His Secret Agenda

Humor lit his eyes even as they darkened with desire.

And she knew that his desire was real—even while she suspected it was as unwanted for him as it was for her.

Then he kissed her again. He kissed like he’d done everything else so far this evening. Slow. Easy. And with great skill. As if he had all the time in the world to learn the texture of her lips, the taste of her, the way she fit against his body. His tongue swept across the seam of her lips. But not even the rasp of his tongue against hers could break the spell he’d put her under.

She groaned and pressed her breasts against the solid planes of his chest.

He wrapped one arm around her waist and lifted her so that her high heels came off the floor. He slid his other hand into the hair at the nape of her neck, his fingers loosening the knot she’d tied it in as he massaged her scalp, tilted her head and deepened the kiss.

Dear Lord, she hadn’t realized one simple kiss could be so…dangerous. To her peace of mind. Her sense of what she could and could not control.

And most importantly, to her willpower.

Then, as if a switch had been flipped, the danger passed. Though he still held her flush against him, she had the sensation of him pulling away. While she would’ve sworn his earlier kisses had been driven by passion, the touch of his lips on hers now felt…deliberate. Practiced.

Contrived.

She pulled back, breathing hard—definitely harder than a fully clothed, vertical kiss warranted. Allie frowned.

Dean stepped away. His jaw was tight and his chest rose and fell with his own heavy breathing. And while she told herself she was being ridiculous, that like always, she was reading way too much into things, she couldn’t help but think there had been something real and honest about what had happened between them when they’d first kissed.

She swallowed and tucked her trembling hands behind her back. “Well, I guess that’s it for now.”

He nodded. “We could always move our agreement back a few more minutes,” he said, his tone serious.

Despite the fact that there was nothing funny about this situation, she laughed. At herself for being such a complete fool. Because even though her instincts were screaming at her not to trust this man, she was tempted to step back into his arms. “I think we’d better stick to our original agreement,” she said.

“You’re right.” He put his jacket on. “When do you want me to start?”

“Tuesday. Your regular shift will start at seven, but I’d rather you come in around six so we can get all your paperwork filled out.” She tossed the cleaning rags into the small laundry basket she kept stashed under the bar. “You’ll get two fifteen-minute breaks and a half-hour lunch break. All employees get one meal on the house—”

“Free food?”

Funny how her male employees always perked up at that. “Yes, but there are two conditions. One, you eat what’s on the menu for that night. There are no special orders.”

He nodded solemnly. “Wouldn’t want anyone to think this was a restaurant.”

What a smart-ass. “It’s a restaurant for paying customers, but even for them I have a limited menu. While I enjoy cooking and am glad we can offer lunch and dinners, The Summit is first and foremost a bar.”

Or at least, that’s what Kelsey kept reminding her.

“What’s the second condition?” he asked.

“No complaining about the food. If you don’t like my cooking, don’t eat it. Bring a bagged lunch or go hungry. I don’t care.”

“I hadn’t realized chefs were so sensitive.”

Her face heated and she turned toward the stock in front of the large mirror. “I’m not sensitive,” she muttered, rotating bottles so all the labels faced out. “But it’s embarrassing to me—not to mention bad for my business—when an employee has pizza delivered, in front of the Friday night dinner crowd, because she thinks my beer-battered fried fish stinks.”

He made a choking sound, as if trying to hold back a laugh, but when she glanced at him, his expression was neutral. “I never complain about a free meal. And speaking of meals, since The Summit’s not open on Sunday, do you have any recommendations for a good place to eat in town?”

“You don’t cook?”

“I can get by. But the motel I’m staying at doesn’t even have a minifridge, so I’m limited to takeout until I can find a place to rent. I’ll be glad for any opinions you have on the local real estate market, too.”

“There are usually a few apartments listed in The Gazette,” she said. Something kept her from mentioning the newly renovated two-bedroom apartment upstairs. “I’m sure you’ll be able to find something decent before too long.”

Kelsey had been after Allie for months to rent the space, but she didn’t want the burden of being a landlord. And since The Summit’s income was more than enough for her to live on, Kelsey didn’t push the issue.

And who knew? If Dean stuck around long enough, they could always discuss his becoming her first tenant later.

“The Pineview has a terrific Sunday brunch,” Allie continued, “but they close at three. If you’re looking for a good lunch, you can’t go wrong with Sweet Suggestions, the bakery on Main Street. Nina’s food is great and reasonably priced. Other than that, I’m afraid your choices are limited to pizza or burgers.” She didn’t miss his quick grimace. “Is that a problem?”

“No. But eating pizza twice a day for three days in a row makes a man appreciate a home-cooked meal.” He glanced at his watch. “If you’re finished, I’ll walk you to your car.”

She blinked at the unexpected offer. “Oh. That would be great. Let me put the cash away and get my things.”

She took the drawer out of the cash register and went down the hall to her office. Tucking the money in her small safe, she locked it before slipping into her coat and picking up her gloves and purse. After checking to make sure the rear door was locked, she hurried back to the bar. Not that Dean seemed in any rush. He was leaning against the wall by the front door, one ankle crossed over the other, his hands in his pockets.

She grabbed her cell phone and stuck it in her coat pocket. “All set,” she told him, zipping her coat.

He held the door open for her and they stepped outside into the cold night air. The wind blew her hair into her face as she locked the door. Shivering, she pulled on her gloves.

He flipped up the collar on his coat and hunched his shoulders. “You shouldn’t park so far from the building,” he said, nodding toward her red SUV at the other end of the snow-covered lot. “Especially since you leave work so late.”

“You sound like Jack again.” She carefully stepped off the sidewalk, not the least bit surprised when he took her arm so she wouldn’t slip. One thing she did trust about Dean Garret—his manners were the real deal. “I usually do, but when I got to work, the guy who takes care of the parking lot for me was plowing, so I had to stay out of his way.”

They kept their heads down as they slowly made their way. While her high-heeled boots were stylish, they weren’t exactly practical. But Dean, God bless him, didn’t comment or try to hurry her along. He just matched his pace to hers.

The wind blew swirls of snow, like little white tornadoes, around them. She stole a glance at Dean’s strong profile. There was no doubt about it. He was one sexy cowboy. He was also, she reminded herself, new in town. He didn’t have any friends and was staying in a half-rate motel that didn’t even have a minifridge. And really, after the way he’d helped her out by pitching in behind the bar, the least she could do was make sure he had a hot meal.

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