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“I need two Buds—draft—and a bottle of Rock.”
Kyle reached for two glasses and pulled the tap. “How’d your exam go today?”
“Good. It was hard. There were a lot of essays.”
“You probably got an A.” He placed the beers on her tray.
“I’d settle for a B.”
It was Friday. Jimbo’s was busier than normal and as soon as she dropped off one order, she was given another. By nine, her feet were aching and she wanted her bed.
“Hey Annalise, settle a bet for us?”
Tucking her tray under her arm, she went over to see what Gus and the boys were debating tonight. “What is it now?” They loved to argue over the most trivial nonsense.
“Sweetheart, will you please explain to my friend here what makes a Boilermaker. I got ten bucks saying there ain’t no vodka involved.”
“I thought boilermakers were made of bullshit and brawn,” she teased, knowing several men belonged to the local boilermaker’s union.
“Ha, ha. The drink, missy.”
She gave a cheeky smile. “We serve them with a shot of whiskey and a beer.”
“Hah!” Gus shouted as he grabbed the ten-dollar bill from Bruce.
“Do I get a cut for being your lifeline?”
Bruce laughed. “I think you should get all of it, but Gus is too cheap.”
The barb worked, and Gus tucked the tip into her apron pocket. “There you go, missy. How about another round?”
“Coming right up.”
Her ass was dragging after a week of late nights, early mornings and too many finals. Once she grabbed Gus and Bruce their refills, she stashed her tray on the bar.
“I’m gonna run next door and grab a cappuccino,” she told Kyle. “You want anything?”
“Can you grab me a Powerade?”
“On it.”
Stepping out of the smoky bar, she breathed in the warm air catching the scent of oncoming rain. The moment she stepped inside the convenience store two doors down from Jimbo’s, thunder cracked and the skies opened.
* * * *
As soon as the sun set, Adam set out on his hunt again. He’d been at it for hours, sure she was close but unsure where she hid. Too many people and emotions clouded his senses. He needed to feed. He wanted to give up but couldn’t walk away. It seemed hopeless—
Adam’s head snapped up as something tugged at his conscience. Rain muffled his hearing as it pelted his hat and masked the air. Breathing deep, reaching through the scent of damp leaves and wet earth, he scented the fragile trace of honeysuckle and his legs were moving.
Bursting from the woods, he entered an industrial complex. Without the shelter of the trees, his clothes were immediately drenched. He sniffed, his mind and instincts tracking her like a compass. He bolted toward a busy intersection, wove through a cluster of automobiles idling at a traffic light, and ignored the honking horns, as he sprinted to a small alcove.
Where to now? He paused, his focus trying to veil the surrounding emotions of strangers as he sent out a mental probe, seeking any recognizable sign of her.
He burst into dead run, hurtling his body over the median of a busy road and moving too fast for anyone to see. He could smell her damp hair, hear her timid heartbeat. His body throbbed as the distant “thank you” of her voice carried.
The dank waft of smoke and the sound of music then she was gone. Where? Her scent disappeared.
Up ahead he spotted a small strip of stores with an overhang. Shaking off his drenched clothes, he regrouped in front of what was obviously a coffee shop. A glowing green sign hummed two doors down where music played from within the walls.
He could smell the distinct, crisp burst of tobacco smoke. And men. There were several men behind those brick walls. And if he breathed deep enough... Honeysuckle.
The electric green sign read Jimbo’s. Who was Jimbo? Did he have something to do with his mate? Was he a threat?
His heart hammered against the muscle of his chest. Visions assaulted his mind as several dreams from the past week pushed to the forefront of his mind, all vying for his attention at once, blinding him to the present. Laughter. Singing. Making love.
Hunger ripped through him with a ravenous need to feed, but he didn’t want just anything. He wanted her. And she was on the other side of this door.
His ears zeroed in on her pulse, memorizing the soft chug of her blood pumping through her delicate veins. So fragile. So petite. He could easily steal her away.
His. She was his, belonging only to him. The relief of salvation stole his breath and left him dizzy, in a state of drunken euphoria. Tonight, his worry would end, and he could return home by morning.
His grandfather was right. It was so simple. He could feel how well she’d complement his soul without even looking at her. They were part of the same whole. So incredibly perfect, it could only be by God’s design that they found each other. She was his.
His nostrils flared and his pupils dilated with a jolt of excitement. God help him, he wanted her. His palm slapped against the damp brick as he tried to find his bearings. He couldn’t go to her like this. He needed to make a calm entrance, approach her gently, and then whisk her away.
His fangs punched through his gums. His body hardened like granite, every muscle taut and wired from the chase. As his pulse skittered with hungry anticipation his insides seemed to purr.
Cupping a hand over his jaw, he forced his fangs to retract. He rolled his shoulders and stood straight, blinking his eyes until his vision settled. Calm. He needed to be calm.
Once he found his composure, he pushed through the entrance into the stale air of a dimly lit tavern. He scanned the numerous faces, all male, but saw no sign of his female.
Music played from a machine in the corner. Sliding off his hat, his nose twitched. Honeysuckle.
Turning toward the bar, his breath hitched as she disappeared through a doorway. His heart vaulted in his chest, punching him in the back of the throat and he staggered back a step.
She was stunning, slight but curvy. The delicate peaks of her breasts pressed against the damp fabric of her shirt as she twisted to tie an apron around her hips. Her legs...
He frowned. She was barely dressed.
“It’s pouring.” Her voice cut through him and his knees wobbled. It was her.
He staggered to the closest table, every instinct he possessed demanded he claim her now, but her beauty disarmed him like an opiate. He could hardly remember his name, let alone how to walk. He needed to get ahold of himself.
He slid into the booth and stared as she lifted a tray. Did she work here?
His body thrummed with pulsing need as his eyes followed across the bar. The other men didn’t seem to see her. Except the one behind the bar. He watched her and Adam watched him, a feral growl forming in his throat as he fought back the urge to rip the man’s throat open with his teeth.
“What can I getcha?”
His attention jerked from the bartender to her face. Her scent overpowered everything else, stealing into him and rendering him speechless. Heady. Intoxicating.
“You need a minute to decide?”
The decision was made. She belonged to him and here she was. He only needed to reach out and grab her.
“We have dollar drafts ’til midnight. And the kitchen’s open for another hour.”
Enchanting. The way her lips hugged every syllable, the delicate flutter of her pulse against the column of her throat... “I’m ... thirsty.”
A small V formed between her brows. “Is that a yes to the draft? What kind?”
He shook his head, breaking his transfixed stare and remembering where he was. “Any drink will do. Thank you.” He wanted to drink from her.
“You bet. I’ll be right back.” Her hair swung in a long tail as she sauntered away.
His gaze lowered and narrowed, as half her backside showed beneath her short pants. Along the way to fulfill his order, she stopped to say a few words to the men at the bar. Adam’s jaw ticked as he breathed in the stink of testosterone and smoke.
She returned a moment later, seemingly unaffected by the number of eyes watching her. “Let me know if I can get you anything else. Here’s a menu in case you want something before the kitchen closes.”
She placed the menu in front of him and he caught her wrist, a spike of awareness preening inside of him, followed by the urge to pull her under him and claim what was his. “What is your name?”
“Uh...” She smiled and twisted her hand out of his. “Annalise.”
“Annalise,” he repeated, tasting the word as his tongue grazed the sharp tip of his fang. He quickly angled his face toward the table and covered his mouth with the beer. “Thank you.”
“Yell if you need anything.” She pivoted away and he lowered the glass, his eyes never leaving her form as she replenished beverages for other customers.
He glanced at the tall pint of amber in front of him. If he finished it, she’d come back. He drank down the robust ale and waited.
She was good at her job, as she returned to his table only minutes after he finished the drink.
“Refill?”
He nodded and she took the empty glass to the bar.
He should speak to her, find out what she liked, and figure out where she lived. He’d been so preoccupied with finding her, he hadn’t considered what he’d do once he found her.
Ultimately, he’d perform the bonding and bring her back to Lancaster. They’d have an eternity of getting to know one another once they returned home.
She returned with a fresh glass. “Here you go.”
“Do you like working here?”
She paused, appearing a bit thrown by his question. “Sure. The customers are nice.”
He sensed dishonesty in her answer, but also truth. “You like to work?”
She leaned a hip against the booth, drawing his gaze to her tapered waist and lush thighs. “I haven’t seen you here before. Are you from out of town?”
“I’m visiting.”
“Oh. Gotcha. Then to answer your question, the hours are good, and the tips are okay.”
“Tips?”
She tilted her head and laughed, the sound going right to his gut. “Yeah. Tips. You know, after a waitress brings you a couple beers, you leave her a few dollars for being prompt and friendly.”
He wasn’t familiar with the practice.
Mesmerized by the casual way she carried herself and the ease at which she spoke to him, he asked, “How old are you, Annalise?”
* * * *
Her stomach dipped as he said her name. Her heart was beating like a trapped hummingbird in her chest. Who was this guy and what was he doing at Jimbo’s?
With a face that could make Brad Pitt jealous, she wondered if he was some sort of model. His eyes were the color of ice under northern lights and his skin flawless. He had a perfectly square jaw and straight nose. In Renaissance times they would have made sculptures of him.
His clothes were soaked from the rain, exposing every dip and divot of his chiseled body not blocked by the table. And what was that scent wafting off him? Someone should bottle it for an instant fortune.
She didn’t typically care for men with long hair, but this guy was owning it. She hated that the rain had made it impossible to discern the exact color, but it looked a few shades past a sandy blonde, bordering on light brown. Her fingers itched to comb through the strands, maybe stay with him until morning to see what color it turned out to be once it dried.
Wait. What?
She shook her head. “I’m twenty-three. How old are you...?”
“Adam.”
The name suited him. She repeated it. “Adam.”
He smiled, and she loved it so much she worried she might be doing something wrong.
She glanced at the bar where Kyle seemed preoccupied. When she turned back to Adam, he was frowning and staring over her shoulder.
“That man works with you, Annalise?”
She couldn’t place his accent. When he said words like “work,” the k sounded harder, coming out like worg. And when he said her name, it sounded like a sensual prayer, elongated and more alluring than she’d ever heard it pronounced. Ah-nah-leeze.
“You have an accent. Where are you from?”
“I come from Lancaster.”
Not too far. “I never realized people from Lancaster had such a different accent.”
“My family speaks old Deutsch, a form of Swiss German. We are Pennsylvania Dutch.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you Amish?” He didn’t look Amish. His clothes were normal street clothes and he didn’t have a beard—not that a beard made a man Amish these days. Hipsters were everywhere.
He smiled. “Yes, I am.”
Disappointment deflated a bit of her interest. Figures. All the good ones are ether gay or Amish—said no one ever.
She frowned. Amish, yet he was drinking beer in a bar. Weird. “What are you doing in Bensalem?”
The way he watched her made it impossible to look away. “I’ve come to collect something that belongs to me.”
That sounded cryptic and all sorts of Amish-espionage-like. Maybe he had a meeting with the Amish people that owned the market in Bristol.
A sharp whistle cut across the bar. “Anna, you got other tables.”
Adam scowled across the bar at Kyle. She gave him an apologetic smile. “I gotta go take some orders. I’ll be back to check on you in a few.”
“Don’t take too long.”
Holy moly. If she had a bucket of ice, she’d dump it down her pants. It should be illegal to look at a woman like that.
She rushed back to the bar and got to work refilling the glasses she grabbed along the way, making sure not to look in Kyle’s direction.
“Friend of yours?”
Yeah, she figured he’d notice the guy she’d been panting over for the last five minutes. “Just a customer.” She wanted him to finish his beer, so she had an excuse to go back to his booth without looking needy.
“He’s watching you like he knows you.”
He was watching her like he could see through her clothes. And she liked it. “I hadn’t noticed.”
No way he was Amish. Not with those eyes. That left only two possibilities. He was a liar, or he was the excommunicated ex-Amish sort that didn’t follow any of the churchy rules. She didn’t know much about the culture, but she knew enough to know that such a sexy specimen did not equal any sort of simple. This man radiated complicated.
It should have been repellent, but instead it drew her in. She wanted an excuse to keep talking to him, a reason to find out exactly what brought him into her workplace. What had he traveled so far to collect and how long did he intend to stay in town?
She did a quick circuit around the bar, her sole objective to fill everyone’s orders and buy a few undisturbed minutes to find out more about Amish Adam and the horse he rode in on. But when she went to visit his table again, he was gone.
Disappointment gutted her on an irrational level. Tears threatened to prick her eyes as she searched for him. Maybe he went to the bathroom.
She checked the men’s room. Empty.
There wasn’t a logical excuse for her feeling upset that he’d left without saying goodbye, so she channeled her emotions into anger, now pissed he’d made her care in only a few minutes. He was just some guy passing through. Why should she care that he left?
She collected his glass and stilled. Unfolding the bill, he’d left for a tip, her jaw unhinged.
Was this a mistake or some sort of joke? She scanned the bar again. He was definitely gone.
“What’s the matter?”
She jumped as Kyle spoke directly behind her. She slid the hundred-dollar bill into her apron pocket. “That guy...”
“Did he stiff you or something?”
“Or something.” Were the Amish rich?
“Don’t sweat it. He probably won’t be back. You up for another movie tonight?”
She needed her own bed and a solid eight hours sleep. “I’m beat. How about a rain check?”
He hid his disappointment well and smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “How many days until graduation?”
The closer it got the slower time seemed to move. “Too many. But I promise we’ll do another movie night this week.”
“I’m holding you to that promise.” Giving her ponytail a tug, he returned to the bar.
Her eyes roamed the bar again, but the man she wanted was nowhere to be found.