Читать книгу Breaking The Rules - Jamie Denton - Страница 9

Rule 2: A lady will always strive to maintain a hint of mystery.

COOP SLID A pilsner glass over the scrub brush inside the metal tub of hot soapy water. He concentrated on twisting the glass over the scrub instead of allowing his gaze to drift back to the platinum bride with the chickie-boom curves and eyes the color of the Mediterranean Sea at sunset.

She was trouble. The kind of trouble a guy like him enjoyed and could easily be attracted to if he’d let himself get involved.

He couldn’t afford to get involved, not when he had a business to salvage.

He swished the glass a few more times over the scrub before dipping it into the tub of clear hot water, then added it to the rack to dry. The Stones CD on the jukebox faded into Carlos Santana’s sultry ode to a black magic woman, the momentary silence between CDs interrupted by hushed conversation and a sudden wail from the south end of the bar.

Cooper let out a sigh and shook his head, fighting the urge to stop what he was doing and head back down the bar toward the lush little number in white. That plaintive wail of hers was easily a barometer to her sorry emotional state, which no doubt included equal doses of regret and guilt now that a couple of stiff drinks had dulled the shock of her act of desperation.

Benny looked helplessly at his buddy Joe. “Don’t cry, Carly. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Carly muttered something Coop couldn’t quite make out, then she looked up at Benny. After a rather noisy sniffle, she dropped her forehead against the bar and sobbed louder.

Coop hid the wry grin on his lips when Benny’s jaw fell slack. “It’ll be okay,” Benny said, thumping the crying woman on the back in a rough attempt at sympathy.

“You gonna do something ’bout that, Coop?” Marty hitched his thumb in the blubbering bride’s direction. “She’s gonna chase off the customers, son, and you can’t afford that. If we wanted to hear a woman whine, we’d stay home.”

Considering his blue-collar clientele, Marty definitely had a point, Cooper thought. Fred and Lou were already loading their custom pool cues into their cases and preparing to leave.

“Why me?” Cooper muttered. He slapped a dry towel over his shoulder. “Of all the bars in Chicago, why this one?”

Marty chuckled. “Face it, Coop. When it comes to luck, if it wasn’t for bad, you wouldn’t have any.”

He very nearly agreed, except the pitiful state of The Wilde Side wasn’t of his making. No, that had been Hayden’s doing, or undoing, he thought grumpily. He’d known exactly what he was getting into when he’d promised his uncle he’d take care of the place—a lost cause. The neighborhood tavern had been around since the late fifties, and a few of the regulars never failed to remind him that the bar was as much a part of Chicago history as old Mrs. Leary’s cow. He could probably teach the teary bride a few things about guilt, he thought, because every time he considered closing down the bar, that’s exactly what he felt—a hefty dose of guilt about going back on a promise to his uncle.

Luck had nothing to do with the obstacles Coop faced. Poor planning and allowing a woman to cloud his uncle’s judgment did, however, and Coop had nothing to blame but his loyalty to Hayden for his current problems and the sorry state of his own finances. He couldn’t afford to dump another dime into the bar, but if things didn’t turn around soon, he’d have no choice but to close the doors for good. And a blubbering bride chasing off what customers he had left wasn’t helping matters.

He headed down the bar toward the odd threesome, stopping long enough to lower the volume on the jukebox. Benny and Joe were good guys, rough on the outside and always anxious for a little action, legal or otherwise. But anyone who took the time to get to know Benny West or Joe Lanford knew they were a couple of pussycats underneath the scruffy denim and chrome chains. What did surprise Cooper, though, was their matching soft spots for the curvy little damsel in distress. They made a habit of steering clear of the sweet and pure types, not that any frequented the bar, but one look at the teary bride and Cooper knew she’d easily reside at the top of the good-girl list.

Oh well, he thought, snagging a box of tissues from behind the bar. At least with Benny and Joe playing bodyguard, not many would be anxious to hassle the bride.

He slapped the box of tissues down in front of her. “Turn off the waterworks, Princess. You’re spooking my customers.”

She sniffed and lifted her short cap of platinum curls, casting those intriguing eyes filled with moisture his way. Something twisted behind his ribs at the despondency cloaked in her gaze. Certainly not his heart. He didn’t need this. Not now when he was a bank statement away from financial ruin. Hadn’t he learned anything from the mistakes of his uncle and his mother?

Obviously not, considering the way the buxom bride was making his heart slam into his ribs every time she shifted her turquoise eyes in his direction.

“I’m sor…sorry,” she said, a huge tear spilling from her spiked lashes. “I’m not supposed to cry in public.”

“Who said you can’t cry in public?” Joe asked, his gravelly voice filled with genuine sympathy as he gently patted her shoulder.

Another sniff followed a tug on a tissue from the box. She looked at Joe. “It’s a rule.”

“Who made up a dumb rule like that?” Benny asked, his puffy face filled with curiosity.

Carly shrugged, a barely perceptible lift of one satin-clad shoulder that drew Coop’s gaze like a magnet to a pair of very full breasts. “I don’t know,” she said, dabbing her eyes. “But there are thousands of them. And I’ve always adhered to them, until now.”

Coop crossed his arms over his chest and rocked back on his heels. “What do your rules say about a bride in a bar without her groom?”

Carly pulled in a deep breath.

Cooper winced and waited, wishing he’d kept to the opposite end of the bar.

She wailed again, burying her face in the already crumpled tissue.

“Aw, Coop. Now look what you did,” Benny chided him. He smacked Carly on the back with his beefy hand in another poor gesture of comfort.

“Ow,” she muttered between sobs.

“We just got her calmed down,” Joe said, shooting him a disgruntled glance. “Why’d you have to go and get her started up again?”

Coop gave them both a hard look. “Why don’t you two find out where she belongs and see about returning her?”

“She’s not a lost puppy,” Benny scolded. His pencil-thin eyebrows pinched together in a frown. “Some guy stood her up. On her wedding day.”

Carly shook her head, blond curls bouncing with the movement. “No, he didn’t.” She reached for another tissue. “I…I ran away,” she managed before issuing another ear-splitting wail.

Cooper rolled his eyes. He tried to tell himself he didn’t care. He didn’t care about her or why she’d left her groom at the altar. The firm reprimand didn’t change the fact that he was lying to himself, nor lessen the gnawing in his gut he could only describe as something a lot more interesting than curiosity.

Something he didn’t want or need. Dammit, he’d made a promise and he wasn’t about to let a voluptuous female, no matter how attractive, distract him. And Carly had diversion written all over her.

“Just keep it down,” he groused, then moved a couple of feet down the bar to serve another customer.

“I’m sure you had a very good reason for leaving like that,” Joe said, sliding her drink closer. “Here. Drink up, Carly. It’ll cure what ails ya.”

She dropped the bunched-up tissues on the bar and took the glass in both hands, downing the Scotch as if it was no stronger than a soft drink. Cooper didn’t want to be around when all that booze hit.

She hiccuped and waved her slender hand in the air. “Could I have another, please?”

“Anything you want, Carly,” Joe said, his gruff voice ridiculously saccharine. “You just tell Joe all about it, okay?”

“Aw, hell,” Cooper muttered to himself. If she wanted to get plastered, then that was her problem. What did he care if she’d have the devil to pay come morning when she woke up with a whopper of a hangover? It wasn’t as if he’d be holding her head while she bowed to the porcelain god.

He delivered another Scotch, adding more water than booze to her glass, then moved down the bar to take care of a few more customers before wandering back toward her and her mismatched caretakers.

Curiosity, he told himself. That’s the only reason he continued to take up residence at the south end of the bar. He was curious as to how she came to be in his tavern. It had nothing whatsoever to do with attraction, sexual or otherwise, even if he couldn’t seem to keep his gaze from straying to those lush curves.

She looked at him when he stopped in front of her, and his gut tightened.

Damn!

Curiosity, he attempted to convince himself again. He was not reacting to those big turquoise eyes.

She braced her elbows on the bar and hung her head, her soft white-blond curls swaying forward, brushing her cheeks. Hunched slightly over the bar like a regular, she provided him with a perfect view of her ample cleavage. Damned if he could drag his eyes away to safer territory. If he wasn’t careful, he’d start drooling any minute.

Images filtered through his mind.

Erotic images.

Cooper frowned. He didn’t have time for this, no matter how tempting or alluring.

“I tried to tell him yesterday,” she said suddenly.

“Who?” Joe asked, tipping back his beer.

“Dean,” she said, trailing her finger over the rim of her glass. “I tried to tell him when we went to meet my sisters at the country club to finish the decorations for the reception. I tried to tell him and he just wouldn’t listen to me.”

Benny shrugged. “Hey, at least you tried,” he added sympathetically.

“There are over three hundred family and friends eating chicken Kiev right now. Baked potatoes with little pats of butter molded into perfect squares with my and Dean’s initials on them. They were supposed to be celebrating the beginning of our life together.”

She reached for the glass and tossed the contents back like a shot. “He just wouldn’t listen,” she said again. “He kept insisting it was only prewedding jitters.”

Considering she was on her third drink, she hadn’t slurred a single word despite Coop’s doubts about her being an experienced drinker. Her skin looked too soft and smooth, having none of the telltale signs of someone who frequented the bottom of a bottle. His fingers itched to touch her, to see for himself if her skin was as silky as it looked.

He made a fist and turned away, moving down the bar to serve a couple of men he didn’t recognize. They’d come into The Wilde Side looking for a little relaxation, or a little action. From the sly glances they cast in Carly’s direction, Cooper had a bad feeling action would be on the menu for the night, unless he found a way to get rid of her.

For the next hour, he served customers, refilled drinks and made polite conversation. A few of the guys asked him about the lone bride, but for the most part, other than an occasional off-color joke, now that she’d finally quieted, no one paid her much attention.

During a brief lull, and against his better judgment, he found an excuse to wander down to her end of the bar again.

Benny polished off his beer and requested another. “I almost got married once,” Cooper heard him tell Carly.

Her head snapped around and she blinked a few times. “You did?”

Cooper slid a fresh beer in front of Benny, hiding his grin at her reaction. When a guy was as butt-ugly as Benny West, chasing women didn’t exactly mean he’d catch them.

“Sure did,” Benny said, a hint of melancholy in his voice. “But I didn’t like the thought of being tied down to one woman.”

Carly blinked several times, but Cooper had to give her credit when she kept a straight face. Either she was already ripped or one of the most tenderhearted creatures he’d ever met.

“Did your limbs quake?” she asked.

“Naw,” Benny said, flashing her that gap-toothed grin. “But I puked once.”

Carly’s jaw dropped. “Really?”

Cooper cleared his throat to keep from laughing, then grabbed a damp rag to start wiping down the bar.

At Benny’s nod, she turned her attention to Joe. “Are you married?”

Joe set his beer aside. “Not me. No way.”

She tilted her head to the side, those bouncy curls brushing her cheek. “I don’t think marriage is all bad,” she said after a moment. “Not really. I’ve got six older sisters, and they’re all happily married. Well, not Jill,” she said, as if they knew to whom she was referring. “But that’ll probably change soon.”

“Maybe you weren’t ready to get married,” Cooper reasoned, wanting to bite his tongue off for getting involved. Would he ever learn?

Carly flashed her intriguing gaze his way. “Probably not,” she said quietly. A frown tugged her brows together. “But how do you know when you’re ready?”

Cooper didn’t answer, because he didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t shatter those little-girl illusions she no doubt harbored. When it came to marriage, role models had been in short supply for him. From the few guys he’d known in the navy who’d walked down the aisle, he’d learned that marriage and the navy didn’t mix. As a SEAL, he hadn’t spent much time in one place and had wisely chosen not to tie himself down. Even with the lack of role models in his life, he knew wedded bliss wouldn’t be a reality unless he came home more than a couple of days every month or two.

When he didn’t provide a response, Carly looked to Benny and Joe for insight. Both men remained silent, contemplating their beers. “That’s what I thought,” she said after a few moments.

Benny turned and gave her a wide grin. “You know what you need?”

Carly let out a hefty sigh, crossed her arms on the bar and rested her cheek on her satin-covered forearms. “Sure. A job, a place to live and some serious direction in my life.”

Benny shook his head. “Uh-uh. You need to have some fun and just forget about everything else for a while.”

“Great idea,” Joe added.

She lifted her head to look at Benny. “How long is a while?”

Benny shrugged. “I dunno. Tonight. A week. A month.”

Joe slapped his hand on the bar. “How about a year?”

She straightened, her eyes filling with interest. Dangerous interest, in Cooper’s opinion.

“You’re suggesting I just run away from my problems?”

Cooper scooped her empty glass off the bar. “Isn’t that why you’re here?” he asked.

She turned her head, her gaze colliding with his. “That wasn’t very nice.”

He shrugged. “I just call ’em as I see ’em, Princess.”

Her chin lifted a notch and a defiant light sparked in her gaze, highlighting her irises with tiny flecks of gold. Why that made his gut tighten even more, he couldn’t be sure, but he sure as hell liked the way she looked at him. She might be an emotional wreck, but he suspected there was too much fire and spunk behind the teary-eyed bride routine for her bout of alcohol-enriched depression to last for very long.

And damn if he didn’t like fire and spunk.

A lot.

She made a noise that bordered on a snort, then turned her attention back to her bodyguards. That chin of hers inched upward another defiant notch, too. “What kind of fun?” she asked, determination lacing her sweet voice.

The big guy shrugged. “Wanna shoot some pool?”

She glanced over her shoulder to the pool tables. “I don’t know how to play.”

“It’s okay,” Joe said, standing. “We’ll teach you.”

She shrugged and slid off the bar stool. “Okay. But only until the tow truck driver shows up. Then I have to leave.”

And go where? Cooper almost asked, but stopped himself in time. He didn’t care. He didn’t want to care, but there was something about her that spiked his interest, regardless of what a distraction like her could cost him.

“Let’s make it interesting,” Joe suggested, leading her away from the bar. “Let’s play for drinks. Winner buys.”

Lyrical laughter drifted to Cooper as he kept a watchful eye on the bride while pulling a beer from the cooler. For the next hour or two, other than an occasional glance in her direction, he didn’t have time to worry about Carly. She was safe with Benny and Joe. It was Saturday night, and thankfully the bar was somewhat busy for a change. With his waitress off because of a sick kid, he was on his own, and he didn’t have time to baby-sit a hot number in white, even if his gaze kept straying toward her more times than he cared to admit.

By midnight, the bride had disappeared without a word, and he tried to tell himself what he felt wasn’t even remotely close to disappointment, but gratitude. The last thing he needed was to get tangled up with a woman when he had more important things to worry about. Like finding a way to hang on to The Wilde Side until his uncle came to his senses again.

By the time he ushered the last customer from the bar, Coop was beat. He emptied the till and started cleaning up rather than putting it off until the next day. Sunday was the only day of the week the bar opened later in the afternoon, and he looked forward to a few extra hours to himself.

As he mopped the floors, his mind drifted to the platinum blonde with the lush body. While he finished cleaning up the men’s room, he wondered if perhaps he should’ve asked her two self-appointed bodyguards where she’d gone.

She was none of his business, he thought grumpily, flipping off the light. He shoved the mop into the metal bucket and wheeled it across the hall to the ladies’ room. It wasn’t as if he’d ever see her again. Or even that he cared.

Then why couldn’t he stop thinking about her, wondering if she was all right?

Because he was genetically predisposed. How could he stop thinking about her when his DNA forbade it? He couldn’t, and gave a heartfelt thanks to his guardian angel for taking the Princess out of the equation.

He pushed open the door to the ladies’ room. Miles of dirty white satin spilled from beneath the door of the last stall, tangled around a delicately shaped foot.

Cooper swore colorfully. So much for someone upstairs looking out for him.

“Party’s over, Princess,” he called out as he crossed the asphalt tiles to the last stall.

She didn’t respond.

He pounded on the metal door. “You all right?”

No answer.

Great. Just what he didn’t need. He let out a rough sigh followed by a few more curses and tried the door, but she’d locked it. This wasn’t the first time some drunk had passed out in one of his bathrooms. But she wasn’t some drunk, he reminded himself. She was a runaway bride who’d had too much to drink after an emotionally exhausting day, and no doubt on an empty stomach.

He had two choices, and neither option thrilled him. If he called Chicago’s finest and let them deal with her, they’d toss her delectable backside behind bars. Having spent a few nights of his own in the drunk tank after carousing with his buddies on shore leave, the thought of her spending the night in one left him with a bad taste in his mouth. The other option left him with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He had no other option, he thought, at least none that would allow him to continue to live in peace with his conscience.

Crouching, he peered under the door. She was sound asleep, curled on her side, using her upper arm for a pillow. He slid his fingers over her slender ankle, ignoring the strong urge to smooth his hand over the rest of her shapely leg.

He tried to shake her awake. “Carly? Come on, Princess. Time to rise and shine,” he said gently.

Nothing. Not even a soft little moan or a flutter of those lashes fanning her pale cheeks. She was out cold.

“So much for not being around when the booze hit,” he complained, then worked to open the stall. Once he had it opened, he moved into the cramped space beside her, trying one last, useless time to wake her.

Carefully, he eased his arms around her and managed to get her and her cumbersome dress out of the stall. She issued a soft little moan when he lifted her into his arms, curling her slender hand against his chest. With the lightweight bundle held securely, he concentrated on getting her upstairs into his apartment without tripping over her dress, and not the way her full breasts brushed against his chest when she sleepily wound her arms around his neck.

He shouldered his way down a short hallway to his old bedroom. “Enjoy it while it lasts, Princess,” he said, easing her onto the twin mattress. “In a few hours, you’re gonna be feeling like you’ve been run down by a Peterbilt truck at full speed.”

He straightened and looked down at her, not sure what to do next. There were still things in the bar that needed his attention, but he couldn’t very well leave her trussed up in her wedding dress and Lord knew what else for the night. Or could he?

No, he decided against his better judgment. He couldn’t, but the thought of removing all that satin to reveal smooth skin didn’t exactly appeal to him, either. He took that back. It more than appealed to him, and that was the first and foremost reason for him to walk out and leave her be, regardless of how uncomfortable she looked.

Muttering a few more curses, he started with her shoes, then pushed up the heavy satin to reveal the lacy tops of white stockings covering the shapeliest pair of legs he’d ever seen.

He eased out a breath. Very nice.

What the hell was wrong with him? As if he didn’t have enough trouble, here he was borrowing more than he could handle by undressing a woman—an unconscious woman—he didn’t even know. Convinced he was certifiable and just looking to get his butt sued, or worse, he removed her stockings anyway, along with a blue satin and lace garter her groom should have slid from her leg as dictated by tradition.

She sighed, a soft sound that stirred his blood. Ignoring the heat uncurling in his belly, he tugged the satin down to cover her legs, then shifted her weight to expose a long row of pearl buttons running along her spine. Once he had them undone, he eased the dress from her arms and managed to pull the heavy fabric away from her.

Cooper was sweating, and it had nothing to do with the warmth of the sultry evening and everything to do with the beauty lying in his childhood bed with her legs angled in a seductive pose. Wearing a scant pair of pure white lace panties cut high on her thigh and a matching corset that enhanced the swell of her breasts, she was a vision.

A sensual vision that had his blood pumping fast through his veins.

And a distraction he didn’t need or welcome.

He left the bedroom only to return a few minutes later with one of his T-shirts. Lifting her in his arms again, he pulled the shirt over her head and slipped her limp arms through the sleeves. Once he had her decently covered, he worked the back lacing of the corset, pulled it from around her and firmly tugged the shirt down.

A dreamy little sigh escaped her parted lips when he eased her back onto the bed. “Hmm,” she murmured, turning onto her side. Her hand landed in his lap, dangerously close to his fly.

Her slender fingers flexed.

A flash of heat flared in his gut and spread south.

He sat on the edge of the bed staring down at her, his gaze divided between the blissful expression on her face and the delicate fingers brushing his fly.

What the hell was he supposed to do with her now?

Absolutely nothing!

He had a business to salvage thanks to Hayden’s obsession with the opposite sex. He couldn’t afford a distraction, especially one with a body made for sin and a sassy glint in her turquoise gaze capable of sending his testosterone levels soaring.

“Nothing,” he muttered, and gently eased away from her.

He crossed the room and flipped off the overhead light, quietly closing the door behind him. He hoped his lapse into knight in shining armor was brief, praying it wouldn’t cost him any more than it already had: the unexpected need clawing his gut.

Too bad the only relief he suspected existed resided in the form of a buxom Princess sleeping off the effects of too much alcohol on an empty stomach.