Any Time, Any Place (Billionaire Builders #2)(5)
Finally he allowed his gaze to narrow in on the two things he was becoming obsessed with.
Raven.
And her bar.
The latter lay before him in tired, battered glory. The brick wall behind set off the massive high-topped bar that desperately needed restoring. Dents and chips marred the wood, and cheap gold foot bars and handrails seemed stuck on without thought as to aesthetics. His fingers itched with the need to touch the magnificent mahogany and bring it back to its original condition. In his head, he saw pictures of how he’d piece it back together and replace the gold trims. Take off the awful glass top and install hand-carved shelves to properly show off the array of liquor bottles and glasses that could stun an onlooker. The stools were structured of cheap, old oak that actually detracted from the main focus of the bar.
Oh, how badly he wanted to get his hands on her. Show her some tenderness and stroke her back to beauty. It would change the entire look of the restaurant and restore the bar to the queen she should be. This was a project that excited him.
Almost as much as the owner did.
Unfortunately, he didn’t think Raven would let him get his hands on her body, or her bar.
She was talking with a bunch of guys, and by the looks of it, they were desperately trying to flirt with her. He already knew they’d strike out. He’d been trying for months to get her attention, and she still treated him with a chilling politeness that froze his balls right in place. Her attitude completely contradicted her appearance, which screamed SEX from the high heavens and left a trail of men panting in her wake.
Her hair was long, coal-black, and wild. She wore it back in a clip when she was serving food, and loose when just serving drinks. She didn’t seem to care about forcing the strands to behave, which only made her sexier. Her eyes slanted up at the sides like a cat’s; they were the color of soot with a tinge of smoke gray around the rims. Her face was long and lean, with a sharp chin and nose and heavy brows. Her lower lip plumped out; her upper one was defined. She was wicked tall, with small breasts, long arms and legs, and narrow hips. Her uniform consisted of a tank top, dark-washed jeans, and either high-top wedged Skechers or black heeled sandals with crisscross straps. She liked to wear multiple chains around her neck, and a diamond nose ring caught and glimmered under the light. What fascinated Dalton the most was the tattoo on her right shoulder. A sword with a wicked blade, tipped with blood. Not a rose or the scrawl of a phrase with meaning. Instinct told him she’d chosen that tat for a specific reason. He wanted to know what the sword meant. So far, she’d refused to tell him.
From the moment he’d seen her, he’d ached to touch her, but she’d slammed him with her prickly manner and cold gaze. For some strange reason, she didn’t like him. It wasn’t about his hopeful advances, either. She got hit on multiple times a night, and was well known to give scathing one-liners that guys actually hooted over instead of getting pissed. No, somehow her attitude seemed personal, but Dalton couldn’t figure out the mystery. Yet. So he kept showing up at the bar and hoped he’d eventually get her to soften.
So far, no good.
Normally, if a woman wasn’t interested, Dalton bided his time. He liked the chase and the lure of a good seduction, but he’d never waited this long, or dealt with so many stinging rejections. He didn’t like the phrase man whore, either. His brothers drove him crazy with that term. Like calling a woman a slut, it had no purpose other than to accuse, hurt, or judge another person’s choices. He had his own code of ethics, and it was his own business.
Bottom line: He loved women. Their scent, their voice, the smooth touch of their skin. Their humor and passion and deep emotion that they had no problem connecting with. Sex was one of the gifts in life, and he took full advantage, yet his pleasure was always wrapped up in his partner’s. He loved the sound of a woman groaning in passion or screaming his name. He relished the bite of their nails and the curl of their toes and the way they got all soft and helpless after a few orgasms. He wasn’t a chauvinist or an egotist, but he was consistently fascinated with the female sex and didn’t see a problem with indulging his cravings. He was always honest and didn’t really see himself as ever wanting to settle down. Dalton believed in steeping himself in the experience of a woman’s company for however long it felt good, then moving on. Not to hurt them, but just the opposite. He knew he wasn’t the marrying type, and he had no desire to offer them false expectations of what he was able to provide. Mostly it worked. Sometimes it didn’t.
Dalton walked toward the bar and took a seat. His blood pumped with the sweet lure of the challenge. He’d never run from a fair battle with a woman he wanted. Eventually he’d have her.
And the bar.
He just needed a bit of patience.
“I got a proposition for you, baby. Me. You. And a night you’ll never forget. Whatcha say?”
Raven leaned over the bar and pushed out her bottom lip in a sexy pout. Her gaze swept over his figure. Then she smiled real slow. “I got a better proposition. How about you, your hand, and a bottle of lube instead? Baby.”
A hoot of male laughter rose to her ears. One of her regular patrons, Dave, reached over to clap his friend on the back, shaking his head. “Dude, I told you, she doesn’t play.”
The guy who’d taken the hit gave her a grin. “Ruthless, too. Remind me why we came here again?”
Raven winked and pulled back from the bar. With a deft spin on her heel, she grabbed a shot glass and poured two fingers neat of whiskey. “’Cause I serve the best liquor and food in town. Here, try this. It’ll take away the sting.” She slid the glass down the bar until it rested in front of him.