There was one next to the register, but when she held it out to him, he ignored it. He just grinned at her, with the pretty blue eyes and the oh-so-charming dimples.
“Oh, hell no,” she said. “I’m not writing my number on a napkin so you can add it to your collection.”
“I don’t have a collection because I don’t want their numbers. I want yours.”
Before she could respond, another of the boys ran up and yanked on his arm. “Uncle Kevin, it’s time for the cake!”
Beth used the blank napkin to wipe down the bar, then tossed it in the trash. She was there to work, not dodge advances from a guy who thought his dimples would make her throw herself at him.
The dimples wouldn’t. The whole package might—the looks and the sense of humor and the very sweet way he was with his family, along with the steamy way he looked at her—but she wasn’t going to be a number on anybody’s napkin.
***
It was almost two in the morning before the staff got the go-ahead to call it a night and Beth sighed in relief as she yanked out the elastic holding her hair back and tossed it into the trash. It had been one hell of a night.
Kevin Kowalski was persistent, she’d give him that. She’d sucked it up and presented him with nothing but bland professionalism until he’d seemed to catch the hint. Still, every time her gaze landed on him—which was a lot more often than she cared to admit—he’d been watching her. When they dropped the lights, signaling to the stragglers the party was over and it was time to get the hell out, he’d given her one last inviting look. She’d turned her back, making busy with a buspan, and when she turned around, he was gone.
The payphone beckoned, waiting for her to call a cab to take her home to her bed, but first she snuck out the back door and walked down toward the water. The grounds were beautiful and now, with the twinkling party lights off, the moon dancing across the water beckoned. It was quiet, soothing her frazzled nerves.
“You look beautiful in the moonlight.”
She didn’t scream, but her heart seized in her chest like a blown engine. Because he startled her, of course, not because of the words Kevin said in a voice a man usually used with a woman who was naked under him.
He was sitting on one of the stone walls with a half-empty bottle of beer, his long legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. The jacket, bowtie and cummerbund had been abandoned somewhere and the white dress shirt was unbuttoned, baring his chest to the chilly night air. She tried not to give him the satisfaction of looking, but the expanse of chest led to taut abs she’d have to be dead not to want to run her hands over.
To his credit, he didn’t gloat at being so obviously ogled. He reached down under his legs and picked up an unopened beer. After twisting off the top, he held it out to her.
She shouldn’t. Even though she was off the clock, she was an employee and he was a guest. But there was something so lonely about the way he looked—unlike his usual life-of-the-party self—she couldn’t bring herself to refuse and walk away.
“Thanks.” She sat farther down the wall and took a sip of the ice-cold beer. Cloaked in the shadows, watching the moonlight ripple across the water, she had no idea what to say.
Then he grinned at her and, even in the dark, she could see those impish dimples. “Did your boss tell you we tried to get you free for a dance?”
“Oh my God, what did you do?” Though it wasn’t really his fault she’d lost her last job, if she got fired again because he stuck his nose in her business, she might need a restraining order just to stay employed.
“Joe—the groom and my oldest brother—asked your boss if you could leave the bar long enough for a dance. She refused, so he offered to pay extra. Then she got really snooty and informed us this isn’t a dance hall and the young ladies in her employ are not for private hire.”
His fake, snooty old-lady voice made her laugh, despite her utter disbelief at what they’d done. “And why would Joe do that?”
“Because I wanted to dance with you.”
The stark simplicity of his response made her shiver, and the tingle of desire mixed with leftover warm and fuzzies made for a dangerous combination. “I counted at least a dozen women who would have danced with you free of charge.”
His eyes were serious when he looked at her again. “I’m not that guy.”
“What guy?”
“The guy you think I am.”
The only thing she knew for sure about him was that she was trying like hell not to want him and doing a piss-poor job of it. “I don’t think anything. I barely know you.”
“Dance with me now.”
She laughed and it sounded loud in the still night. “I haven’t danced in years.”