Page 3 of Clashing
Regardless, I shimmied around the box and descended the stairs backwards, easing it down one step at a time. A loudthudannounced a misstep, and I winced, waiting for Dan’s inevitable concern.
“You all right, Scar?” Dan called from the bar. “Need help?”
“No, I don’t need help. I’m good!”
My next steps were more careful. The last thing Dan needed was to climb the stairs with his bad knee. I made it to the bottom and sighed. A relief that vanished as quickly as it arrived. The end of the bar with the cash register lined up exactly with the stairway. The box could only get so far before it hit the bar.
I stepped back and tilted my head. I’d need to lift one end or . . .No. Definitely lift it up and over.
“Do you need help with that?” A gravelly voice from the other side of the box elicited goose bumps on my arms.
I peeked around the package, and there, sitting at the bar, was the source of the voice—a man too sexy to not be on the cover of a magazine.
My mouth fell open as I took in the giant. His black hair was short on the sides and longer on top. Some hung in his piercing blue eyes, a dark shade reminiscent of the ocean after a heavy storm. The black shirt he wore strained across his broad chest and muscled, tattooed arms. Long fingers curled around a glass full of amber liquid. The bar hid the rest of him from me, but I didn’t need to see it to drool.
Past Scarlett would’ve jumped him in an instant. Those arms. Those lips. Thosehands. I would’ve done bad things with him and thanked him afterward.
My gaze finally wandered to his eyes again, only to find him mimicking my actions with a full body appraisal. He dragged his tongue across the front of his teeth. Irritation lifted my chin, though I couldn’t be mad. Didn’t I just do that to him?
“I’m good,” I squeaked. My voice wasn’t usually so high, butdamn.
He arched a brow and surveyed my situation. “You sure?”
“Yeah, I got it.” I ducked behind the box to hide from his panty-wetting eye contact.Good Lord.He was barely human. More like a god.He’s just a guy.An attractive guy, but a guy nonetheless. Hadn’t I sworn those off?
I set my hands over my too warm cheeks and observed my situation again. I’d need to lift the box over the barandcash register. I gnawed my lip and eyed the bottles of alcohol Dan kept next to the register. If I got distracted by the perfect specimen or made one wrong move, those bottles would shatter on the ground.
Easy does it.I gripped the package, lifted, then lost my confidence and eased it to the ground. Two more attempts later, I braced to lift, but it elevated on its own.
No. Not on its own. Strong hands decorated with scars on the knuckles grasped the sides and hoisted it out of my grip. I followed the path of powerful, inked arms to the mystery man. The box cleared the bar and everything on it with plenty of room to spare. He set it down and when our gazes collided, my body tensed. Stood at attention. The corner of his mouth lifted, and I swallowed against my dry throat.
Leather, sandalwood, and scotch filled my nostrils—a combination a little too close to home.
Chapter two
Off-Limits
Ryker
Nothingquitecapturedthehomey experience of our regular bar like the smell of scotch, leather, and cigarettes. Add to that the murmur of conversation mingled with classic rock that echoed off the wooden walls and floors, the place was a haven. My crew and I settled into Danny’s after an extended ride along the coast. While the others planned to get someone on the back of their motorcycle and into their bed, I wanted a damn drink.
Danny didn’t bother asking my order. I’d been coming in since before he took the place over. His father was a good man and kind to us. Didn’t assume the worst when a motorcycle club walked in and took up more than half his bar. The motorcycles, the leather, the tattoos—they unnerved the faint of heart. Danny and his father were anything but.
We visited regularly, but tonight, excitement hung in the air. Danny hadn’t stopped smiling. He often had a bit of sadness in him. Not tonight. Not even his usual grumpy scowl made an appearance, and I had a guess as to why.
“Your girl finally here?” I asked, sipping my favorite scotch as I adjusted on the oak barstool.
“Yes.” He grinned and wiped the bar top with a rag from his back pocket. “Made it in a couple nights ago.”
“Bet it’s nice to have her around.”
“It is. She’s been busy, though.” He retrieved my scotch and topped off my drink. I tilted it toward him in thanks before taking another sip. “She’s got an art show this weekend that’s taken up all her time. That and settling in. But,” he inclined the glass he was polishing toward me, “she eats lunch with me every day.”
A smile fought its way to my lips. He’d been talking this girl up for weeks. He’d told me about both mother and daughter years ago, but he had a new kind of enthusiasm when the daughter decided to move here and take the room over the bar. Never seen him happier.
Dan didn’t talk much. More listened to everyone else. Put a couple whiskeys in him, and it was a different story. That’s when he told us about them. How they saved his life without knowing it. Gave him something to live for. Apparently, his PTSD from serving got the better of him after he lost his whole world when his girls died. He planned to end it with a gun. Then, a little girl wandered into his yard and picked his carefully gardened flowers.
Since I was also a few drinks deep when Danny got to the point of his storytelling, I couldn’t rememberallthe stories or the girls’ names. Just that they meant the world to him.
