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“Mr. Cooper.” That little hint of a smile. A little bit of dimple.
“Just Cooper.” His lips quirked as he stared back at her, watching as her gaze slid to the tattoo curling around his bicep.
She let her teeth rake over her lip before meeting his eyes again. Jake chose that moment to set the shot of whisky in front of her.
Cooper arched his brow as she lifted it, sipped as delicately as a lady would a glass of wine, then set the shot glass back on the bar without a grimace.
“It’s a busy bar.” She looked around. “It’s been like this every time I’ve come. Even during the week.”
Her voice lifted as she turned away. When she turned back, that little dimple peeked out again. Her smile was careful, as though she didn’t quite know what to do with those pretty lips.
Cooper lifted his hand and propped his jaw in his palm as he just stared at her.
She fiddled with the shot glass for a moment, then surprised him when she lifted it and took the half shot back without a single choke or cough. Her lips tightened and he imagined the burn that hit her, his body tightening as her expression took on that relaxed, slightly pleasurable look of a woman relishing the sizzle.
Now that was a look he had never seen on a woman’s face, and it made him hard. Hell. Harder. He’d been hard for her for over a week now.
“Another?” he asked, glancing at the shot glass.
“No, thank you.” She shook her head, a hint of vulnerable self-consciousness entering her eyes as she stared around the bar.
She turned her gaze to the band, the dancers, her profile faintly wistful as she watched them.
“I’ve been here several times.” She turned back to him, those wide pale blue eyes stroking over his face. Hell, it was almost a caress.
“I’ve seen you.” He nodded.
She looked down at the shot glass, played with it for a moment, then stared back at the dance floor as the band slid into a rousing dance tune.
Damn, the look on her face. She wanted to be out there. He could see it, feel it. So what the hell was holding her back? Each time she had come into the bar, she had sat at one of the back tables, alone. She had watched, drunk a soda or wine cooler or two, and left.
She had never come to the counter. She had never drunk his finest whisky with a curl of pleasure tightening her face. He would have noticed. He always noticed Miss Sarah.
“Miss Sarah…”
“Sarah.” Her head swung around, those wild curls feathering over her shoulder, and there was that little dimple again. “I’m not that old, Mr. Cooper.”
“Cooper,” he murmured, his jaw still braced on his palm as he watched her.
“Cooper.” There was the slightest edge of delight in her gaze then. “Please call me Sarah.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He smiled back at her, just to watch her eyes flare in irritation.
She lowered her eyes again, played with the shot glass again, then lifted her gaze back to Jake and indicated another shot.
Cooper almost laughed out loud. Jake gave him a hard, disapproving glance, as though he thought Cooper could keep her from drinking.
And Miss Sarah caught that look. For a moment, Cooper saw a shattered, weary pain flash in her eyes. Then a tight smile twisted her lips.
“Forget it.” She fumbled in her jeans pocket, pulled out a few bills, and slapped them on the bar. “I shouldn’t have come here.”
Fuck!
Cooper straightened as she slid off the bar, head held high, and all but ran toward the door. What the hell?
Following her, Cooper felt something tighten in his gut. A strange, almost tender amusement mixed with confusion. Damn it. She looked like she was going to cry when Jake didn’t want to serve her the whisky. As though, somehow, she had been rejected.
“Hey, whoa. Sair. Come on, hold up.” He caught up with her in the graveled parking lot, his fingers curling over an arm so damned soft it felt like heated silk. He had shortened her name. Not Miss Sarah, or Sarah. His Sair.
