the glasses on the bar, then reached past her to turn on the hula-girl lamp, his finger brushing the bare plaster breasts ever so lightly, a move she felt along her spine. Soon it might be her he touched so lightly…or not so lightly. She shivered.
To distract herself, she took a prickly pear jelly out of the snifter into which she’d emptied the Cactus Confections sack during her cleanup. Slowly, she munched the tangy treat. The golden light drenching the plaster hula girl made the bar an island of warmth in the intimate dark.
Jackson ducked behind the counter and rose with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. He twisted the lid with a fist and splashed their glasses, efficient as a bartender. He managed a bar, after all. She leaned her elbows on the glass surface, which made the hula girl bobble under her lamp shade. Her painted-on eyes seemed to wink at Heidi: You go, haole girl.
She intended to.
“Welcome to Tiki Town,” Jackson said, handing her the drink. He gave the expanse of bamboo and glass a look of possessive satisfaction. “Bought it off a roadie for Jimmy Buffett who hauled it out from Florida.”
“I’m honored to be here.”
Jackson clicked his glass against hers, the sound sharp in the middle-of-the-night quiet. “You look right at home, dressed like that.” He looked as if he wanted to swallow her whole. She wanted him, too. This felt like their own private club and it was very, very late. They surveyed each other, energy crackling like heat lightning.
“I feel like I’ve been shipwrecked on an island…and now it’s just you and me…all alone.” She spoke over the glass, which she held close to her lips. The smoky liquor made her nose and eyes sting. How could anybody drink something this poisonous on purpose? She preferred chocolate martinis or prickly pear margaritas, something that eased the bite with sweetness.
“Aloha,” he said with a wink and took a quick swallow of the booze.
She did the same, and it burned like crazy. “Mmm,” she said to cover her gasp.
He burst out with a belly laugh. “You hated that.”
“It was…startling, that’s all.”
“You don’t have to drink like me, Heidi. Go ahead, scrunch up your freckles. It’s nasty stuff.”
She wished he hadn’t mentioned freckles. They made her seem young.
He rested his elbows on the bar, leaning close enough that she could see the crinkles around his eyes, the smooth planes of his face, golden brown whiskers just emerging from his jaw.
He grabbed a jelly and handed it to her. “Wash it down.”
“I can take it. Really.” She leveled her gaze at him.
He came to attention and let the jelly fall into the jar.
“One of my goals in moving here was to have new…experiences.”
“Experiences?” His gaze drifted to her mouth and he unconsciously licked his lips.
“Yes. Like drinking whiskey in the middle of the night with a man I hardly know in a little private bar called Tiki Town.”
“I see,” he said softly, pulled into her energy, despite the resistance in his posture, the wariness of his shoulders.
“Drinking whiskey…and other new things.” She leaned closer, making the bar jiggle and rattling the bottles behind the bamboo. The hula girl’s hips swayed wildly. Heidi’s stool squealed in agony, but if she shifted back she would seem to be withdrawing. And she was pushing onward. As far as she dared.
“What did you…have in mind?” he murmured, eyes gleaming.
“Exactly what you think.” The husky quality of her voice made her sound more sure than she felt, and that was good. In this quiet moment at Jackson’s bar, she wanted to be a woman who went for what she wanted. Without hesitation, without waiting for him to make the first move…Would he make the first move? Hell, didn’t look like it.
So she grabbed the soft fabric of his T-shirt, tugged him closer and said, “This,” before she closed her eyes and pressed her lips to his.
He froze. Shocked, no doubt. He tasted of liquor and toothpaste and his lips were strong, but soft. She pushed the tip of her tongue the tiniest way out, offering it.
He didn’t move, didn’t reach for her, didn’t meet her tongue, but she felt him start to tremble. At least that. He was holding back, so she’d show him she meant business.
She tilted her head and kissed harder, pushing up from the stool so she stood on the rung, letting him know she wanted more.
Abruptly, her lips were ripped from his and her feet slammed to the floor. The stool rung had given out beneath her heel.
Jackson grabbed her upper arms to steady her. Her stool thudded to the carpet behind her. “Those chairs are kind of rickety.”
So were her legs. And her ego. Her sexy move had practically become a pratfall.
“You don’t want this,” he said, low. His steady gaze still held heat and at least he wasn’t laughing.
“Yes, I do.”
“You’ve been drinking.”
“One swallow.”
“Your life’s up in the air. You’re confused.”
“Not about my…um…needs.” Flames of mortification washed over her. The hula girl, rocking wildly, now seemed to be jeering. You screw up big-time, haole girl.
“You don’t want me,” Jackson said.
Yes, I do. She opened her mouth to say that, except her gaze caught on the picture on the wall beside his head—Marilyn Monroe in velvet with full, lovely breasts. To her left, the hula dancer’s endowments jiggled. To her right, a hugely be-knockered model in a bikini smiled from a sports-car hood. Jackson was a breast man. She wasn’t want he wanted. The realization stung her cheeks the way the Jack Daniel’s had her throat.
“But it is late,” she said, pretending to sigh. “And I’m probably overtired.”
“You’ve been through a lot.”
“True.” She bent to upright the stool, then took a backward step. “Thanks for the drink.” She’d left the full glass on the bar. “Good night. Sorry about the head injury.” She turned and moved off, just wanting away from her humiliation.
“Can I cut you a piece of pie?” Jackson called to her, trying to make up.
“No thanks,” she called over her shoulder.
Hightailing it to her room, she flopped onto the bed, glowing in the dark, she’d bet, from the embarrassment. If only she could take back the last five minutes. She could still taste the sting of the liquor in her throat, feel the burn of Jackson’s turndown on her cheeks. Restless, she glanced at the clock. In the middle of a pink breast, the LED display said 3:30. Breasts to the left of her, breasts to the right of her, breasts all around her. What was the deal with breasts? She felt the urge to throw the clock against the wall, but instead she shoved the thing under the bed so it couldn’t mock her.
She would use her phone as her alarm. Speaking of which, she’d have to buy a charger if she wanted to keep phone service until she’d established an address with a land line. She’d need money to pay the bill, too. Despair threatened. She’d have to ask Jackson for a cash advance.
If she could even face the man after he’d rejected her. It didn’t seem possible, but somehow she’d made things worse.
AS SOON AS HEIDI left the room, Jackson sagged against the bar, making the thing rock like a shack in a hurricane. He felt as though he’d just survived one—or maybe an electrical storm and his hair was still standing on end. What a mouth she had. Soft and sweet and wholesome as the peach pie she’d made him. He’d wanted to sink into that kiss, savor those