Trouble at the Treble T Page 7
So where was the woman for him? At forty, surely he should have found her. Instead he was a single man in the coupled-up crowd of his friends. With no change in that status in the foreseeable future. When people asked him why he wasn’t married yet he wished he had some other answer to give them other than he hadn’t yet met the right woman.
But that was a big part of it. His friends told him he was too picky. Had expectations that were too high. That there were plenty of women right under his nose who were perfectly acceptable.
Trouble was, he didn’t want an ‘acceptable’ woman. He wanted one who would make his friends look at him with envy. One who would validate him as a babe magnet, something he’d never been able to lay claim to.
Looking around, he realised he was one of the few people left in Eli’s. Well, it was a week night. He supposed he should be grateful his friends had made the time to celebrate with him, however briefly. But a wave of loneliness swamped him as he hitched himself on to a bar stool and signalled the bartender for a refill.
“What’d you do to chase the crowd away?” the man asked, putting a fresh glass of bourbon on the rocks in front of him.
“Must be my charming personality.” He tried to keep the resentful tone out of his voice.
“Don’t sweat it, buddy. It’s a week night. Eli’s usually clears out pretty early during the week.” He studied Jack with a bartender’s experienced eyes. “So how come you don’t have some arm candy hanging on you? You’re not a bad-looking guy, you know.”
Jack couldn’t help chuckling. “You’re really handy with the compliments, aren’t you?”
The bartender shrugged. “Just making conversation.”
“Well, put a cork in it and fix me another drink.”
Jack swivelled his head at the sound of a new voice. Then he blinked. He must have been hallucinating because the little pixie who’d hitched herself on to the bar stool next to him looked like something straight out of a funky fairy tale. Short ebony hair stood up in what he supposed were fashionable spikes but just looked to him as if she’d spent the day running her fingers through it. Her eyes were heavily made up but somewhere along the way she’d forgotten about lipstick.
A sweater in a weird shade of green clung to her in a way that drew his eyes to her nicely-rounded breasts while skin-tight jeans hugged the rest of her body, revealing plump curves. Her feet were shod in boots with stiletto heels and a dozen silver bracelets jingled on one arm. And the entire package couldn’t have been over five feet.
She was so far away from the willowy sophisticated blonde of his dreams they weren’t even on the same planet.
The pixie stared at him with a penetrating gaze. “It’s after five o’clock. Don’t you ever take off your tie?”
Her voice reminded him of a magic flute and he found himself staring back at her.
“Leave him alone, Darcy,” the bartender said, pouring ingredients into a blender. “It’s his birthday.”
“That right, Hank?” She made a show of looking around the tavern. “Oh, yeah, I see he’s celebrating with all his friends.”
“They left to go home,” he told her in a tight voice then ground his teeth at his stupidity for offering any kind of excuse. It was none of her business.
“Well.” She crossed one leg over the other, swinging her foot. “They all leave, anyway.”
Jack frowned and leaned a little closer to her. Big mistake. Some indefinable scent teased at his nose and surged through his body, tightening his balls and making his cock swell. Great, just great. What kind of idiot got a hard-on from a pixie?
He frowned and shifted slightly away from her. “Is that some kind of Zen saying?”
“No, it’s a Darcy saying.” She leaned on the bar. “Hey, Hank. You fall asleep making my drink?”
“Coming right up, babe.” He placed a wide-mouth glass rimmed in salt and filled with slush in front of her. “Margarita, just the way you like it.”
She picked up the glass and took a healthy sip of the frozen liquid.
“Rough day?” Hank asked.
“You have no idea.” She took another swallow then licked some of the salt from the rim. “Absolutely no idea at all.”
“Bad day at pixie school?” Jack couldn’t help himself. The comment just popped out.
Beside him Darcy tensed, set her glass down carefully on the bar and turned to look at him. “That’s some smart mouth you have there. Probably why you’re celebrating your birthday all by yourself.”
Jack mentally kicked himself. “Sorry. I’m just not in the greatest mood tonight.”
“So I gathered.” With a studied, deliberate movement she picked up her drink again.
Jack swallowed what was left in his glass and waved at Hank.
The bartender looked at the glass and at Jack. “You driving home, buddy?”
Jack nodded. “But I’m good to go. Promise.”
“You drinking to relax?” Darcy asked. “Maybe if you took off that jacket and tie it would help. You look like Mr Uptight trying to have a good time.”
Anger built inside him. What the hell business was it of hers the way he dressed? Anyway, he was a businessman, wearing business clothes.
“Maybe if you dressed like an adult you wouldn’t have had such a rough day,” he snapped back at her.
A red flush crept slowly up her cheeks. “And you’re the expert on that, right?”
Rather than answer her he asked his own question. “What do you do, anyway?”
She lifted her chin. “I’m a technical assistant with a television production company.”
Jack couldn’t help himself. He burst out laughing. “You? A technical assistant? On television production?”
“We do a lot of political ads, among other things,” she told him in a haughty tone. “And they’re all tight-asses like you. A real pain.”
He did his best to get himself under control. He could picture her hanging stars from trees or sprinkling fairy dust on people, but something technical? He swallowed the laughter still pressing up in his throat.
“It just so happens I do some volunteer work for political candidates,” he told her.
“Well. That fits.” She let her gaze travel the length of him. “You look just like those uptight jerks we do video for.”
Irritation simmered just beneath the surface. Who the hell was this idiot to criticise him like that?
“Listen.” He put his hand on her arm.
Oh god. Big mistake.
Electricity shot through him with the force of a thunderbolt. He jerked his hand back as if someone had set fire to it. When he looked at Darcy she had a strange expression on her face but something hot lurked in her eyes.
Jesus. Did she feel it, too? What the fuck?
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About the Author
I always wanted adventure and change in my life, and I certainly got it. I grew up in Maine, a beautiful place to live, then lived in the Midwest and Florida. Now I make my home in the Hill Country of Texas, truly God's chosen place on earth. My husband, David, was a sixth-generation Texan, tracing his roots here back to the time when Texas was a Republic, so retiring here was a dream we finally fulfilled.
I've had a lot of firsts in my life—first female sports reporter on The Michigan Daily at the University of Michigan; first woman to own a rock and roll agency in Detroit, the home of Motown; first woman president of the Pasco (Florida) Economic Development Council.
I graduated from the University of Michigan with a double major in English and History, and a minor in Economics, and went on to have at least four careers. When my children were small, I satisfied my need for writing by working for weekly newspapers. I had a wild and wacky time managing rock and roll bands. I joined the insanity of retail with a string of shoe stores. I worked in fundraising, public affairs and community relations. But writing fiction was always my dream. I had a lot of stops and starts, but it wasn't until we retired that I could devote myself to it full time.
My wonderful husband, David, encouraged me and supported me in my dream and you’ll find a little of him in all my heroes. Our children are all grown and on their own, and are my biggest fans.
When I'm not writing I'm an avid reader—anything and everything—and watching football, especially my beloved Michigan Wolverines. David and I golf and target shoot, and of course enjoy life in the gorgeous Texas Hill Country, where most of my stories are based.
I am a member of Romance Writers of America, and San Antonio Romance Authors, Diamond State Romance Authors, and Passionate Ink chapter of RWA.
Email: desireeholt@desireeholt.com
Desiree loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.total-e-bound.com.
Also by Desiree Holt
Crude Oil
Beg Me
Afternoon Delight
Down and Dirty
All Jacked Up
The Sentinels: The Edge of Morning
The Sentinels: Night Moves
The Sentinels: Dark Stranger
The Sentinels: Animal Instinct
The Sentinels: Mated
The Sentinels: Silent Hunters
Wet Dreams and Fantasies: Interlude
Wet Dreams and Fantasies: Intermission
Wet Dreams and Fantasies: Game On
Cats Eyes: Pretty Kitty
Brit Party: Four Play
Heatwave: Summer Spice
Night of the Senses: Carnal Caresses
Caught in the Middle: Swingtime
Threefold: Party of Three
Feral: Black Cat Fever
Christmas Goes Camo: Melting the Ice
Treble: Trouble at the Treble
Subspace: Head Games
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