Читать книгу Beach Bar Baby - Heidi Rice - Страница 11

FOUR

‘You sure you’re okay here, ma’am? The Rum Runner isn’t much for the tourists, just a local hang-out. I could take you to some nice places in Hamilton, where the cruise ships dock, no extra charge?’

‘No, thank you, this is perfect, Earl.’ Exhilaration fluttered in Ella’s chest as she stepped out of the cab and surveyed the ramshackle bar at the end of the rutted beach road.

The twinkle of fairy lights on weathered wood added enchantment to the haphazard structure, which stood drunkenly, mounted on stilts over the water, as if it had downed one too many rum punches. The scent of the sea freshened the cloud of smoke and sweat as the customers spilled out of the saloon-style doors. The densely packed crowd smoked and chatted on the porch, while she could see couples dancing inside past the tables, swinging and swaying to the infectious soca beat, making the boardwalk pound beneath her sandals.

‘You’re sure this is the only place on the south side of Half-Moon Cove?’ She handed Earl, her taxi driver, his fare and a generous tip through the cab window.

‘Uh-huh.’ Unlike Cooper, he sent her a wide smile as he tucked the money into the top pocket of his Hawaiian shirt. ‘Cove’s yonder.’ He nodded towards a wide beach that began past the rocks at the end of the country road.

Edged by palm trees and vines and curving round the headland into the darkness, the cove lived up to its name, looking impossibly romantic as moonlight shimmered off the gently lapping surf.

‘Ain’t no other bars down here that I know of.’ Pulling a card out of his pocket, he handed it to her. ‘You give Earl a call when you need to get back. Not much traffic this way.’

After waving him off and watching the cab lights bounce out of sight down the unpaved road, she slipped the card into her bag, and slung the strap over her shoulder. Then she sucked in a fortifying breath and let it out in a rush.

Whether or not Cooper was here, she intended to enjoy herself. Ruby had given her the pep talk to end all pep talks, back at the hotel.

It was way past time she started living again, took the power back and charted her own course when it came to choosing the men she dated. And stopped boring herself to death with safe and secure and invited a little danger in. Bermuda with its colourful, chaotic nightlife and studly boat captains had to be the perfect place to start. Not least because if tonight went tits up, this particular dating disaster wouldn’t be able to follow her home.

Ruby’s words of dating wisdom had bolstered her courage as she’d showered, and waxed, and moisturised, and primped and perfumed. After far too much debate, she’d picked out an understated ensemble of skinny pedal-pusher jeans, heeled sandals and a lace-edged camisole. She’d pinned up her unruly hair, and plastered on a lot more make-up than she usually wore—as per Ruby’s specific instructions—then dug out her favourite waterfall earrings and the cascade of cheap but cheerful bracelets she’d bought at Camden Market two weeks ago to complete the outfit.

The simple ritual of getting ready had helped temper her terror with a heady cocktail of excitement and anticipation.

Edging past the people milling around on the porch, she made her way to the bar. She’d have a couple of drinks and then, if Cooper didn’t show, she could always ring Earl back and call it a night. At least she would have got to see something of the island before leaving.

The Rum Runner had a funky, relaxed vibe that reminded her of Sol’s Salsa Joint on Camden Lock where Ruby and she and their wide circle of friends had once congregated on a Friday night to kick back after the working week. Ruby didn’t go out much any more because of the kids, and most of their other friends had settled down and/or moved away in the last few years, so she’d slowly stopped going to Sol’s too, but she’d always loved to dance and it occurred to her she’d missed the weekly ritual.

Her hips swung in time to the blast of horns and the fast infectious drum beat as the band on the stage in the far corner went into another number. She grinned as she wound her way through the packed tables—the soca rhythm an irresistible blend of joy and seduction—and felt the optimism that had always been so much a part of her personality seep back into her soul.

Slipping past a group of loudly dressed guys at the bar, she smiled back when one of them touched his beer bottle to his forehead in a silent salute.

‘What’ll it be, miz?’ a barman addressed her once she had managed to inch past the crush of people and found a spot to rest her elbows on the bar. The thin layer of sweat on his dark skin made the red ink of the snake tattoo on his bicep glisten.

She tapped her toe to the bass guitar riff while checking out the names of the drinks scrawled on the chalkboard behind him—only a few of which she recognised. ‘What would you recommend?’

‘For you?’ The lilting Caribbean accent matched the friendly twinkle in the barman’s café-au-lait-coloured eyes. ‘Only a Rum Swizzle will do.’

‘That sounds wonderful.’ She had absolutely no clue what that was. But tonight Ella Radley was on a mission, to get her flirt on and set it free. And for that, a Rum Swizzle sounded like just the ticket.

He returned a few minutes later and presented her with a tall icy glass of tangerine-coloured liquid, garnished with a chunk of pineapple, a swirl of orange peel and a maraschino cherry. She took a sip and the potent flavour of rum, fruit juice and liquor zinged off her tastebuds. So that was why they called it a Swizzle.

‘Delicious,’ she shouted over the music. ‘How much do I owe you?’

‘Not a thing.’ A gold tooth winked in the pearly white of his smile. ‘Your first Rum Swizzle in my place is always on the house.’

‘You own this bar?’

He nodded. ‘Sure do.’

A shot of adrenaline rushed through her to add to the hit from the rum. And Ruby’s voice seemed to whisper in her ear.

Above all be bold—and seize the initiative—flirting is much more fun if you own it.

‘Do you know a guy called Cooper Delaney?’

‘Coop? Sure I know Coop. What do you want him for?’ He sounded a bit put out. ‘That boy’s nothing but trouble.’

That was what she was counting on, she thought, the adrenaline more intoxicating than the Swizzle. She took another fortifying sip of the delicious concoction. ‘Is he likely to be in tonight, do you think?’

She heard the eagerness in her tone but didn’t care if it made her sound tarty. Discovering her inner flirt would be so much easier with a guy she already knew could make her hormones wake up and jiggle. And considering they’d been in hibernation, like, for ever, she needed all the help she could get.

The bartender’s gaze was drawn to something past her shoulder. ‘Yeah, he’ll be in tonight.’

‘Really, you’re sure?’ she said, then bit her lip.

Dial down on the tarty—that sounded a bit too eager.

‘Uh-huh.’ His dark gaze returned to her face.

‘Back off, Henry. You’re poaching.’

Ella spun round at the deep, wonderfully familiar accent—and the shot of adrenaline went into overdrive. Cooper Delaney had looked super-fit that morning in ragged denim, but he took fit to a whole new level in a dark blue polo shirt and black jeans. But then her head carried on spinning and she started to tilt.

A tanned hand shot out to grasp her upper arm and hold her upright. ‘Damn it, Henry, how many of those things have you given her?’

‘Only the one.’ The barman, who Ella’s slightly fuzzy brain had registered must be called Henry, sounded affronted.

‘Oh, yeah?’

Ella blinked, hearing the edge in Cooper’s usually relaxed tone. Was he mad about something? And what did it have to do with Henry, the benevolent barman?

Cooper slapped a couple of bills onto the bar with enough force to make her jump. ‘That’s for the rum punch, man. The lady’s with me.’

Really? Fabulous.

So she hadn’t imagined his offer of a date. The spurt of joy at the thought was quickly quashed, though, when his fingers tightened on her arm and he slanted her a look that didn’t seem particularly pleased to see her. ‘We’re out of here.’

‘But I haven’t finished my drink.’ She pivoted on her heel, making a grab for her glass. But missed as he hauled her away from the bar.

‘You’ve had enough.’

Henry shrugged and shouted after them, ‘Sorry, miz. I told you he was no good.’

‘You didn’t have to pay for that,’ she said, racing to keep up with his long strides as he marched past the tables and headed out into the night, dragging her along in his wake. ‘Henry said it was on the house.’

‘Yeah, I’ll just bet he did.’ Was that a snarl?

A succession of people called out a greeting to him or shouted across the crowd, but other than throwing back a quick wave of acknowledgement he barely broke stride. By the time they stepped off the deck and he swung her round to face him, she was breathless, the happy glow from her Swizzle fading fast.

‘Okay, let’s have it.’ His shadowed face looked harsh in the half-light from the bar as he grasped both her arms, and made full use of his superior height. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I...’ And just like that her tongue swelled up, rendering her speechless. And all Ruby’s advice about how to put her flirt on got washed away on a tidal wave of mortification.

He didn’t look remote, the way he had when they’d parted that morning. He looked upset.

She’d made a terrible mistake—coming here when he hadn’t really meant to...

‘Because if you’ve come all the way out here to give me another smackdown, don’t bother. I got the message the first time, sweetheart. Loud and clear.’

Smackdown? What smackdown?

‘I should leave,’ she blurted out, suddenly wishing that the worn floorboards of the bar’s deck would crack open and swallow her whole. Or better yet whisk her back to her nice, quiet, ocean-view room at the resort.

Sticking to safe might be dull, but at least it didn’t get you into these sorts of pickles. She’d never managed to piss off any of the guys she’d actually dated to this extent.

She sent a wistful glance back at The Rum Runner—the joyous dance music pumping out into the night. The lively bar had contained so many exciting possibilities less than five minutes ago. But as she stepped past him he didn’t let go.

‘Hey, hang on a minute.’ The edge had left his voice. ‘You didn’t answer my question.’

‘Was there a question in there?’ she asked.

He didn’t look mad any more, which she supposed was good.

But as his emerald gaze raked over her the focused attention made her breasts tighten. Humiliating her even more. Obviously her nipples were completely immune to his disapproval.

But then his wide lips quirked. ‘It was never meant as a smackdown, was it?’

She tugged herself loose, and stepped back—starting to get annoyed. Okay, so she’d misinterpreted his offer of a date. Although how she had, she still wasn’t sure. And her big coming-out party was officially a washout—but did he really have to gloat? And what was all this nonsense about a smackdown? ‘I really have to go.’

She went to walk round him again. But his large hand wrapped around her wrist and drew her up short. ‘Hey, don’t... Don’t go.’

He stood so close, the delicious scent of seawater and soap surrounded her. Making it a little hard for her to process the words. Was he apologising now? After all but biting her head off? ‘Captain Delaney, I don’t think—’ she began.

‘Call me Coop,’ he murmured, the husky tone sending those tempting shivers of reaction back up her spine.

She drew in a breath, not able to recall a single one of Ruby’s careful instructions as he stared down at her with the glint of appreciation in his eyes—and fairly sure she didn’t want to any more. This evening had turned into a disaster.

She might as well face it, she would never be as good a flirt as Ruby, even if she took a degree course. She huffed out a breath. ‘Listen, I genuinely thought you asked me here, and I had such a nice time this morning, I don’t want to sour it now.’ She hooked a thumb over her shoulder, feeling stupidly bereft at the thought of her party night ending so soon, and so ignominiously. ‘But I really think I should go now.’

Because I’m a little concerned you might have a borderline personality disorder.

* * *

She came here to see you. You dumbass.

Warmth spread across Cooper’s chest like a shot of hard liquor but was tempered by a harsh jolt of regret as he registered the wary caution in Ella’s eyes—which looked even bigger accented with the glittery powder. Her lips pursed, glossy with lipstick in the half-light, as if she were determined to stop them trembling, crucifying him.

What the hell were you thinking? Behaving like such a jerk?

Even he wasn’t sure what had gripped him when he’d walked into the bar and spotted her chatting with Henry, with that flushed excitement on her face. But the word that had echoed through his head had been unmistakable.

Mine.

And then everything had gone straight to hell.

Of course, his crazy reaction might have had something to do with the severe case of sexual frustration he’d been riding ever since she’d stepped aboard the boat that morning, but that hardly excused it. And the truth was he’d been handling it just fine, until the moment she’d handed him that wad of bills on the dock.

That was the precise moment he’d lost his grip on reality.

He’d been snarky and rude, acting as if she’d offered to kick him in the nuts, instead of giving him a forty-dollar tip.

He accepted tips all the time, to hand over to the kids who crewed the boat. Just the way Sonny had done for him when he was a kid.

He’d founded his business on the generosity of tourists like May Preston and her husband, who came back every year and always showed their appreciation way above the going rate. But when Ella had done the same, somehow he’d lost it. Instead of seeing her generosity and thoughtfulness for what it was, he’d been thrown back in time to the humiliation of his high-school days and the never-ending stream of dead-end jobs he’d taken on to keep him and his mom afloat. Back then, his teenage pride had taken a hit every time he had to accept a gratuity from people he knew talked trash about his mom behind his back. But he’d brushed that huge chip off his shoulder years ago, or at least he’d thought he had.

Why the weight of the damn thing had reappeared at that precise moment and soured his final few moments with Ella, he didn’t have a clue, and he didn’t plan to examine it too closely. All that mattered now was that he didn’t blow his second chance with her.

That she’d come down to The Rum Runner at his suggestion was one hell of a balm to his over-touchy ego. The least he could do now was show her a good time. And given how cute and sexy she looked in those hip-hugger jeans and that skimpy tank it wasn’t exactly going to be a hardship.

He raked his hand through his hair, trying to grab hold of some of his usual charm with women, and think of how best to engineer his way back into her good graces after acting like such a douche.

Then he recalled how she’d been moving that lush butt while chatting to Henry, rocking her hips in time to the music. His pal Oggie’s band played the opening sax solo, backed by the manic drum beat, of their best dance track. And he hoped he had his answer.

‘You can’t go back to the hotel. Not before you’ve danced to some real Bermuda soca with me.’

‘I don’t know...’

She glanced back at the bar, but he could hear her hesitation.

‘Sure you do. It’ll be fun.’ He took her hand, lifted it to his lips and buzzed a quick kiss across her knuckles. ‘You’ve come all this way. And I’ve acted like a jerk. So I owe you.’

‘That’s really not necessary.’ She chewed on her bottom lip, the indecision in her voice crucifying him a little more.

‘Sure it is. One dance. By way of an apology? That’s all I’m asking.’

The shy smile was enough to tell him she’d forgiven him. But the sparkle of anticipation was tempered by caution. ‘Okay, I don’t see how one dance could hurt.’

‘Awesome.’ He placed his hand on her waist to direct her back into the bar, the spike of lust making his throat go dry when her hip bumped his thigh.

‘It may be thirsty work, though,’ she shouted above the bump and grind of drums and bass. ‘Perhaps I should go back and get my Rum Swizzle?’

‘Let’s work up a sweat first,’ he said, placing firm hands on her hips as he slotted them both into the packed dancefloor, the sweat already slick on his forehead. ‘I’ll buy you one later.’

Dancing with her was bound to be really thirsty work, but he didn’t plan to let her have any more Rum Swizzles. Those damn things were lethal, especially on an empty stomach—and with her tiny frame and that little stumble at the bar after only half a glass, he would hazard a guess Ella Radley was a really cheap drunk. He wanted her fully conscious for the rest of the night, so he could enjoy her company—and anything else she wanted to offer him.

Her perfume—a refreshing mix of citrus and spices—drifted over him as she placed her hands lightly on his shoulders and rolled her hips to the riotous bass beat in a natural, unaffected rhythm that was more seductive than original sin.

She grinned up at him, the cute smile a tempting mix of innocence and provocation, then jerked up on her toes to shout in his ear. ‘Aye-aye, Captain. But be warned. I’m on a mission tonight to get whatever I want.’

His hands tightened on her hips as her belly bumped against him and his groin throbbed in time to the music. ‘Not a problem, sweetheart.’

Because so am I.

* * *

‘That’s enough of that.’ Coop lifted the sunshine drink out of her hand and held it easily out of reach. ‘I want you able to walk out of here.’