Getting Rowdy. Lori Foster
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wasn’t tempted even a little. “Can’t. I’m out of commission until...” Until when, damn it? How long would it take for Avery to realize how good they’d be together? Whether she felt the chemistry or not, he knew they’d burn up the sheets.
Deciding it didn’t matter because Sheila wasn’t doing it for him anyway, Rowdy said, “Until further notice. The bar is really growing, and as it is, I’m only squeaking in a few hours of sleep a day.”
“I could make it worth your while.”
“I didn’t have a doubt.” He nodded at a tableful of young men behind them. “They know it, too. They haven’t been able to take their eyes off you.”
Sheila wasn’t fooled. She knew a rejection when she heard it, regardless of how he’d tried to pretty it up. “It’s your loss.” With a smile, she went off to easier game.
Rowdy shook his head, always amused by women and their antics. It’d be nice if Avery were so predictable.
Then again, it was her uniqueness that he lo—
Whoa. No fucking way. He stomped that thought right out of his head real fast.
He tried focusing on the bar instead, on the many tasks that still needed to be done. But on his way to the kitchen with some dirty dishes, he again sought out Avery. She bustled along the busy bar, filling drink orders and smiling at customers—all of them men.
In many ways he felt like a possessive ape around her, but this he took in stride. He knew Avery well enough to know she wouldn’t flirt with a customer, and beyond that, she wasn’t interested in hard drinkers.
He was just about to push into the kitchen when the phone rang. Avery answered it. No big deal. With the only phones behind the bar and in his office, she took the calls more often than not.
He went on through the kitchen doors and deposited the dirty dishes into the sink. Even with the dinner hour long over, Jones still hadn’t finished up. Rowdy knew he had to find him some help soon or Jones would quit on him.
“Leave those if you want,” Rowdy told the cook.
“You paying me for the time I’m here?”
“Don’t I always?”
“Yeah, and it’ll only take me another hour, so I’ll stay.” He pointed a scrub brush at Rowdy. “But stop being so choosy and hire someone already, will you?”
“Working on it.” Hell, he’d interviewed a dozen people. “It’s not as easy as you’d think.” Especially with the bar’s reputation. He’d had a few druggies show up, a hooker, a drunk and a barely of-age kid who’d quailed at the idea of putting in eight hours.
Suddenly Ella stuck her head into the kitchen. “Rowdy?” Her usual smile was missing, her tone no-nonsense. “Avery’s in trouble.”
Instead of asking questions, Rowdy dropped the dish towel and strode through the doors and into the main room. He sensed Jones and Ella right on his heels.
His gaze locked on Avery. She looked more annoyed than hurt or afraid, but a big bruiser had her half pulled over the bar thanks to a grip on her wrist. Rowdy barely remembered moving before he had the heavy man by the front of his shirt. “Let. Her. Go.”
The guy released Avery with a shove and she stumbled back, fetching up against the ice chest.
Rowdy saw red. Back in the good old days, before he was a fucking proprietor, he’d have taken the guy apart and been done with it. Now...well, now he had boundaries, so he’d try it the “nice” way—and hope the guy gave him a reason to demolish him. “Get out and don’t come back.”
“Who the hell are you?” the man demanded.
Righting herself, Avery said, “Rowdy, don’t do it.”
Vibrating with the surge of anger, Rowdy kept one fist knotted in the man’s shirt, the other held down at his side.
As the man tried to jerk free, his shirt ripped.
Rowdy wanted to rip out his heart, too. It wasn’t easy, but he managed to say with controlled fury, “Don’t ever put your hands on my employees.”
Realizing he had the attention of the owner, the man shoved his face close. “I’ve been here for hours. She made me lose my temper.”
Rowdy didn’t blink; it took all his concentration to fight his natural instinct to defend what was his—and he didn’t mean the bar.
“Ever touch her again and you’ll lose a hell of a lot more. Now leave.”
Frustrated, the man shoved both hands through his dark, greasy hair. He drew in a deep breath. “I don’t have time for this shit.” Belatedly, he looked around, realized he was drawing attention and leaned in for privacy.
The foul stench of sweat and desperation almost caused Rowdy to flinch.
“I made a deal,” the man said through wet lips, “and I never got paid. The owner traded me some of the equipment to even things up and avoid retaliation.”
“I’m the owner,” Rowdy enjoyed telling him. “And I don’t trade with drug dealers.”
“Before you!”
“Before me is none of my concern.”
The man locked his large hands into boulder-size fists. “Look, buddy, my day has been shit already, okay? I have my own debts to pay, the junker truck I borrowed barely runs and to top it off, the old lady shoved the kid off on me.”
Ice ran down Rowdy’s spine... Shoved the kid off on me... His thoughts scrambled, tripping over ugly possibilities.
“So now I’m done playing nice.” The man ground his teeth together and lowered his voice to a snarl. “Either give me the equipment or give me my money.”
Rowdy swallowed hard, but sickness continued to crawl up his throat. A Mack truck parked on his chest, making a deep breath impossible. Ugly memories sharpened everything he felt. “Where are you parked?”
Thinking he’d won, the bruiser rubbed his hands together. “Out back. I’ll take the jukebox and the—”
“We’ll discuss it.” Rowdy clamped a hand on his arm and propelled him forward. “Let’s go somewhere private.”
A soft, feminine voice reached out to him. “Rowdy?”
He didn’t look at Avery. He didn’t dare. The last thing he needed was her interference. “I’ll be right back,” he told a narrow-eyed Jones and a pale Ella, “Back to work.”
Avery said nothing else, and that should have made him suspicious, but he was too busy concentrating on the man in front of him. Big, dirty, a bully used to getting his own way, scum who didn’t mind making a scene or using his strength against those who were smaller or weaker. Rowdy might’ve just met the bastard, but he knew him.
Far too well.
Rowdy wasn’t small and he wasn’t weak, not now, not ever again. Each step he took narrowed his focus until it became a single laser beam of driving purpose.
People shifted out of the way as the two of them went through the bar and out the front door. Chill evening air filled Rowdy’s lungs, helping to clear away the haze of blistering rage. A restless breeze played over his fevered muscles, reminding him to relax.
Battles were always best fought with a cool head and limber muscles.
“I’ll take the jukebox,” the bully said again, “and a few cases of whiskey. That’s a bargain for you.”
Keeping a tight leash on his emotions, Rowdy stayed two steps behind. “We’ll talk about it near your truck.” And if he found what he thought he would, then God help the man.
At the alley beside the bar, they turned to head around back. The security