The Break-Up Psychic (12 page)

Sam grins down at me. His hand remains firmly attached to my lower back (who am I kidding, it’s clearly in high-ass position) as he leads me toward the raven haired beauty. She walks around the bar and pulls Sam into a familiar embrace. I know it’s silly, but when she puts her hand against his cheek, I feel a little jealous at their shared intimacy.

“Clara, I’d like to introduce you to my friend, Ellie.”

Clara, who’s truly breathtaking, turns to grace me with a wide smile. She pays no mind to my bare feet, pulling me into a hug that leaves me in no doubt of her womanly superiority.

“Ellie, Ellie, so nice to meet you! What a lucky girl you are to be here with this hunk of a man, eh?” Clara’s accent is thick and, like the rest of her, oozing with passion. “Welcome to my little bar. Any friend of Sam’s is a friend of mine. Please tell me what you are wanting and Clara will get for you, yes?”

I open my mouth to ask for a spare pair of
Keds
, but she’s so graceful and sexy and completely undisturbed by my lack of footwear, I can’t think of what to say. “It’s nice to meet you,” I finally sputter out. “Your accent, where are you from?”

“I am from Columbia, but I move here with my husband ten years ago and buy this little bar. It is nice, no?”

“Yes, it’s really, um, it’s very interesting,” I say. That’s right, Ellie. Show her up with your superior conversation skills. “Is your husband here tonight?”

Sam coughs into his hand, trying and failing to hide the bemused smile splitting across his face.

Clara, Miss Universe herself, spits on the floor in front of my bare feet. “No!” she spits again. “That
Bastardo
is no here anymore. This is Clara’s place now. I cursed him and now he sleeps with the dogs!”

Oh good, I pissed off the Latin goddess who spits on her own floor and curses people. Big improvement over my foot-fetish date. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know,” I say, looking to Sam for help.

Clara eases her knitted brow and gives me a dazzling smile. “Of course you did not know, my sweet. Please, you take a seat and Clara will bring you something good to drink.” She ushers us to a nearby table then saunters back to the bar to get our drinks.

I look at Sam and then back to where Clara is carefully considering our drink selection. “Should I be worried she’s going to try and poison me?”

Sam laughs and leans back in his chair. “Nah, she’s really a very sweet woman. She just doesn’t like to bring up the old man.”

“What’d he do?”

“I’m not clear on all the details, but I believe it had something to do with a seventeen-year old waitress that used to work here,” he says, eyebrows raised conspiratorially.

“Good lord, I would hate to be him.”

Sam leans in close to me, his hand going around my shoulder to grip the back of my chair. I wish he’d quit maneuvering himself so close to me; it’s making it very difficult to not lick his dimple.

“I’d be more worried for the girl. Clara loved her husband, but the waitress? Well she’s expendable. Story is that shortly after leaving town the girl started losing all her teeth and hair. If Clara is as good at casting a curse as she claims to be, that girl ought to be one toothless, hairless teenager by now.”

My eyes must be as wide as saucers because Sam can’t hold back the bark of laughter that tears through him. “I’m only messing with you,” he says. “The girl works at a Dollar Shop in Canton now. Teeth and hair are firmly in place. No sign of
‘el
Bastardo
’
though. If he knows what’s good for him, he’s as far away from Clara as humanly possible.”

Sam’s eyes study my face as if he’s trying to discern the effect his story and this place are having on me. I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear and he says, “You’re always doing that, you know?”

“Doing what?” I ask, meeting his concentrated gaze.

Sam raises his right hand and reaches out to me. “Tucking your hair behind your ear when you’re feeling nervous,” he says, grasping at the silky strands and rubbing them between his thumb and pointer finger. His eyes are trained on the hair he’s trapped but I can’t tear my gaze from his. His eyes are intent, his brow knitted slightly and his breathing, though soft, has deepened.

“Why would I be nervous?” I ask, my pulse quickening.

“I’m an amateur scientist, remember? I have to observe the subject closely and record my findings.” His eyes move from my hair to my face then drift down to my mouth.

Now I’m the one that’s breathing heavy. “I had no idea I was the subject of your research. What other observations have you made?”

Sam drops the strand of hair he’s been toying with and brings his eyes back to my own. His lids are heavy and he takes a long time before answering. “Oh, my research has unveiled some very interesting findings. I know your hair smells like lavender and mint. I know you have the softest hands of anyone I’ve ever met, and I know you’re doing your best to avoid spending time with me because you’re afraid of what could happen.”

My eyes are trained on his mouth, watching the way he forms each word. “Why do you think I’m afraid?”

“My theory’s that you’ve been let down a time or two, and you’re hoping to get a better hand this time.”

“Interesting,” I say, dragging in my bottom lip. His eyes follow the movement closely. “So tonight’s kind of an experiment?”

“You could say that.”

“And what result are you looking for?”

Sam grins, slow and devious. His lips are full and soft looking, so different from the rest of him which is strong and hard. His eyes wander back to my mouth and I have to strain to hear his next words over the thudding in my ears. “I want you to dance with me.”

I blink, stupid with confusion.
Dance
with him? Surely he means I’m going to attend a dance in his pants as that’s the only dancing I’m interested in just now. “Dance with you?”

“That’s right,” he says, confident. “You and I are going to walk out back and have ourselves a dance on Clara’s old dirt dance floor.”

“Oh.” I’m spared at having to come up with something more sexy and mysterious than,
‘Oh,’
when Clara reappears at our table with two drinks in hand.

“Here you are, my beauty,” she says, handing me a glass which contains a small amount of caramel-colored liquid. “This is special whiskey. It has been aged for twenty years and just opened tonight. Please, drink. It will help to awaken the passion within you.”

Clara smiles dreamily down at me, waiting for me to take a sip and possibly to jump on the table and tear off my dress. I look across at Sam who’s taken a sip from his own glass and is staring fixedly back at me.

“Well, it’s bottoms up, I guess.” I raise the glass to my lips and take a tentative sip. The liquor is surprisingly smooth and a little sweet, and I roll it across my tongue before swallowing. The heat of the whiskey travels down my throat and I close my eyes against the sensation, waiting to feel the passion burst forth. I can’t say I want to tear my clothes off, but as the whiskey works its way into my belly I do feel…something.

Clara, who’s been studying me closely, seems satisfied. “You don’t believe, but you will see. Before the hour is done you will feel the passion building inside you. But I must warn you, this drink is very powerful. It is not wise to resist its magic.” Clara places her hand on Sam’s shoulder and gives it a little squeeze before walking back to the bar and her other unsuspecting patrons.

“Magic, huh? Seems like ordinary whiskey to me,” I say, trying hard to not give in to Sam’s magnetic pull or Clara’s lustful libations. I take another sip and reluctantly meet his eyes over my glass.

“What, you don’t believe in magic?”

The glass feels heavy in my hand and I lower it to the table, eying the remaining whiskey at the bottom. “Magic only exists in fairytales, stories where all girls are princesses and frogs actually turn into charming princes.”

“Stories where everything ends happily ever after?”

“That’s right. Happily ever after only happens in fairytales,” I murmur, wishing he’d drop the conversation. I turn away from him and watch as Clara dances slowly behind the bar, swaying her hips to a bluesy melody.

“And what about in dirty old whiskey houses, can’t magic exist in a place like this too?”

“I don’t know.” My head feels heavy and I shake it, clinging to sobriety. Maybe Clara did poison me.

Sam pushes back from the table and stands, extending his hand to me. “You might be surprised,” he says, waiting for me to accept his offer of a dance. “There may be some magic hanging around here right now. Probably best to not resist it.”

His handsome face is so confident, so open, and as much as I want to guard my heart, I can’t deny that I want him. Alright, Universe, have it your way. I’ve tried to stay away from this bad boy, Lord knows I have, but I just drank a glass full of magic whiskey and damn if I’m not going to let my passion rip. I take Sam’s hand and let him lead me out back onto the dirt and hay covered dance floor where we are the lone entertainment. Small twinkle lights are hung along the railing which encircles the dance floor. They look like low-hanging stars out here in the blackness of night.

Sam leads me to the center and folds me in close to him. He keeps hold of my hand and places his other in the high-ass position he claimed earlier. My bare feet shuffle against the natural floor as we move our bodies to the soft melody emanating from inside the bar. He leans over me and I feel his warm breath on the top of my head, tickling me. I close my eyes and just breathe in his scent. He smells like cedar and clean leather, and I can’t stop myself from burying my face in his chest.

The hand on the small of my back increases its pressure on my body. I’m pressed tightly against him, but this time I’m not looking for a way out. His heart beats steadily beneath my cheek, in concert with the rhythm we’ve struck. Sam moves us in a graceful circle around the dance floor. We’re dancing slowly but the longer he holds me, the more I feel like I’ve just run a marathon. My breathing comes out quick and shallow, and I wonder if he can feel my pulse quicken. I pull slightly away from him, hoping to lessen the distance between his lips and my own. I look up, first meeting his gaze then focusing on his mouth.

“How’s that whiskey treating you?” he asks, his voice deep and low.

When I fail to answer his question he smiles at me, well aware I’ve lost my battle against Clara’s magic. I stop the dance and drop his hand so I can place my own against his chest. He’s warm and strong and I can feel his heartbeat jump beneath his shirt. I can’t think, can’t stop myself from reaching up on tiptoe to place a fleeting kiss on that maddening dimple, that dimple which has been calling my name since I first caught sight of it at The Cavern.

As I drop back down onto flat feet, I’m overcome by disbelief. “Did I really just do that?”

“Yes, I believe you did.”

Sam pulls me back against him and uses the hand I dropped to cup my cheek. A slightly callused thumb moves across my bottom lip, pulling it down. His eyes are hooded and have become a deep green color. He releases my lip and moves his hand to the back of my hair, freeing my loose ponytail. The feel of his hand in my hair as he angles my head up and toward him makes me shiver.

“My turn,” he says.

Sam dips his head toward me, his lips catching mine in a sweet, full kiss. His body tenses and he encircles me with powerful arms. I press myself into him, standing on my toes in order to reach his mouth more fully as I greedily kiss him back. I run my hands through his thick, sandy brown hair, grabbing fistfuls. I can’t stop my body from moving against him, the whiskey magic overtaking me.

Sam’s lips are dexterous and persistent. His tongue darts out and tastes me, then seeks entrance to my mouth. I gladly oblige him and discover he tastes every bit as good as I knew he would. His hands roam across my back before moving down to lightly grab my ass and pull me more firmly to him. I can’t stop the moan that escapes my throat when I feel his excitement against my inner thigh.

The noise seems to bring him to his senses and he breaks the kiss and moves his hands back to my hips, firmly holding me in place and halting my ability to move against him. I drop back to flat feet and compel my eyes to open, to look at him, but his eyes are closed against some internal turmoil.

“Ellie, girl. You’re driving me crazy,” he says, pressing his forehead against mine.

“It’s not me. It’s the whiskey.”

Sam gives a shaky laugh and opens his eyes. “Remind me to send Clara a gift basket then.” He’s looking at me with such affection, it terrifies me.

I listen for them, my psychic alarm bells, but all I can hear is the chirping of the crickets and Sam’s heavy breathing. I can’t think clearly when he’s holding me so sweetly, and I don’t care. Right now all I want to do is sacrifice myself to Clara’s voodoo magic and let Sam James have his way with me.

I move in and steal another kiss from his compliant lips. He doesn’t close his eyes but fixes me instead with a furtive look. “What now?”

I take a breath, steeling myself. “I want to finish our dance, back at your place.”

His gaze drops again to my lips and he gives a little grunt that makes my shoeless feet curl. Grabbing my hand, he pulls me off the dirt dance floor, around the dingy bar and back to the front of the building to his bike. He removes the spare helmet from the saddlebag and steals a kiss of his own before strapping it beneath my chin. “Are you sure about this?” he asks.