Take A Chance On Me (2 page)

Just to be defiant, she picked up the rest of the shot and downed it. “I’ll have another.”

He pushed the bowl toward her. “You’ll eat pretzels. They’re good for soaking up alcohol.”

“What about ‘the customer’s always right’?” she huffed and crossed her arms. Was she being ridiculous? Maybe, but who was he to make decisions for her? She’d had enough overbearing men to last her a lifetime. From now on, she called the shots. And if she wanted more drinks, then by God, she’d get them.

Maddie looked past him, her vision skipping around the bar. A blond, surfer-looking guy sat in a corner booth with papers scattered over the table’s surface, perusing them with obvious interest. She pointed to him. “Maybe I need to tell your boss you’re refusing to serve me.”

A deep, amused rumble. “You can’t get higher than me, Princess. I own the place.”

Deflated, her shoulders slumped. “Oh. Well, never mind.”

He pushed the bowl again until it was right under her nose. “Eat some pretzels and drink some water while you tell me what kind of trouble you’re in.”

With her spine snapping ruler-straight, she asked, “What makes you think I’m in trouble?”

He gave her a slow, meaningful once-over. “Do I look stupid to you?”

No, he didn’t. All the more reason to stay away. If she could walk, she’d leave, but for now she was at his mercy. Between the buzz in her head and her swollen, aching feet, she might never move from this stool again and be forced to deal with his bossiness forever.

“I had car trouble. I broke down on Highway 60 a couple of miles back.”

His lips curved down and his golden eyes flashed. “You walked?”

“What was I supposed to do?”

“It’s the twenty-first century. Where’s your cell?” He scowled as though she’d done something wrong.

How could she know she’d need one? She held up her tiny purse. “It didn’t fit.”

His gaze flicked over her. “What’s with the dress?”

Not wanting to say it out loud, she toyed with a piece of the fabric and said, “What, this old thing?”

“Cute.” His jaw hardened into a stubborn line. “So?”

Denial was pointless. The dress fell from her fingers. “I ran out on my wedding.”

Chapter Two

“Was this before or after ’til death do us part?” Mitch asked the tipsy bride swaying on the stool. He’d shove those pretzels down her throat if necessary. Irish or not, if she didn’t get food in her stomach, she’d be sick.

Green eyes flashed as brilliant and blinding as the crystals covering her overflowing wedding dress. “Before. I’m horrible, but not that horrible.”

Good. He’d learned his lesson where husbands were concerned. No matter how appealing the woman, he wouldn’t make that mistake again. “I take it this was a rushed exit.”

“If you must know, I climbed out the church window.” She placed a hand over her forehead and squeezed her lids shut. “My mother is going to kill me. She’ll never forgive me.”

Interestingly, there was no mention of the guy she’d ditched at the altar. “I’m sure she’ll get over it.”

Lashes fluttering open, she shook her head. “You don’t understand. I’m twenty-eight. All her friends’ daughters are married. Half of them have kids, and the other half are pregnant. I’ve been with . . .” She leaned in, her eyes darting around the room. “. . .
him
since I was fifteen. I’m past due.”

Family expectations were something he could relate to. Not meeting those expectations, even more so. “I’m sure she wants you happy.”

Maddie straightened. “Ha! She wants me married. Period. End of story.”

The last thing he wanted was to talk about her abandoned wedding, but he figured his job as her bartender required at least a cursory question. “Do you want to talk about it?” He placed his hands on the counter, hoping he passed for disarming.

The corners of her mouth pulled into a deep frown as she pushed an empty glass toward him. “About that shot.”

Okay, no talking about the wedding. Fine with him. He’d rather argue about pretzels. He pushed the bowl under her cute little nose. “I believe I laid down the law on more shots. You don’t like it, there’s another bar about ten miles from here. The rest of the town is dry.”

Chin tilted in defiance, her knockout, heart-shaped face scrunched up in concentration as she tried to stare him down. Too bad for her—he could do this all day.

Several moments ticked by before she conceded with a long, put-upon sigh, followed by an adorable pout. She picked up a handful of pretzels and shoved one in her mouth. “Happy now?”

“Yes, and you’ll be even happier when you can sit upright.”

“I can sit fine.” The satin on her princess dress rustled as she teetered, belying her words. The veil she wore fluttered around her face, the white a stark contrast to the deep red of her hair.

Grinning, he reached over the bar and flicked the filmy fabric. “No chance to remove the veil, huh?”

She jerked back, hand flying to her head to pat the fluffy tulle, complete with tiara. “Ugh! I forgot.”

He leaned into the counter. “You certainly know how to make an entrance, Maddie Donovan.”

“What?” She smiled, the corners of her mouth a little shaky. “I’d think all the runaway brides would come here.”

He popped open the cooler and grabbed a Bud. “Do I sense a new advertising slogan?”

“Put your picture on a billboard and you’ll have to beat them away with a stick. No slogan necessary.” A bright red flush staining her cheeks, she clapped a hand over her mouth. Her eyes were wide with what he suspected was horror.

He laughed, startled to hear how rusty and unused it sounded. When was the last time he’d been this engaged in a conversation?

She peeled her fingers away. “Did I say that out loud?”

“’Fraid so.” It had been a long time since he’d flirted, but he hadn’t forgotten how. It had been even longer since he’d felt anything but numb. And numb wasn’t the word that came to mind when he looked at the runaway bride.

“Ignore me.” She held up one of the empty shot glasses. It swayed in her fingers. “It’s the booze.”

“If you say so, Princess.”

Those green eyes narrowed. Her gaze traveled over his face and body as though he were a suspect in a lineup. Trying to keep a straight face, he twisted the cap off his beer and tossed it without looking at the trash can. To his surprise, it was damn hard. He’d smiled more in the last fifteen minutes than he had all last year.

Finally, she glanced around his sad, sorry-looking dive. “Um, what’s your current slogan?”

“Bar.”

“I think you can do better,” she said with utter seriousness, then popped another pretzel in her mouth.

She was such a cute little thing. Petite and small boned, she looked as though she might float away in that huge dress.

“I like to keep my business plan simple, catering to bikers and alcoholics.”

Once again, she glanced around. “Mission accomplished. Although I don’t see any bikers.”

“There’s a festival over in Shiloh.”

Auburn brows drew together. “And I’m where, exactly?”

“Revival, Illinois, population 2,583.” He’d recognized the city on her the second she’d walked through the door. “You’re about four hundred miles south of Chicago. How long have you been driving, anyway?”

“Since about twelve-thirty.”

He calculated the math, scratching his temple. “What exactly have you been doing?”

Averting her gaze, she stared down at the bowl of pretzels as though they held the answer to life’s mysteries. “I don’t really know. Driving, I guess. Before my car broke down, things are kind of a blur.”

Her wheels clearly spinning, she took another pretzel and toyed with it, clicking it on the bar.

He kept quiet, taking another sip of beer. Over the bar, the television was tuned to ESPN. The barflies watched, nursing their drinks of choice, only casting occasional looks of puzzlement in the bride’s direction. Mitch glanced over at his bartender, Sam. Ignoring the paperwork sitting in front of him, he watched Maddie with avid interest, raising one brow at Mitch in question.

He shrugged. He had no idea what he was doing, but he wanted to keep talking to her.

Finally, Maddie smoothed down her veil. “Hey, how’d you know I was from Chicago?”

“You’re not from here.” He scrubbed a hand over his scruff, realizing he’d forgotten to shave today. “I lived there until about three years ago. I guessed.”

Slim, perfectly manicured white-tipped nails touched her parted lips before flitting away. Slowly, she craned her neck, surveying the sorry state of the bar, then turned to him once again.

“Why’d you move here?” She asked the question as though Mitch might be touched in the head.

He understood: it wasn’t too long ago that he’d have reacted the same way. “Why not?”

Her forehead crinkled as though concentrating very hard. “Do you have family here?”

It was a normal question, the obvious question, but his gut tightened. He never spoke of his past, let alone invited questions he didn’t want to answer. “I have ties, but no family.”

“What’s that mean?”

A muscle jumped in his jaw. “My grandmother grew up here, but my family lives in Chicago.”

“Why did you move here?”

“I spent summers here when I was a kid. I know people, and it seemed as good of a place as any.”

She popped a pretzel in her mouth, chewing slowly. “Did you own a bar in Chicago, too?”

“No.” The word flat. Why had he mentioned Chicago? A tactical error on his part, forgetting she wasn’t in a hurry to discuss her life any more than he was.

She picked up a sparkly piece of fabric and toyed with the beads. “What’d you do?”

He shrugged. If he started evading now, she’d only make a bigger deal of it, and besides, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t a secret. He just didn’t talk about it. “I was a lawyer.”

Surprise flickered over her face. “Really?”

“Really.”

“But . . .” She pointed to his arm. “You have a tattoo.”

Laughing, his muscles eased. “Princess, haven’t you heard? Lawyers are deviants.”

“Maybe.” Her lips curved, her gaze resting on the black scrolls over his biceps. “But I’m pretty sure none of the lawyers I deal with are hiding tats under their suits.”

Happy to change the subject, he leaned over the bar, close enough to breathe in her honey-and-almond scent. An urge to lick her came over him. What would that smooth, pale flesh taste like on his tongue?

“And what kind of lawyers have you known, Maddie Donovan?” His voice sounded low, with a hint of seduction threaded through it. He really should be ashamed of himself—after all, she
was
in a wedding dress. But he’d stopped caring about that detail as soon as she’d started arguing with him about pretzels.

Wide eyes met his. Blinking, she cleared her throat, then squared her shoulders. “Um, is something going on here?”

The smile twitched on his lips, and he let it spread. “Maybe.”

She placed a hand on her stomach, her waist appearing impossibly small in the tight, corseted top. “This is making me nervous.”

“Good nervous or bad nervous?” he asked, leaving the past where it belonged to enjoy the unexpected surprise of her wandering into this shithole bar.

“I’m not sure yet. It’s been a while.” She propped her chin on her palm, auburn curls falling over one shoulder. Even in the dim, yellow-tinted light, her hair shimmered with a hundred different strands of red. She wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, but there was something absolutely breathtaking about her.

He wanted closer. The question was, would he work on those nerves or take it easy on her? Maybe a little nudge. “I do like to make pretty girls nervous.”

She gave him a delicate little snort. “I bet that line works all the time, doesn’t it?”

Laughter shook his chest, drawing several surprised glances from his patrons. He always liked a woman who cut him no slack. A rarity. A challenge. It had been far too long since he’d felt the surge of challenge. Hell, it had been a long time since he’d felt the surge of anything. “Hey, I thought it was better than”—he lowered his voice to sleazy—“‘Baby, are you tired? Because you’ve been running through my mind all night.’”

With a groan, she buried her face in her hands. “Oh my God, it’s awful. Is that what I’ve been missing?”

“I’m just getting started.”

Lashes lifted to the ceiling. “Deliver me from hell.”

“Damn, you’re hard on a man’s ego, Princess.”

“Somehow I doubt that, Slick.”

Amused, he grimaced. “Slick, huh? I’m thinking that’s not a compliment.”

“You don’t need compliments.” She waved a hand over him. “Look at you, all gorgeous. I bet you don’t even have to try.”

With a grin, he pushed the brown bowl closer. “Have another pretzel.”

Auburn brows drawing together, she flashed him a flirtatious scowl. “You don’t even have the decency to deny it.”

The more they talked, the harder it was to keep the smile off his face. The long-dormant muscles started to ache. “Now, why would I go and do that?”

“Because that’s what you do.” She grabbed another pretzel and popped it in her mouth. “That’s the rule: when someone gives you a compliment, you deny.”

“No, that’s what women do.” He placed his palms on the bar. “If I denied it, you’d accuse me of fishing.”

“True. You’re smart and insightful, too? That hardly seems fair.” She pointed to the ceiling. “Somebody up there likes you.”

That was definitely a matter of opinion, but he teased her right back. “At least you know I didn’t earn my degree on my back.”

“Where’d you go to law school?” She gave him a crooked half-grin. “Some obscure school in the Caribbean?”

“Nope. Not even close.”

She scrutinized him, looking him up and down with exaggerated care. “One of those infomercial Internet deals?” She straightened on the stool and cleared her throat. “You too can chase ambulances in thirty amazing days.”

Goddamn, she was cute. He wanted to eat her up in only the very best way. Any last remnants of conscience about her sitting in her wedding dress evaporated. He chuckled, shaking his head. “You don’t think very highly of me, do you?”

“That’s the problem, I do. Now I’ve got to find your tragic flaw.”

“I have plenty of flaws.” A list too long to count, actually. Flaws a good girl like her might not be able to overlook. “But my law degree doesn’t happen to be one of them.”

“I know.” Her tone excited, she guessed, “You were a Navy SEAL who earned your law degree at night after a long day of special ops?”

Damn, his polish must be long gone. “Where in the hell did that come from?”

“Romance novels,” she said, the
duh
clearer than if she’d spoken it out loud.

“Not even close.”

She blew out a breath and threw up her hands. “Fine, I give up.”

He grinned. “I went to Harvard.”

The loud burst of laughter had the barflies startling in her direction. “You’re kidding.”

“’Fraid not.” That she found the idea preposterous both amused and irked him. There’d been a time when anything less would have been a surprise. “I guess now’s not the time to tell you I graduated in the top five percent of my class.” Shit. What was wrong with him? How was she getting him to talk about things he’d refused to even think about?

“Let me get this straight.” She tapped her manicured index finger on the bar. “You graduated from Harvard at the top of your class?”

“Yep.”

“Did you have a job in Chicago?”

“I did.”

“As a lawyer?”

He nodded, refusing to say more.

Confusion was etched in the corners of her mouth. “But you left that behind, for this?”

“That about sums it up.” He tried to make the words light, casual. Some of his enjoyment dimmed as he remembered those days when the whole world had stretched before him, ripe with possibilities. It reminded him why he’d chosen to stay numb instead of joining the land of the living.

“Why?”