Bastard.
“Why?”
He smiled. “You know why,” he said softly.
Her fists clenched. She fought the mental battle as fiercely as she did the physical. Oh, she wanted to walk away from it all and tell him to go to hell. Him and his massive ego and talent and complications. She didn’t want him in her bar or her life, but she was trapped. To get what she really wanted for her business, she needed him—the very devil she’d hated since she buried her father.
When she took the fall, she refused to do it halfway. Throwing her head back, she straightened to full height and faced him. The few inches between them crackled with tension. Her voice seethed with resentment and the surrender he required.
“Will you take the job, Dalton?”
For one moment, something transformed between them. As if caught in a raging undertow, she drowned in a tsunami of pure emotion, tangled with lust and hate, need and desire, want and desperation. His eyes widened in acknowledgment, and he took a tiny step back, as if battered by his own wave.
In seconds, the room was once again calm, and Raven wondered if she had imagined the whole thing.
“Yes. Yes, I’ll take the job, Raven. I’ll also make sure you don’t regret it.” He turned and walked to the door. “See you tomorrow.”
Raven closed her eyes and wondered if she’d just played a very dangerous game with fate.
Chapter seven
Dalton showed up right before closing.
All day, he’d been anticipating seeing her again. She was never far from his mind, the image of last night replaying again and again. He’d forced her to concede, but it was he who was rocked by the encounter. He’d expected her to get a bit bitchy, or even lie before asking him to take on the job. Dalton admitted it was a power play, and he’d intended to pull back if she got upset.
Instead, she’d refused to back down. She might have been the one asking, but she did it with such power and pride, he’d been the one humbled.
Another intriguing piece to the puzzle. The woman was full of angles and edges that he longed to explore. Being able to work in her presence and get answers to those questions was just another perk of the job. Maybe after this week, he’d be able to figure out why things were so explosive when the two of them were with each other.
He took a seat at one of the tables, laying out his sketches and plans. Her voice echoed from the kitchen, along with the sound of laughing, chatter, and good-natured ribbing. Finally three females and a man built like a truck trudged out. The girls gave him a friendly wave of acknowledgment, but the man shot him a warning look. With his shaved head and staggering muscles, he looked . . . mean. Who the hell was that? The cook? Raven couldn’t be involved with him, right? She’d said there was no one in her life at the moment, but damned if that guy wasn’t trying to tell Dalton to back off.
Raven came out, hips swinging with an unconscious grace he loved to watch. “One more second?”
“Take your time.” He enjoyed the view while she leaned over the bar with her MacBook Air and punched furiously at the keys. The lights were dim, and the bar was quiet. He wondered if she spent most nights here, alone, in the place she now called hers. Questions crowded his mind regarding her past and how she got here. There was a deep satisfaction that radiated around her, telling him she was happy with her life and choices. Not too many people he’d met along the way had gotten to that place. This past year had brought a lot of changes, but Dalton was a hell of a lot happier. He’d worked through issues with his brothers and gotten to concentrate on what made him happy: woodworking.
She shut her laptop, walked over, and dropped in the chair across from him. Sticking her jean-clad legs straight in front of her, she gave a little groan. “Sorry. Being on your feet all day is sometimes a bitch.”
He grinned. “Understood. Here.” He pushed another chair over, scooped up her feet, and dropped them gently down so she was completely stretched out. “You should wear flats, like your servers.”
She shrugged. “I like heels. They make me taller than most of the men.”
“You like to try to intimidate men?”
Her inky eyes glinted with mischief. “No, I just like to be tall. If they’re intimidated by that, it’s their problem. Would you like a beer?”
Damn, she was quick. He caught the wild scent of her, a mix of spices and cinnamon, like musk and earth. “No, thanks, I consider this a work meeting.” He paused. “Are you involved with that guy who works in your kitchen?”
Her eyes widened. Then a laugh escaped her lips and she shook her head. “Al? No. Not that it’s your business, but he looks after me and everyone else who works here. He’s the chef, actually. He’s good people. Why?”
“Shot me a look like he’d cut off my balls if I made a move on you.”
Her eyes sparkled. Little flecks of pure gold shimmered in their depths. “Oh, he would. And trust me, he knows how to do it.”
“Good to know.”
“Not that I’d need the help.”
He raised a brow. “Self-defense?”
She scoffed with disgust. “Child’s play. Boxing and karate.”
“Now you’re just turning me on.”
Her lips twitched with the need to smile, and a warm glow settled over him. He wished he could sit with her all night. “Whatcha got for me, Slick?”
He pulled out three samples and a few rough sketches. “First off, we strip down the whole bar. I’ll take away the dents and scratches, sand it down, and restain it in a darker mahogany. I brought some samples I thought would go well with the other woodwork in the place.” She studied them one at a time, her fingers caressing the wood in gentle motions. Her nails were short and square, but her fingers were long and tapered, like a musician’s. He wondered what they’d feel like gliding over his naked skin. Dalton swallowed and prayed away his growing erection. “I’ll remove the glass top and replace it with new wood, take away the cheap gold bars and replace them with bronze rope rails. I’d do a handrail and foot rail. This will enhance the new stain and give it a touch of arrogance. Elegance. An antique bar should have a bit of a wow factor. Here, I printed out a picture for you to take a look.”
He waited for her to look at the pictures while he shuffled through the other papers and continued. “Now, the stools should match the wood of the bar, and I think a carved back will bring comfort for eating and still retain the atmosphere of My Place.” He pointed to the stool on the paper. “I’d put in some suspension so they’d swivel, and use the bronze hardware from the railings so it looks like a set.”
She was silent for a while, sifting through the papers and occasionally glancing at the bar to compare. “It’s the exact look I was hoping for. And I like this wood.” She gave him the sample he also preferred, and excitement ran through his veins. God, he loved starting a new project, especially one that would satisfy his soul. It wasn’t often he was able to restore an antique bar.
“I agree. It works best with the brick wall background. Then I found these antique-looking booths from—”
“Booths? Wait a minute, I don’t have money to renovate the entire restaurant. I still need a new roof and to fix the porch before this upcoming winter.”
“Sorry, it’s just I have my hands on these wooden booths and if we stained them, they’d look amazing. It’s easy to rip out these right here”—he pointed to the row of six booths lined up on the right side—“and replace them. You get rid of the cheap red vinyl and it’s an investment. Low maintenance, and it will last. Here’s the pictures.”
She studied the photos. “Wow, you’re really good at this. I suck at decorating. I don’t seem to have the vision like so many other women have.”
“I doubt many women can make a Bloody Mary like you can.”
“You’re right. That’s a better talent.”
Dalton figured he’d save the ideas for restripping the floors for another time. Yes, the floors could wait, but he had to convince her to do the booths. “I brought up two estimates. I can give you a discount on the booths because of the bulk of the job.”