Page 6 of Daddy's Naughty Bartender
"You don't take compliments well." It isn't a question. "Someone should fix that."
"Are you volunteering?"
"I'm not the volunteering type. When I see something I want, I take it. The real question is, are you ready to be taken?"
The glass slips, and only his quick reflexes save it from shattering. His hand covers mine, steadying both the drink and me.
"Breathe, baby."
That endearment again. I should object. Should tell him I'm not his baby or anyone else's. Instead, I do what he says. I breathe.
"Better?" His thumb strokes over my knuckles.
"I don't know what you're doing to me."
"Sure you do." He lifts the Manhattan, taking a slow sip without releasing my hand. "I'm showing you it's okay to let go. To lean on someone. To stop being the strongest person in every room."
"What if I don't know how?"
"Then I'll teach you." He sets the glass down, his eyes intent on mine. "Time for your first lesson. When someone offers help, you say yes. When someone gives a compliment, you say thankyou. And when someone makes you feel safe enough to drop your guard, you let them catch you."
"That's three lessons."
His laugh is rich, warm. "Overachiever. We'll work on that too."
"I don't need to be fixed."
"Never said you did." He turns my hand over, tracing the lines of my palm. "But maybe you need to be cherished. Cared for. Maybe you need someone who sees how hard you work to hold it all together and tells you it's okay to rest."
Tears prick my eyes. Damn him. "You don't even know me."
"I know enough." He brings my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to my palm. "I know you're stubborn and strong and probably too independent for your own good. I know you've been taking care of everyone else so long, you've forgotten what it feels like to be taken care of. And I know you felt it too. There was a recognition when we met. Like coming home. Two souls who know each other."
I pull my hand back, needing distance. "This is crazy. You live in Chicago. You're here for what, a few weeks?"
"Six weeks. Maybe eight." He picks up the Manhattan again, considering. "Plenty of time."
"For what?"
"To show you that submission isn't weakness but the ultimate form of trust. And learning to trust again, beautiful girl, is exactly what you need."
My knees actually wobble. This man, no, this stranger, is reading me like a book. Worse, he's reading the pages I keep hidden, the ones I barely admit exist.
"Table twelve needs drinks," I say weakly.
"Susie's got it." He nods toward my bartender, who is indeed handling the new customers with efficiency. "Stop running, Karen."
"I'm not running."
"No?" He stands, moving into my space without quite touching. I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. "Then prove it. Have dinner with me."
"I can't. I have to work."
"Tomorrow night. You're closed on Wednesdays."
"How do you know that?"
"I pay attention." His fingers ghost over the bandage at my temple. "Dinner. Let me take care of you for a few hours. No bar to run, no customers to serve. Just you and me and a meal you don't have to cook. Say yes, baby. I dare you to say yes to something just for you."
