in Barber's future, and it amused him. Hell, everything in life amused him these days, probably because he was so damn happy.

In such a short time, both his hotel and his bar had quadrupled in business. Best of all, he'd married the woman of his dreams.

Life was so good that it sometimes scared him. In the past, he'd made mistakes, ugly mistakes, and now he wasn't sure he deserved anyone as lovely as Camille.

But by God, he had her, and he planned to do everything in his power to make her the happiest woman alive.

He found his lovely wife chatting with her brother, Dean, and Dean's wife, Eve, near an exit. Approaching her from the back, he admired the graceful lines of her tall body, the sexy but sophisticated twist in her light brown hair, and the way her long legs looked in high heels.

Seeing her made his heart flutter, as much now as it always had.

When Roger reached her, he hugged his arms around her and kissed the side of her neck. He loved her so much that it hurt—a good kind of hurt, the kind he couldn't live without.

Cam turned to him with a smile. “Roger.” Laughing, blushing a little, she put her hand to her neck where his mouth had just been. “What's that all about?”

“I'm a lucky man and I know it.”

Dean gave a small smile, and slipped an arm around his own wife. “If I had a drink, we could toast ourselves as lucky men.”

Eve said, “Hear, hear!”

It pleased Roger that Camille had such good friends and such a solid family—family that now included him in their ranks.

“It's midnight,” Roger told her. “Why don't you head home and get some sleep? I have another half hour of work to do, then I'll be on my way, too.”

“You're not staying to close?”

He kissed the end of her nose. “That's why I hired managers, so they could handle those type things.”

“I'm ready to go.” Eve covered a yawn with her hand.

Dean said, “Yeah, me, too.”

“Well, I'm not the least tired, so you two go on.” Cam hooked her arm through Roger's. “I'll wait for my husband.”

He felt that familiar thump in his heart. “If you're sure?”

“I can help you with your work.”

Because he valued every second with her, Roger accepted. “Thanks.” An arm around his wife, he said, “Dean, Eve, I'll see you both later.” Together, he and Cam went to his office. Once inside, Roger smiled at her, then locked the door.

“What are you doing?”

“Putting off work.” He stepped back up to her, and opened his hand on her hip. “Have I told you lately that you look more scrumptious every day?”

“Married life obviously agrees with me.” Her light brown eyes softened in that special way of hers. “And Roger, you compliment me all the time.”

“I tell you the truth.” Overwhelmed with his feelings, Roger kissed her throat, behind her ear. “I will always tell you the truth. I swear.”

“I know.” She sighed, and accepted him. “I love you, Roger.”

Thank God. He didn't reply. He couldn't. Instead he took her mouth in a scorching kiss. If they lived to be a hundred, he didn't think he'd ever be able to take her, or her affection, for granted.

She simply meant too much to him.

S
EVERAL
doors lined the hallway. Barber peeked into each one until he found a room mostly empty except for extra chairs. Flipping on a single light, he lifted a chair off a stack, dropped it to the floor, straddled it, and said to Jasmine, “This'll do.”

She looked around at the high ceilings before finally forcing herself to face him. “Please keep in mind that acoustics can affect a performance.”

“Noted.” Barber folded his arms on the back of the chair and let his curiosity take over. “Tell you what, Jasmine. How about you lose the coat and hat so I can see you?” His pulse sped in anticipation. Voice going gruff, he added, “For the sake of stage presence, you know.”

For the briefest moment, she clutched the coat tighter. Then she caught herself, nodded, and carefully removed the hat. With her free hand, she stroked her fingers over her scalp, shook out her hair, and let it tumble down her back.

Her hair was incredible. The single fluorescent lamp lent amazing highlights to the long curls, showing shades of gold, auburn, copper, and russet. Being that Barber's carnal plans had only just been thwarted for the night, his brain made the leap to how that silky hair would feel trailing over his body—if they were both naked.

He shook himself.

Best to see the rest of her before he mired himself in fantasy. Breath bated, he waited while she slowly, like a damn striptease, opened the many buttons down the front of her long coat.

It seemed to take her forever, and he was about to explode with expectation when she finished and shrugged the heavy covering off her shoulders. She immediately turned, giving him the back view of a generously rounded body in a long dark skirt, boots, and thick sweater.

Putting the coat beside the hat on a stack of chairs, she hesitated, hesitated some more, and finally turned to face him.

Ridiculous as it seemed, Barber thought he might bust his jeans. Large breasts made the conservative sweater sexy, and rounded hips added oomph to the otherwise plain skirt.

While he sat mesmerized, she prepared herself by shaking back her hair, folding her hands together in front of her, and smiling at him.

Without warning, she burst into song.

Barber started.

Damn, talk about jarring a guy back to the here and now. But when he got his attention off her bod and onto her voice, he had to admit she sounded great.

Better than great.

Son-of-a-bitch. It figured that she'd be perfect.

He knew all too well that it wasn't an easy thing to sing without music, on cue, in a cramped room, without a microphone.

For such a short girl, Jasmine had a big voice.

For a woman quick to tears, her presentation was striking and bold.

Barber relaxed and enjoyed her.

And accepted the quandary.

He wouldn't sleep with a female member of the band…and Jasmine would be a perfect addition. As a singer, she was everything he'd been looking for since Dakota left the band. Unique, talented, capable…

Now what should he do?

W
HEN
she finished the song, Jasmine felt her self-consciousness return. It was always that way. While performing, she lost herself. But now, with Barberosa Henry staring at her, she wanted to wilt.

Or hide away.

Salty tears stung her eyes. For most of her life, she'd fought the propensity to weep over every little thing. Happiness, sadness, anger, anxiety…it seemed all emotions made her well up.

Humiliating.

Especially in front of her idol.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when he said, “Nice.”

Relief almost took out her knees. “Thank you.”

At the sound of her wavering voice, his dark brows came down. “What's wrong now?”

Jasmine quickly shook her head. “Nothing.” Oh God, she sounded like a squeaky frog.

Barberosa pushed to his feet. “You're not going to cry again, are you?”

“No.” She wouldn't, she wouldn't…Thank God, the emotional upheaval subsided. “I'm just tired.” Her smile quivered. “That's all.”

Suspicion filled his gaze. His voice went gruff. “Well, if you think you can compose yourself, we have some things to discuss.”

Please
let him hire her. Jasmine locked her knees, gripped her hands together, and squared her shoulders. “Shoot. I'm ready.”

Instead of saying what he had on his mind, Barberosa walked a slow circle around her. Knowing he looked her over sent her heart into her throat.

When she couldn't take it anymore, she asked, “What?”

“The band has an image.”

She nodded with enthusiasm. “I know. I've been following your music for some time now. I first saw you in a bar, about five years ago.”

“You don't say?” He lounged back against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “Was probably a real dive, huh?”

“Not too bad,” she assured him, although she couldn't really remember much about the setting. All she remembered was her complete and utter fascination with the lead singer.

“You enjoyed the show?”

Enjoyed
was much too tame a word. “You and the others blew me away.”

He turned his head, studying her. “Five years ago, you'd have been a kid.”

“I was seventeen.” Fond memories settled her smile. “I allowed myself to be talked into fudging an ID and I went to the bar with a group of college friends.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Ex-boyfriend now, but yes, the bar was his idea.”

Brown eyes took her measure. “Hoped to get you drunk and make a little whoopee, huh?”

Jasmine drew back. “I beg your pardon?”

“The boyfriend. That's why he chose a bar for a minor?”

It still stung, to think of how she'd been treated that night. Jasmine cleared her throat. “Not that I see how it concerns you, but I don't really know what his plans were. Soon after entering the bar, we parted ways.”

“Ah. Difference of opinion?”

His nosiness surprised her, and threw her off guard. Jasmine hadn't expected it, and wasn't sure how to respond to it. “Actually, he wanted me to drink, I was more interested in listening to your band, he got smashed, and I called a cab home.”

Barberosa put a hand to his chin. “But not before seeing the show.”

Lifting a shoulder, Jasmine gave him the truth. “I was so enthralled in your music, I didn't really care what Barry did.”

“Barry? What kind of pansy-ass name is that?”

“He's now a very successful banker.”

Barberosa snorted.

Such an odd man. Jasmine took a breath, and continued. “Later I saw you perform with a woman, and I loved it even more, but she wasn't always with the show.”