Locked Down With The Army Doc. Scarlet Wilson
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himself. It was as if the fatigue coupled with a dash of whiskey had reduced all his usual politeness and social norms to a scattering of leaves beneath his feet. “Did you really just hit me? For trying to eat a peanut?”
She gave a shrug. “Yeah, sorry about that. Force of habit.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You don’t look too sorry.”
She pulled a face and waved her hand. “Actually, I’ve just saved you.”
Now he was amused. “Saved me from what?”
She shook her head and pushed the bowl away. “Probably some kind of horrible death. Best way to catch some kind of disease.” She shuddered. She actually shuddered. “If I sent those to a lab I could horrify you.”
He deliberately leaned over her, ignoring her orange-scented perfume, and plucked a nut from the bowl, holding it between his fingers. “One tiny little nut is going to fell me?”
She arched her eyebrows and blinked. There was black eyeliner flicked on her eyelid, enhanced by her thick extra-long lashes. With those blue eyes she really was a bit of a stunner.
“If I could put that in an evidence bag right now and send it to the lab I would.” She shrugged. “But, hey, it’s your poison. Your stomach.”
“This is how you meet people? You attack them at the bar and steal their food?”
For a second she looked momentarily offended, but then she threw back her head and laughed. She put her elbow on the bar and rested her head on it. “Actually, my ambition this evening is not to meet anyone—I just wanted to grab a drink, some food and get out of here.”
He gave a slow nod. “Ah, great minds think alike, then.”
She looked a little more conciliatory. “Maybe. Sorry about the slap. Bar snacks make me testy. It really is an automatic reaction.”
He laughed. “How many states have you been arrested in?”
She sighed. “More than you could ever know.”
He could see the way her careful eyes were watching him, obviously trying to size him up. He liked her quick answers and smart remarks. He mirrored her position, leaning his head on his hand for a second as a wave of tiredness swept over him.
And then she spoke. “I’m trying to work out if you’re drunk or just in a coma. I’m warning you—I’m off duty tonight.”
The corners of his lips headed upward. Maybe he was imagining all this? Maybe he was already dreaming? Or maybe the jet lag was making him see things. If this was a hallucination, those words were so not what he was expecting. He let out a laugh. “I could actually be a bit of both. Jet lag and drinking—” he held up the whiskey glass “—are probably not the best idea in the world. But do I care right now?” He shook his head as he downed the remains at the bottom of the glass. “Not really.”
Now she laughed as the bartender came over and set a coaster in front of her. “Well, the jet lag explains the accent. But not the complete disregard for your fellow man.”
The bartender caught her eye. “What can I get you?”
She looked at his glass. “I’ll have what Mr. Happy’s having.”
Jack raised his eyebrows at the bartender. “Better just put both on my tab.”
She drummed her fingernails on the bar next to him. “Who said I wanted you to buy my drink?” Her overall presentation was quite glamorous but her nails were short and clean. Curious. Most women these days tended to have glittery painted talons.
“Don’t drink it,” he said smartly. “I can easily drink both.”
She smiled. A genuine, wide smile. The pink tips of her hair matched the bright pink on her lips.
“You are easily the most crabbit man in the room.” She gave a wink. “Is that Scottish enough for you? I learned that from a Scottish colleague.”
He tried not to smile as he nodded his head and furrowed his brow. “It’s a well-used word. My granny might have called a few people crabbit in her time.”
She gave a smile. “Yeah, crabbit. I like that. It means you won’t be a pest.”
“But you will be.”
“Ouch,” she said as the bartender brought over the drinks.
She lifted the glass to her nose and sniffed. “What is this, anyhow?”
“Guess.”
She tilted her head to the side. “Oh...guessing games. I know it’s whiskey. I’ve just no idea what kind. And here was me thinking tonight was going to be totally boring.”
He liked her. He was actually beginning to wake up a little. But that still didn’t stop him putting his head on the bar for a few seconds. He closed his eyes and murmured, “I’m dreaming of snacks. I’ve only eaten airline food for the last twenty-eight hours. And you’ve stolen the peanuts.”
She was still sniffing the whiskey but laughed anyway and grabbed a bar menu. “Haven’t you ordered?”
He sighed as he lifted his head again. “I think I ordered around ten hours ago. Apparently the kitchen is busy, but—” his fingers made the quote signal in the air “—it’ll get here soon.”
She set down the whiskey glass and gestured to the bartender. “Actually, can you give me a glass of rosé wine instead, please?” She gave Jack a sideways glance as she pushed the glass toward him. “This is too rich for my tastes.”
He was still leaning on his hand. After a few hours in a fugue, his brain was kick-starting again, along with his dormant libido.
“I’ve never really met anyone like you before,” he murmured.
Her eyes narrowed. “Is that a pickup line?”
He laughed. “I’m too tired and too lazy to try and pick you up, right now. But, hey, look me up tomorrow. I’ll probably have a whole new lease of life.”
“With those circles under your eyes, I doubt you’re even going to see tomorrow. I bet you sleep right through.”
He shook his head. “Oh, no. I have to see tomorrow. I’m speaking—at the conference.” He gestured behind her. “I should probably be in there right now, trying to charm my way around the room and into a new job.”
“You’re looking for a new job?” She gave a half smile. “What? Been fired from everywhere in Scotland?”
The bartender set down her wine in front of her, along with the biggest burger and plate of fries Jack had seen in forever. He couldn’t help it. “Praise be. Food of the gods.”
She sipped her wine and he could feel her watching him with interest as he snagged a fry. “I’m warning you. Try and put any of this in an evidence bag and I’ll have to wrestle you to the floor.”
She pushed up from her bar stool, leaning over to steal one of his fries. “You Scots guys. You think you’re tough. You ain’t got nothing on a girl from Milwaukee.”
She bit into the fry and nodded. “Better than it looks. And, because it came fresh from the kitchen, I won’t tell you any horror stories about it. I save them for the bar snacks.”
Her stomach growled loudly and he couldn’t help but laugh again.
He picked up his knife. “Okay, then, mystery woman. Since you’re obviously the least boring person in the room, I’ll make a deal and share with you.” He waved the knife at her. “But let’s be clear. This isn’t normal behavior for me. I’m just too tired to fight.”
He cut the burger in half and pushed her half toward her. “But no more insults. And—” he looked down at her long legs “—I still think I could take you.”
She