Page 2 of Driving Whiskey Wild
He lifted his chin in a half-cocked greeting before stalking around the bar and busying himself pulling bottles from shelves. Was he upset that she’d refused his magical penis ride? If so, he was going to have to get over it, and fast.
“Don’t pay attention to him. He had a rough night.” Dixie waved a hand as if Bullet didn’t matter.
Finlay forced a smile, knowing the big oaf mattered a heck of a lot. She’d grown up in Peaceful Harbor, although she was several years younger than the Whiskeys and she hadn’t known them then. She’d moved back into town two months ago, hoping to put down roots near her sister, Penny, after leaving to attend college in Boston nearly a decade ago. Penny had filled her in on the Whiskeys when she’d accepted the catering job for their friends’ wedding. Apparently, the Whiskeys and their motorcycle gang owned her small hometown. Only, according to Penny, it wasn’t like the stories she’d heard about bikers causing a ruckus or scaring people. No, the Whiskeys were known to be good folks, and apparently their gang was more of a club. She didn’t know the difference, but understood that they protected the community, keeping crime down and helping with bullies—except, apparently, for their own big, pushy son. From what Penny had said, they might look intimidating, but beneath all those tattoos and dark leather, they were kind, caring, generous people. She’d noticed that at the wedding, and in the weeks since, as she’d seen Dixie, her other brothers, and their parents around town. They were all as nice as could be. The jury was still out on big, bad Bullet.
But if she was going to spend any amount of time in his presence, he needed to respect her. This was why Penny had pushed her to take this job, wasn’t it? Because she’d been hiding behind her past, living a safe, comfortable, lonely life for so long she’d all but forgotten how it felt to be hit on? And how to handle it. Well, that ended now. She straightened her spine, the way she’d learned to do in culinary school, when top chefs came in to teach and they’d ream the students for the smallest errors. There was no room for thin skin in catering—and she’d be darned if she’d let Bullet Whiskey intimidate her one bit.
“It’ll be fine,” she assured Dixie, and walked directly behind the bar to the mountain of a man who was trying his best to ignore her. Every step made her heart beat faster. Holy moly, she hadn’t remembered him being that tall. She was only five three, but even though she had heels on, he was well over a foot taller than her.
She reached up and tapped Bullet’s shoulder. It was like tapping stone covered with a black leather vest. He turned slowly, his broad chest and massive arms suddenly taking up all the extra space. She stared up at him. His dark beard and eyes gave him a menacing look. She swallowed hard, steeling herself to say her piece. In the next second those angry eyes turned even hotter and hungrier than they’d been at the wedding.
Her traitorous insides flamed.
Oh boy. She was in way over her head. This man probably got everything he wanted from women with that look. He cast some sort of spell with his leather wrist cuffs, scary-looking silver and black rings, and go-ahead-just-try-to-mess-with-me attitude.
Forcing her sternest expression, she said, “Bullet, if we’re going to work together, I expect you’ll let what happened at the wedding go and get behind me on this project.”
He cocked his head, his lips curving up in a wicked smile that brought goose bumps to her entire body as he said, “I’m happy to get behind you anytime, sweetheart.”
“Bullet.” Dixie glared at him.
Finlay felt her jaw drop open and snapped it closed. She needed the money from this consulting job to help get her catering business off the ground, and she really liked Dixie and the rest of the Whiskeys. She felt good about helping them and couldn’t let this Whiskey scare her off.
“First of all, I am not your sweetheart, and if you think for a second that your dirty talk will scare me off, you’re wrong.”
He leaned in so close she could smell alcohol on his breath. “You haven’t begun to hear dirty talk, darlin’. And scaring you is the last thing I want to do. But you working here is a mistake.”
The front door swung open and two loud-talking, burly men walked in. They wore grungy T-shirts and jeans, with black leather boots, much like Bullet’s. One had scraggly gray hair pulled back in a ponytail. The other was bald and broad, with tattoos on both arms. Finlay was so far out of her element, she could no longer see it. But she wasn’t about to admit that. She felt Bullet watching her intently and tried to school her expression. Once again, she gathered her courage, realizing that if she had any hope of earning Bullet’s respect, she had to prove she wasn’t the mouse he seemed to think she was. She’d done enough bartending when she was in college to make ends meet, and she could make drinks in her sleep.
She spun on her heels as the men sat down at the bar and flashed them her warmest smile. “Hi, y’all. What can I get for you today?”
They glanced at Bullet, who chuckled.
“What will it be? Beer, bourbon, or Biker’s Poison? Knuckleheads?” When they stared at her, dumbfounded, she set her hand on her hip and smiled at Dixie, who was clearly getting a kick out of her little show of authority. “Shy boys, huh? How about I surprise you?”
She turned, and Bullet grabbed her arm, glowering at her again. Whatever amusement had caused his chuckle was flat-out gone. She looked at his hand on her arm and smiled. “I’m sorry, Bullet, but you seem to think manhandling me is an appropriate way to get my attention.” She peeled his hand off and placed it by his side. “Now, if you’d like to say something, feel free while I mix these good men their drinks.”
With her heart in her throat, she grabbed two lowball glasses and a bottle of tequila while Bullet breathed fire beside her.
“This is my territory,” he seethed.
“Hm. Seems you’re a bit possessive about your space.” She pointed to a bottle of Kahlúa. “Can you please hand me that, and the ouzo?”
Teeth clenched, he handed her the bottles, and she began mixing the drinks. This time the chuckles came from the other men. She couldn’t see Dixie, but she heard the heels of her boots clicking along the hardwood toward the kitchen. She reached in front of Bullet to grab two napkins and grazed his stomach, which earned something between a grunt and a dangerously sexy sound she didn’t want to think about.
She set the drinks on the bar and wiped her hands on a towel that was hanging beneath the counter. “Two Boot Knockers just for you two beautiful men.”
Stepping closer to Bullet, she crooked her finger for him to bend down so she could speak quietly. To her surprise, he did, and she said, “I’m really not comfortable with territories. It feels outdated. Like women being seen and not heard.”
Bullet rose to his full height, face pinched tight.
She patted his chest and, in her sweetest voice, said, “You do your job and I’ll do mine. But there will probably be occasions when I need to get behind the bar, or you need to get into the kitchen. Think you can handle that?”
One of the men at the bar lifted his glass and said, “This is the best drink I’ve had in a long time. I can handle this pretty lady making my drinks.”
Finlay batted her eyelashes just for dramatics, enjoying the irritated look on Bullet’s face. “Thank you. I’m pretty good behind the bar. Oh, and in the kitchen,” she added with a smile.
She felt something thundering against her palm and realized her hand was still over Bullet’s heart. She lowered her hand, and he growled something indiscernible.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting with Dixie.”
Chapter Two
WEDNESDAY EVENING FINLAY was talking to her best friend, Isabel Ryder, on speakerphone when she pulled up in front of Whiskey Bro’s. Isabel bartended and waitressed at the restaurant in Boston where Finlay had worked before opening her small catering company, Finlay’s. They’d become fast friends, and a year after Finlay had opened her company, Isabel had begun working for her part-time, helping at the events. Finlay had been back in town for two months, and even though she’d made lots of new friends and had rekindled some of her old childhood friendships, she missed her bestie.
“You won’t believe what the new chef, Paolo, is doing with the kitchen,” Isabel said. “The guy might be a great chef, but he’s a total a-hole. I wish I could quit right now and come down to Peaceful Harbor and just work for you.”
“Sorry, Iz. Hopefully one day, but I don’t have things ironed out yet. I am catering a baby shower in two weeks for one of Penny’s friends. You know how much I love themed parties, and the mom is having twins, so I get to do boy and girl goodies.”
“They have no idea what they’re in for. Do they realize that when it comes to food, you’re the queen of all things baby-themed, which is second only to your affinity for heart-mending comfort food?”
“That’s why they hired me.”
When Finlay had first started her business, she’d catered a baby shower for a mom who was having quadruplets, and she’d come up with different baby-themed foods for four very distinct babies. She’d quickly become known as the go-to baby shower caterer in her area, and referrals to her website had taken off.
