Page 2 of Her Michigan Mob Boss

“Okay, can you make a cocktail, then?” I paused to consider what would be relatively straightforward for him to make. “Like a martini?”

“You want something like a martini, or an actual martini?”

I winced at his gruff tone. The man’s customer service skills were seriously lacking.

“A martini, please.”

He nodded curtly. “That, I can handle.”

The way he rummaged behind the bar made me wonder if he was new. He didn’t appear to know where anything was. Eventually, he found a cocktail shaker and set about making my drink. I noticed he used gin rather than the vodka I prefer. I should have been more specific about my request, but it was too late. There was no way I was asking this guy to start over.

When he was done, he turned to fetch a glass from the shelf behind him. There wasn’t a stemmed glass, so he opted instead to pour my martini into a whiskey tumbler. With a twist of the lips that dared me to challenge him on the presentation and distinct lack of olives, he shoved the glass across the bar to me.

I opened my purse, unsure whether I was supposed to pay for my drink now or if it was the sort of place where I had to start a tab and settle later. I didn’t have to work it out, because a man’s voice suddenly rumbled into my consciousness.

“The lady’s drink is on me.”

“That’s generous, but…” I swiveled in my seat to look at the owner of the deep, seductive voice and found a man standing behind me. Whatever objection I’d been about to raise, it died on my lips the minute my eyes landed on him. He was stunning. Tall, with an athletic build, he wore a beautifully tailored suit in a pale-blue shade that worked well for a warm summer night. His white shirt was open at the neck to reveal lightly tanned skin and a smattering of brown hair, just enough to suggest rugged masculinity but without veering into Yeti territory. If I had to guess, I’d have put him in his late twenties.

His dark, tousled hair gave him that irresistiblejust rolled out of bedlook. His face was angular and clean-shaven. The sharpness of his features might have made him appear mean if it wasn’t for the slightly crooked smile on his full, kissable lips. Thank goodness he had one imperfection because otherwise I’d have thought I was in the presence of a god.

“Mind if I join you?” He was already easing himself onto the stool next to me, so I guessed the question was rhetorical. Something about his manner told me this man didn’t ask permission. He raised his hand to get the bartender’s attention. “Bring me a beer, Jojo.”

He knew the bartender’s name. Did that mean he was a regular at the club? That would be a black mark against him if he was.

“Do you come here often?” I winced as the cliché left my lips.

He shook his head. “I call in now and then, when I have business in the area.”

His attention was diverted from me as the bartender set a bottle of beer down next to him. It wasn’t a brand I recognized. My companion took a sip and grimaced. Why did I think beer was not his usual drink? The bottle didn’t sit right in his hand. It was too casual for a man who carried his air of sophistication. I could picture him with a glass of the finest whiskey my homeland had to offer, one of the more exclusive Macallans, perhaps.

“I’m Ciaran, by the way.”

“Annie,” I offered in return. It was actually Annabelle, but I’d always hated my full name. Next to the Islas and Sarahs I was at school with, it sounded pretentious.

“Annie? That’s cute.” His smile almost melted my panties. “So, what brings you to a place like this, Annie?”

“I’m on vacation.”

His eyebrows lifted. “You’re staying somewhere around here?”

“No.” I refrained from adding an indignantof course notin case he lived in the neighborhood. The way he was dressed, I doubted it, but you never know. “I’m staying in a hotel downtown.” I didn’t tell him which one. Sexy or not, the man was a stranger.

“This place is off the beaten track for a tourist.”

“Yes, it is.” I sipped my drink, and my eyes widened. It was stronger than I thought it would be, heavy on the vermouth. “It’s certainly different.”

Ciaran nodded. “So, where are you from, Annie?”

“Scotland, a small town just outside of Aberdeen.” There was no point elaborating. He’d probably never heard of Aberdeen, never mind Inverurie. “This is my first trip to America.”

“And you picked Detroit?” He couldn’t hide his disbelief.

“Nothing wrong with Detroit.” Aside from this dump, the city had been amazing, surpassing my admittedly low expectations.

“Of course not.” His tone was defensive. “I love my hometown, but most people would pick New York for their first visit, wouldn’t they? Or Disneyland?”

He had a point. When I told people I was flying to the States, they assumed I’d be going to one of those places. “Maybe, but I’m trying to track down some distant family members who live here.”

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