“It’s quite an operation you have.” Clay thought about what Justin had told him. “Do any of your family members by chance own the pharmacy next door?”
Tate blinked, and then added her lyrical laugh to the music dancing through the air. “My oldest cousin, Maureen, is the pharmacist,” she admitted. “And that’s Declan and Rogan, two more cousins, behind the bar with my uncle. I take it our fine reputation for business acumen precedes us?”
“You could say that. My friend spent a night with you all several years ago, when he was still a rube.”
Tate turned to look where Clay indicated Justin was sitting. “Hmm. I can’t say I remember him. But then I was either pregnant or dealing with a toddler at the time, so that’s really not surprising.” With that not-so-subtle reminder she offered him a stiff smile, and an even less flexible platitude. “Well, it was nice seeing you again, Clay. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
His hand shot out to grasp her wrist before she could move away. “The only way I’m going to enjoy the rest of my evening is if I spend it with you.” It sounded like a line, but God, he hated the fact that it was true. Seeing Tate again made him wonder how he’d ever let her get away from him without securing another meeting. Whatever baggage she might have regarding her son, and whatever effect the boy might have on him, seemed suddenly insignificant.
“Be with me tonight.”
TATE’S warning sonar went on red alert, screaming at her to dive, dive, dive! She was pretty sure Clay Copeland had a torpedo he was looking to use. And as attractive as she found him – and dear Lord, was he attractive, with those melted chocolate eyes – she’d already decided that was a bad idea. “I’m working.”
He nodded to the sign over the bar. “That says the dining room closed at ten.”
“Yes, well, I still need to close out.”
“I’ll wait.”
Truly, his gall was amazing. “Look, I have responsibilities to attend to, and you’ve no claim on my time. If you’re looking for a little vacation fling, you’ll have to try someone else.” She motioned expansively toward the crowd. “Take your pick.”
“Well, since you offered…”
Clay left her gaping as he strode over to the bar.
She watched him carry on a brief but animated conversation with her uncle – which also consisted of several glances from both parties directed her way – concluded by Uncle Patrick writing something on a piece of paper. Then he clapped Clay on the back like a long lost friend. Pulling out his cell phone, Clay consulted the paper, tucking a finger into his free ear.
Moments later he was by her side again, retrieving the tray she still held under her arm.
“I pick you,” he informed her casually, setting the tray aside. “Your uncle says you’re good to go, and your mom says Max has been asleep for hours, since he wore himself out at the beach. She told me to tell you not to worry about anything, and to have a good time.” He grinned wickedly and Tate felt the jolt of it all the way to her toes. “It just so happens that Good Time is my middle name.”
Because he’d already drug her to his friend’s table by the time she’d gathered her wits, Tate declined to cause an unnecessary scene. But for someone who was supposedly schooled in the workings of the human mind, he had an awfully strange way of winning friends and influencing people.
“Justin, Mandy – this is Tate. Tate, meet Justin and Mandy.” Cursory introductions complete, Clay informed his friend that he was leaving. He said not to worry about the ride, he’d find his own way home.
Uncle Patrick waved at her as she was hauled out the front door.
“Where are you taking me?”
“I have no earthly idea.”
“Great plan.” She swam through the sticky night air in his wake. “Are you really so desperate that you have to kidnap a woman to get a date?”
“You’re disparaging yourself when you say that, sugar. If I’m so desperate, then what does that say about you? What I am is selective. I could have made a move on any number of those women in there tonight, but I prefer to wait for the cream to rise to the top.” He pulled their joined hands to his lips, and to her surprise, kissed her fingers.
Because her legs felt a little like Jello, her tone was purposefully bored. “You have a real obsession with cream, don’t you? You must have been a cat in a former life.”
Clay merely chuckled. “Given the other barnyard animals I’ve been compared to, I can hardly take offense.”
“Barnyard animals?” Tate said as he gently propelled her forward again. “Let me guess. The last woman you abducted called you a –”
Alarm was a nasty surprise when he cut her off midstream, jerking her hard against him and covering her mouth with his big hand. Then he shoved her into an alcove. The bite of the doorknob he pressed her against had her struggling like a wild thing.
“Shhh.” Breathing shallow and quick, every muscle in his body tensed, Clay molded his fingers against her lips, his attention focused behind him. Tate smelled the lingering traces of Old Bay and shellfish that clung to his skin, and tasted fear, acrid and bitter.
But when she jerked her head away from his hand she realized the threat didn’t come from him.
The man who emerged from the nearby alley was all angles: jutting cheekbones, blades of dirty hair. He muttered to himself as he flipped through a wallet, pulling out the ready cash. Tate watched in horror as he tossed it aside, wiping something on the leg of his threadbare jeans. And couldn’t stop the small squeal that emerged when she realized it was a bloody knife.
Hearing the noise, wild eyes whipping their way, the precariousness of the man’s mental state became apparent. Instead
