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Is that Belle? Benjamin Starwell jolted upright in his chair, his heart hammering as he stared out the restaurant window. His sexy as sin one-night stand, Belle Hamlin, parked her modern lime-green bug under a streetlight, pulled her drab peacoat around her, and hustled down the sidewalk. After she entered a building across the street, he blew out a long breath. Did the universe hate him—dangling what he gave up right in front of him while Sandy jabbered on?
“Can you believe that?” Sandy flipped her long blonde hair over her shoulder. “The bitch double-booked my appointment and made me wait half an hour before she did my nails.”
He forced a smile as his date flicked her fingers, showing off the tacky rhinestones glued on the tips of her gleaming red claws. How much more of her bullshit could he stand? The sound of clanking dishes, customer chatter, and instrumental music drowned out her complaints as he peered back outside. What was Belle doing—meeting a guy? Why had he been so stupid?
“Benji, answer me.”
“Sorry, Belle. What did you say?” He whipped his gaze back to the woman across from him at the table. Instead of seeing the sassy brunette he hungered to touch, his scowling date crossed her arms over her chest, which pushed up her already impressive cleavage in her low-cut dress. Aw, shit. Had he lost a few brain cells? “Sandy, I—”
“Who’s Belle?”
He licked his dry lips. Better take the opportunity before he lost it. “I’ve had fun with you over the past few weeks, but oil and water are more compatible than we are. We shouldn’t see each other again.”
She leaned back, her mouth agape. “You’re breaking up with me?” A whip sharpened her voice. Red flared in her cheeks. She grabbed her glass and tossed her drink on him.
“Are you crazy?” He jumped up and lifted his arms. The scent of raspberries washed over him as red wine dripped down his black suit. His wet dress shirt and undershirt clung to him, the cold liquid prickling his skin. The heat rising in his cheeks silenced the harsh words on his tongue. No way would he make this worse.
“Good luck, Ben. I hope your precious Belle gives you warts and your dick falls off.”
He arched his eyebrow. Oh yeah, they were over. For damn sure.
Sandy set down the glass, grabbed her parka and purse, and sashayed out of the restaurant.
He moaned. That ass was killer, but he’d lose his mind if he had to suffer her prattling on for another minute. Muffled laughter pierced his ears. Great. An audience. Patrons and waiters stared at him with wide eyes and gaping mouths, souring the food in his stomach. The snickering twenty-something-year-old couple in the back of the crowded dining room begged him to lecture them about showing respect. He cringed. When had he grown so old—or rather, mature?
With a napkin, he blotted his wet clothes and ruined the fancy cloth. He yanked his wallet from his pants pocket as the blushing waiter approached with the check.
“Thanks.” After he handed several bills to the other man, Benji shrugged into his bulky duffel coat and dashed toward the exit. The stares followed and prickled the hair on his nape. His pulse raced as he pushed open the double glass doors. Yes! Freedom. Frigid air engulfed him, cooling his cheeks and shooting a chill down his spine. He puffed out streams of white.
Moonlight sliced through January snow clouds and gleamed off the vehicles and old brick buildings as though to highlight his escape, but no way did he want to flee the inner-city suburb of Denver, Colorado.
Belle was here.
Once the traffic cleared, he jogged across the road to find her. His feet slipped and kicked up from a patch of ice. Shit! His heart lurched. He grabbed a frozen metal signpost and spread his legs to steady himself. The breeze tousled his hair and raked goosebumps across his flesh.
Careful, man. You break your leg, you’re screwed.
At least someone had cleared the sidewalk and pushed mounds of blackened snow against the buildings. No worries about falling there—he hoped. He strode more carefully to a British pub that was probably Americanized out the ass and pushed open the door. Ah, hell. Heat blasted him. Customer chatter echoed like white noise as some new wave song he’d never heard before blared from the stereo. The scent of alcohol and fried food filled his nostrils. This was so much better than that snooty restaurant. Men drank at the bar that ran the length of the right-side wall, and a few people played darts in the back. Maybe he’d challenge Belle to a game?
As the waitress delivered food to a booth on the opposite wall—Belle’s booth—he claimed a barstool. What was he? Chicken? He scowled at his reflection in the mirror that stretched behind a row of high-end booze. Did that red nose and disheveled auburn hair belong to him? Damned wind. He rubbed his face and watched Belle’s reflection in the mirror.
She sipped her drink and popped a few thick-wedged fries into her mouth.
“What’ll it be?” The short, beefy barman wiped his hands on his apron. A Cockney accent rolled off his tongue.
“A pint of your best stout, please.”
The barman poured the drink from the tap and set it on the counter with a light thud.
Benji paid and gulped the dark, heavy-bodied ale. The rich liquid tingled his taste buds and cascaded down his throat like ambrosia. The scent of hops teased him as the foam tickled his upper lip.
“Uppity little chit. Thinkin’ she’s better than us.”
The gruff voice drifted from Benji’s left. He stiffened as two young men leaned against the bar.
“What a bitch.” The blond guy folded his arms.
“American birds are supposed to be easy, likin’ our accents and all.” The pimple-faced brunet swigged his ale. “Might as well go home if they’re all like her.”
Benji shifted and followed their line of sight to Belle. The fools. She’d eat them alive. He wiped his sweaty palms on his slacks and turned back to the mirror.
Fuck. Belle was hot. Her dark-brown hair brushed her shoulders—short enough to match her sassy mouth but long enough for him to fist.
She rubbed her stomach and dabbed a napkin under her eyes.
His gut tightened. Was she crying? What did those jerks do? He turned to glare at her unwanted admirers, but they’d joined a group of people at the bar and no longer paid attention to Belle. Gripping his mug, he wove around the small tables that cluttered the space between the bar and booths. He leaned against the wooden privacy post that separated Belle’s booth from the adjacent one and cleared his throat.
“Not interested, buddy. Back off.” Her abrupt tone snapped harsher than her words. She munched on a fry and stared at the food.
“People come to pubs to mingle and drink, Belle. Not just for the grub.”
“What?” She jerked her head up and blinked several times. Her puffy eyes widened. “Benji? What are you doing here?”
He lifted the pint. “Mind if I sit?”
She shook her head and patted the corner of her eyes, smoothing out the tear-smudged eyeliner. A flush rose in her cheeks.
He slid onto the worn, cushioned bench seat across from her and set his drink on the table. Her gray turtleneck sweater hung loose, concealing the curves he longed to lick. Beside her lay her coat, beanie, and scarf in a haphazard heap.
“It’s pretty good, huh?” She nodded toward his beverage.
“Yeah. I don’t drink it often, but when in Rome.” He trailed his fingertip over the glass’s rim. Her gaze followed his movement. “Wanna try it?”
Belle snatched the glass and sniffed the liquid. A low moan escaped her lips, but she pushed the drink back across the table.
“I could order you something. You like vodka tonics, right?”
She’d had three of them the night they fell into bed together.
“Thanks, but I shouldn’t drink. These hamburgers are to die for, though.” She picked up the thick burger and bit off a chunk too large for her mouth. Her jaw worked overtime. “You gonna eat?”
If only she’d work that mouth on me. His cock hardened to the point of pain. He shifted his legs, relieving the pressure in his groin. “Nah, not hungry.”
Belle licked a spot of mustard from the corner of her mouth. “Why are you here?”
“To drink.”
“No. Here with me? I didn’t expect to see you again.”
He’d met Belle about three months earlier while having dinner with his friends and family. She kept stealing his attention as she performed onstage, so his gal pal Mia pushed him into Belle’s limelight. The women were best friends. He’d bought Belle a few drinks, and their playful banter led to a night of amazing sex.
Benji bit his tongue. How could he explain? Would she accept an apology?
“Of course, we’d see each other again.” He scratched his cheek. “Your friend and mine are engaged. We would’ve run into each other at Mason and Mia’s wedding.”
God. What had he been thinking? He never should’ve touched Belle. They roamed in the same circle of friends, for fuck’s sake. But really. It wasn’t his fault. How could any hot-blooded man resist her charm and in-your-face attitude?
“Right.” Belle sipped water from her glass. “Who knows when Mia and Mason will tie the knot. They’ve been together for several months but act like it’s been years.”
Benji snagged a fry from her plate and ignored her arched eyebrow. The grease-coated potato slid down his throat easier than the rubbery gourmet chicken he’d eaten for dinner. He took off his coat and popped another fry into his mouth.
She laughed. “What happened to your shirt?”
He grimaced at the stains. “I forgot about that.”
“Ooh, I doubt it will come out.” Belle dipped the tip of her napkin in her water glass, leaned over the table, and dabbed at his formerly white shirt. “Vinegar and club soda might work for a small stain, but this will require bleach. Even then, the shirt will probably end up faded. It’s wine, right?”
“Yeah.” He straightened his dinner jacket across his chest, trying to hide the largest blot.
She settled back and nibbled on her lip.
He wanted to nibble the succulent pink flesh for her, but the last thing he needed was more liquid soaking his clothes and sticking to his skin. At least she was drinking water. “I—um—all right, I’ll be honest. I’ve been casually seeing a woman for a few weeks, but I ended things with her at the French place across the street. She tossed her drink on me.”
“Wow. She got dinner from you. Good for her.”
The cheap shot stabbed him in the gut. “About that. Us, I mean. I’m sorry I acted like an idiot. I never should’ve skipped out on you.” He grasped her hand and thumbed her knuckles in a soft caress.
She pulled back from him and hid her hands under the table. “Most men are jackasses—that’s not breaking news. You just drove the fact home.”
He flinched. “You have no reason to trust me, but do you wanna talk about something? Did those guys at the bar upset you?” He nodded toward her drunk, laughing admirers.
Belle peeked around the booth. “Oh, them?” She smiled back at Benji. “No, I’m fine. I can handle arrogant jerks.”
“You were on the verge of tears when I came over.”
Her forehead creased. “Bull. I had an eyelash stuck in my eye. You know what an eyelash is, right? It hurts like a bitch when it’s trying to blind you.”
Benji drew back. Damn. That brave face was always front and center. He normally steered clear of hurt, angry women, but he wanted Belle naked again. If only he’d patched up her broken heart months earlier. He scoffed. Men like him broke hearts. They didn’t fix them.
I really am a jackass. He sighed heavily as two leather-clad bikers strode into the pub. “Do you come here often? The clientele seems rough.” He reached for another fry.
She smacked his hand. “Keep your paws off unless you wanna fork over some cash.”
He grinned and held up his hands, palms out.
“I stop in every few weeks.” She popped another fry into her mouth. “The people are friendly, and the food is authentic. You should try their shepherd’s pie. Yum. Sometimes I go to shady bars and pubs, but I’m always careful.”
“You shouldn’t go to dangerous places. Anything could happen.”
“I’m a musician. I travel all over Denver and across the state for paying gigs. Bars, lounges, the stage over there”—she nodded toward the small two-foot-high platform in front of the bank of tinted windows—“and I usually go alone. When my friends join me, we make a night of it and stay for hours.”
“God, Belle. You need to take care of yourself first and make money second. Don’t you work for some insurance company?”
“Yeah, but Tintz is my day job. Not my dream.”
“If I ever have to visit you in the hospital, I’ll spank your cute little ass once the doctor releases you.”
Her eyebrow lifted straight to her hairline. “You’ll spank me, huh? I might enjoy that.”
Benji tunneled his hand through his shaggy, chin-length hair, but the flirty smile on her lips calmed his nerves. Mason probably freaked out whenever Mia set foot in a rough-and-tumble bar, and Benji would be damned if he let his woman get away with that shit.
“It’s kinda late. Are you performing?” He glanced at his wristwatch—half-past eight—and scanned the mostly male crowd. “Your man-bashing songs won’t go over well.”
She smirked. “No, but it would be awesome to rock out and see all these men’s mouths drop to the floor. It’s my birthday, so I wanted to treat myself. Mia, Chanel, and Shea—you met Chanel and Shea a few months back—plan to throw me a party this weekend.”
“Yeah, I remember them.” He’d met her friends the same night he met Belle, but neither of those beautiful ladies bewitched him as Belle had. “Happy birthday. How old are you?”
“Bad move. Never ask a woman that.”
“C’mon. Tell me, or I’ll sing the birthday song.”
She tapped her fingers on the tabletop. After a glance around the dining area, she leaned over and whispered, “It’s the big 2-9. I feel so old.”
He laughed as she plopped back in the seat. “Wait until you’re my age.”
“Oh? Do tell.”
Her wide chocolate-brown eyes dazzled. Or was that from the overhead light? “I’m thirty-five, and the downhill progression continues in April.”
“Downhill, huh? We’re both crazy. When we’re eighty, we’ll look back and call ourselves fools for complaining now.”
“Definitely.”
The waitress returned. “How about dessert, luv?”
“No, thanks. I’m good.” Belle dug inside her purse as the other woman ripped the check from her pad.
“I’ll take that.” He grabbed the slip and pulled several bills from his wallet. “Keep the change, ma’am.”
Her tired smile bloomed into a genuine grin. She winked at Belle and left.
“You shouldn’t have done that, Benji.”
He reached over and placed his finger on her petal-soft lips. “It’s not right if the birthday girl pays for her own dinner.” He pulled back before he could stroke her cheek.
“You’re a piece of work.” Belle bit her lip, right where he touched her. Her eyes watered again. She crumpled her napkin and sighed. “I’m sorry. Thanks for paying. You can have some fries now.” Although she pushed the plate to the middle of the table, she grabbed the half-eaten burger and hunkered over it.
“Don’t worry. I won’t steal your burger.” He chuckled and helped Belle finish the fries before he downed the stout.
She chased the last of her burger with her water. “Well, I should head home. Gotta work tomorrow.” She stuffed on her beanie and slid from the seat.
Oh, baby. Her plump ass beat Sandy’s, hands down, especially in those low-rise jeans. Once they donned their coats, they left the pub for the biting wind sweeping down the street. His nose stung from the cold. “I’d like to see you again. Do you have plans this Saturday?”
“Maybe. I don’t know when the girls will throw the party, but it’ll probably be Sunday.”
“Good. I’ll pick you up at your apartment. Let’s say, six o’clock? You still live in East Colfax, right?”
“That’s some way to ask me out on a date—you don’t give me a choice in the matter.” She wrapped the scarf around her neck and pulled a set of keys from her purse. “I enjoyed our talk, but I won’t sleep with you again.”
“No, Belle. I want to get to know you. I—”
“Save it.” She placed two fingers on his mouth.
How could he miss the significance of her two compared to his one?
“We have the same friends, so I’m sure we’ll see each other again, as you said. Maybe we could’ve had something special a few months ago, but I’ve changed. It’s too late.”
His throat tightened. “I understand.” Not. He grasped her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Good night, Belle. Happy birthday again. Drive safe. If you want, I’ll hook you up with some snow chains. You can find directions to my garage online.”
“I know where it’s at,” she snapped, drawing back.
What was that about? Pressure tightened in his shoulders. “Anyway, the roads are slick. Watch out for black ice.” He longed to kiss her, so he pivoted and headed down the sidewalk for his truck instead. He better figure out a game plan to win her back, or was she already too far out of reach?