Page 4 of Tempting Kat
“You sure I can't get your number?” the taller one asks, holding his credit card just out of her reach.
I'm about to get up and knock his teeth down his throat when Santiago appears behind him, seemingly out of nowhere.
“Everything okay here, Kat?” he asks, his voice pleasant, but his eyes hard.
She nods, snatching the card from the asshole's hand. “Just fine, Santi. These gentlemen were just paying their tab and heading out.”
“We just got here,” the shorter one protests.
Santiago's smile doesn't reach his eyes. “And now you're leaving. Funny how that works.”
I close my laptop, satisfaction warming my chest as I watch the color drain from their faces. Santiago might look like a teddy bear, but he spent fifteen years as a bouncer before I hired him. He knows how to handle dickheads.
What I really want to do is drag them out by their necks myself. I want to throw them into the street and make them understand what happens when they disrespect what's mine.
Except she's not mine.
Not yet.
But I’m going to sink my teeth or tongue into that kitty kat one way or another.
Chapter 2
Katarina
My feet are fucking killing me, and I've got beer in places beer should never be. Friday nights are absolute chaos, but the tips make it worth slinging drinks for thirsty assholes. I've been running my ass off for six straight hours, barely time to breathe between orders, let alone think about the dark-eyed mystery man who's been eye-fucking me all night.
I glance over at his usual spot at the corner of the bar, but he's gone. His bourbon glass sits empty, laptop and sexy brooding presence nowhere to be seen. Something like disappointment twists in my gut.
“Shit,” I mutter, wiping down a sticky patch of bar top with more force than necessary. I shouldn't care that he left without saying goodbye. I shouldn't care at all.
But I do. And it pisses me off.
Santiago's counting bills at the register when I sidle up next to him, hip-checking him gently.
“Your friend bailed early tonight,” I say, trying to sound casual. “Mr. Mysterious finally get bored watching me work?”
Santiago snorts, not looking up from his counting. “He doesn't get bored watching you. Trust me.”
“Yeah, I noticed.” I start organizing the clean glasses, stacking them in neat rows. “He stares at me like he wants to eat me alive. What's his deal, anyway? Who is he really?”
“A regular customer.” Santiago's face gives nothing away.
“Bullshit. You two are tight. He's not just some random guy who likes our bourbon selection.” I lean against the bar, crossing my arms over my chest. “Come on, Santi. Throw me a bone here.”
Santiago finally looks up, his expression somewhere between amused and exasperated. “Why don't you ask him yourself? He'll be back.”
“That's not an answer,” I huff.
“It's the only one you're getting from me.” He tucks the counted bills into the safe, then grabs a rag and bottle of cleaner. “Now make yourself useful and wipe down the tables if you want to get out of here before sunrise.”
I flip him off, but grab the cleaning supplies. “Fine. Keep your secrets, old man.”
“Younger than your admirer,” he calls after me, chuckling.
I roll my eyes and get to work on the tables, but my mind keeps circling back to Mr. Mysterious. The way his eyes follow me when I move. How his voice drops an octave when he talks directly to me. He looks at me like he already knows every filthy thought in my head, and maybe he does.
He's older—maybe mid-forties—with salt and pepper at his temples that shouldn't be sexy but absolutely fucking is. His hands are big, fingers long and elegant despite their thickness. I've caught myself staring at those hands more than once, wondering what they'd feel like against my skin, wrapped around my throat, between my thighs, inside me. I bet he'd know exactly how to curl those thick fingers to hit that spot that makes my toes curl, the one I can never quite reach myself. He'dprobably start with just one, testing how wet I am, before adding another, stretching me open while I squirm.
