After Midnight (5 page)

He hadn’t touched his drink. “It’s on the house.”

His smile remained in place as he returned his wallet to his pocket and lifted the bag off the bar. “I guess I’ll see you again.”

Unable to shake the feeling that there was more behind his visit than supper, she replied dryly, “I guess you will.”

****

Noah stood with his hand on the door and thought better of entering. Inside the bar, music played—David Bowie singing about changes. It was a song he could relate to.

For two weeks, he’d come here after putting in a twelve-hour day at the studio. Two long weeks of watching, aching. And for what? Isabeau Montgomery wanted nothing to do with him. She had him completely at her feet, and she didn’t even know it. Hell, had she known, she most likely wouldn’t care.

Noah closed his eyes, wondering why he bothered. She’d barely spoken to him after the day he accused her of fearing silence. He lost track of how many times he’d berated himself on the subject. Yet it remained on his mind since that day. Even now, as the song drifted through the double set of doors, he wondered why she chose to hide from the music in a place full of it. If only she could see what was so clear to him. That denying who you are is nothing more than wasted time. Time you never got back.

No matter how much you wished otherwise.

Releasing the door handle, he considered his options. The prospect of leaving, of spending the evening alone in his hotel room, didn’t tempt. Even when weighed against spending the evening alone in a bar, wanting something he couldn’t have.

“Damn it!” He scrubbed a hand over his face. He needed to get over his obsession with her. He didn’t even want a lager, he wanted to see Isabeau—smell her, relish the way his blood moved a bit quicker through his veins when she was near.

He let out a long, slow breath. He should have invited Dominic along. At least then he had a chance in hell of talking to her. Isa liked Dom, enjoyed his company, enjoyed herself when he was around. It was a given that, had he invited Dom, her smile as he stepped through this door would show bright and genuine.

For Dominic.

Not for him.

Laughter drifted out the door.
Isabeau.
His mind made up, Noah reached for the handle. He couldn’t walk away. Not when there remained the slightest possibility she may turn that joy upon him. Tonight, if the stars aligned right, she would laugh with him the way she did her other patrons. He believed that. Just as he believed she would eventually forgive him for whatever the hell he’d done to her. She had to.

Even for a Tuesday night, there wasn’t much of a crowd. Besides Isa, Adam the bouncer, and himself, there were only two other people in the place. Both sat at the far end of the bar, watching Isabeau with rapturous looks on their face while she chatted on, totally oblivious to her appeal.

Tonight she wore her usual hip-hugging jeans. Her shirt, a pale blue that matched her eyes, had tiny straps that held it up. Made of fabric that clung to her like second skin, it emphasized the perfect shape of her breasts and her slender waist before ending at her belt. As she reached above her head and slid glasses into the rack, her shirt inched up revealing a flash of smooth, golden skin.

For a moment, he forgot to breathe.

Because of a minuscule glimpse of her stomach. Shit. How ridiculous was that? Certain his face now mirrored the other men’s, Noah sat on the barstool closest to the door. “Pretty quiet in here tonight.”

“It is,” she agreed. She held up a bottle of his preferred brand, opened it and placed it before him when he nodded. “I’ve already sent everyone else home. Well, except for Adam, his wife’s expecting, so I told him he could work through his shift.”

“That’s very generous of you.”

She shrugged. “You’re here earlier than normal. Slow day at the studio?”

“We hit a small snag and decided to call it off early.”

“I closed the kitchen already, but if you’re hungry I could warm something up.”

“I don’t require special treatment, you know.”

“All my customers receive the same treatment,” she assured him, then settled her hands atop the bar.

Settled in, instead of running off. Interesting.

He looked her over, noting her relaxed posture. He took in her beautiful face, her golden skin, and the way her fingers danced atop the polished chestnut. She wore no rings, no jewelry of any kind. Why hadn’t he seen that before? She had nice hands, slender fingers with eight unpainted, well-manicured nails. The last two nails on her left hand were missing, something that wasn’t readily apparent unless you looked closely, as he did now. Scars littered the back of the hand, a large one that extended from the base of her ring finger to her wrist, and a multitude of others of varied size. Too many to count, he was shocked to realize.

He had read a few of the articles about the accident that claimed her mother and ended her career. Every one mentioned a debilitating injury—one severe enough she would most likely never recover full mobility of her left hand. If the scars were any indication, the reports about her injury weren’t that far off. With one exception—she had regained the use of her hand—enough that she could still play the piano.

She stepped back. He caught the flash of uncertainty in her eyes as she tucked her hands into the back pockets of her jeans.

“Let me know if you decide you want something to eat,” she said, then glanced over her shoulder to the customers at the other end of the bar. Her cheeks were colorless, her eyes a pale gray. “I need to see if they need anything.”

He reached out, slid his hand across the top of the bar as if he could keep her from walking away. “Isabeau.”

Her gaze dropped to his hand before rising to meet his. “Yes?”

He wasn’t ready for their conversation to end. Not after her silence the past few weeks. Hoping to keep her from running off, he said, “We didn’t place our supper order with you tonight.”

“No, you didn’t.”

He curled his hand around the lager bottle. “What did I miss?”

“Creamy garlic potato soup.”

“And the sandwich special?”

“Izzy’s Secret.”

Did he dare ask?

“Marinated chicken breast on a whole wheat bun,” she supplied.

Okay, he had to know. “What’s the secret?”

“The marinade. Don’t order it unless you like it hot.”

“As a matter of fact, I do like it hot.”

A small smile tickled the corners of her lips. “Are we still talking food?”

“You are. I’m not.”

She stared at him for a long, silent beat. Then, the most amazing thing happened—she smiled at him. Her eyes sparked as she broke into an open, friendly smile that ended in a laugh. And in the way you only read about in one of those sappy paperback novels, his world shifted.

He stared back at her, a little stunned. “So you can do it.”

“What?”

“Smile at me.”

“I smile at you.”

“No, Isabeau, you don’t.”

Her smile faded. A curious mix of emotions flashed in her eyes. She lifted her chin a fraction, opened her mouth as if to comment, and was interrupted by a drunken bellow from the other end of the bar.

“Izzzzy,” it slurred, drawing out the name in a way that set his back up. “Another!”

She closed her eyes and sighed. “It’s time to go, Tommy,” she replied, her voice pitched so that he could hear her. “You’ve had enough for tonight.”

“Another,” the man growled as he slammed his empty glass down with enough force the resulting reverberation overpowered the music.

Isabeau drew herself up to her full height, summoning a smile that didn’t come close to reaching her eyes. “Excuse me, Noah. I’ve got to take care of this.”

Spine straight and looking six feet tall, which she was nowhere near even with the three-inch heels she habitually wore, Isa turned and crossed to stand before Tommy. She removed his empty glass and placed it in the tiny sink before her with one hand, while the other ran a cloth across the bar.

“Whiskey,” Tommy commanded. The menace in his voice matched the gleam in his eyes.

Noah glanced over his shoulder, relieved to find Adam no longer sat comfortably by the door, but stood, his focus on the drunken patron.

“No,” Isa replied to the demand for more whiskey. “I can either get you coffee, or a cab. Which will it be?”

Hands clenched, the man surged to his feet. He was tall, taller than Noah’s own six one, and twice as wide as Isabeau, but she didn’t seem to notice. She kept her eyes leveled with his as temper caused his body to vibrate. “You’ve had enough, Tommy.”

“Who are you to tell me when I’ve had enough?”

“I’m the woman who owns this bar.”

Anger flashed in his eyes. His jaw ticced. “Bitch,” he spat out.

She held her ground. A few seconds passed, then a few more.

The drunk staggered off in the direction of the restrooms.

Muscles coiled, Noah kept his eyes on the man until he disappeared from view. Realizing he held a crushing grip on the bottle, he forced his fingers to relax.

“Sorry about that, Larry,” Isabeau said to the man remaining.

“Tommy never could hold his liquor.”

“I know,” she replied softly, then picked up her rag, rounded the bar and began to wipe down the tables.

Larry stood, tossed a few bills on the bar and headed for the door.

Noah pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. He forced tense muscles to relax. The song on the stereo changed, smoothly transitioning from one chart topper to the next. As the first few chords rang out, the sound of breaking glass split the air.

Noah jerked around in time to see Tommy vise his hand around Isabeau’s upper arm and slam her against the wall. He pressed his body intimately against hers, muttering something meant for only her ears. His hand tightened on her upper arm. Pain flashed across Isa’s face, yet she made no sound.

Noah came off the stool like a shot. Halfway to her, Adam stopped him.

“I’ll take care of this,” the bouncer growled. He crossed the room faster than Noah thought the big man capable. They were about the same size, Adam and Tommy, but the bouncer had the advantage of being sober. He grabbed the arm not holding Isabeau and twisted it behind Tommy’s back. “Let her go.”

Tommy released Isabeau. Adam released Tommy. He stepped in front of the big man, using his body as a shield. “Izzy, you okay?”

Adam never took his eyes off Tommy, but Noah did. Isabeau remained against the wall, her right hand wrapped protectively around her left upper arm. Her voice was even and controlled as she replied, “Yes. I’m fine.”

Her eyes told a different story.

“You want me to have him hauled in?”

“No. Just, on your way out, see that he gets into a cab.”

Adam checked over his shoulder. “Izzy?”

“It’s okay. I’m going to call it a night. Turn the lock for me, will you, Adam?”

“Sure, Izzy, no problem.”

Adam might not have a problem leaving Isabeau alone, but Noah did. Was he the only one who could tell her calm was only an illusion?

“Consider yourself lucky, Tommy,” Adam continued, guiding the man toward the door with a hand to the back of his neck. “Left up to me, I’d have you strung up by your balls.”