He hadn’t used his hand in a damn long time.
Yet he didn’t feel like taking another woman to bed. It was sexually frustrating, but he needed more than a physical release. He wanted . . . more.
With Raven.
More. The term made little sense because he never figured on a future when it came to sleeping with women, but he was willing to try. If she’d give him an opportunity.
As if answering his thoughts, she strode out of the kitchen, refusing to glance his way. She threw some stuff into a bag and looked around the bar like she was packing up for the night. He walked over, stretching his arms behind his back in an attempt to work out the knots. “Going somewhere?”
She stiffened, then treated him to a polite glance. “Yes. Are you almost finished up here?”
“I’d like to get one more stool done before end of day.”
A frown creased her brow. “Fine. I need to run out for a few hours.”
“Oh, I’m not comfortable being in your bar without supervision. You should probably stay here with me.”
She was kind of adorable when she got mad. Her mouth half opened, then slammed shut. “Excuse me? I’ve left you alone in the bar before!”
He rocked back on his heels, as if trying to remember. “Yeah, but that was different.”
Her face flushed. “How was it different?”
“We were talking then. I felt like you trusted me more. Since we had that kiss—”
“I don’t want to talk about the kiss!”
“Okay. Since we had that encounter, you’ve been all grumpy and mad. Stomping around and glaring at me. I’m afraid if you left me alone, you’d accuse me of doing something and that would mar our business relationship.”
“What could I possibly accuse you of doing, Dalton?” She threw her hands up to encompass the deserted bar. “The cash register is empty. The kitchen is shut down. I’ll lock the doors behind me. You gonna vandalize my dartboard?”
He shook his head. “You’re the one who needs this work done in a short amount of time. I’m telling you I can’t finish the last stool unless I have someone with me.”
She practically seethed, making her even sexier. “Why don’t you finish the stool at your workshop?” she asked reasonably.
“I already have two drying here, and one more to go. If I go back and forth, I’ll be losing valuable time, and time is your money.”
She glared, frustration simmering in a cloud around her. He wished he could walk over, yank her into his arms, and kiss the mad off her face, but she’d probably chop off his balls for such a move. Another reason he was so nuts about her.
“Fine. I’ll babysit you so we can get this work finished and be out of each other’s hair. One minute.” She grabbed her phone and stomped into the kitchen. Dalton waited, doing a few more stretches and then heading back to his work. If he lingered, maybe he’d have a good hour to force her to converse with him.
God, if his brothers knew how low he’d fallen he’d never live it down. Practically blackmailing a woman for her damn company.
Pathetic.
The structure of the stool had already been cut, and sanded, so he was ready to apply the varnish. Raven came back in a few minutes later, her scent curling around his nostrils in mouthwatering anticipation. He felt like Balin and Gandalf and tried not to sloppily drool.
“Tell me this isn’t Menudo.”
He refused to blush. He never listened to Menudo if there was anyone around. “Of course not. You should give me some respect.”
“For chaining me here to watch you work just because you’re getting bored?” she challenged. “I had to reschedule my gym appointment.”
“Personal trainer, huh? Some are pretty decent at giving you a workout. Too many have been disappointments. No vision or creativity.”
She snorted. “Not my personal trainer. Unfortunately,” she muttered.
“Good for you. Anyway, I figured you’d like being in charge of me. Telling me what to do. What not to do. How to do it.”
“Is that how you like your women?”
“I like my women to be themselves. I like my women comfortable in their own skin, open to possibilities, and unafraid of who they are. I think too many bend themselves to what they think a man wants, and forget what they want.”
Her startled gaze told him he’d managed to surprise her. He concentrated on smoothing the rough wood, evening the grain, bringing out the beauty. Waited for her response.
“That’s quite insightful of you,” she commented. “Seems like the perfect thing to say to a woman you still want to sleep with.”
A smile touched his lips. “Maybe. But I’m not saying it to get you to like me. I’m saying it ’cause it’s the truth.”
“Do you like the truth, Dalton?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then why do you concentrate so much on what a woman wants, and not what you really want?”
His hand stilled. He looked up, and their eyes locked. The familiar tension buzzed from a low hum to a slight simmer. “What do you mean?”
She hesitated, as if unsure whether she should dive in. “Never mind.”
“Tell me.”
She tilted her chin up in pure challenge. “I hear a lot about how you like to embrace the future, and the power of women being themselves, and how you’re open to all of it. But you know what? Not once have you told me what you’re really looking for. What type of woman would you like in your life? What sacrifices are you willing to make for her? How open are you to risks? Because I think, deep inside, you may be a bit of a coward, and just like to wrap words around grand gestures and ideas that keep you safe and alone in your bed at night. But that’s just my opinion.”
Struck mute, he stared at her, unable to form any words. He figured by being up front about his limitations, he was being fair. Hell, at times he called himself enlightened—a man who cited truth as his excuse not to get entangled. He thought he was one of the decent ones out there.
But Raven called him out as a coward.
He opened his mouth to deny, and reject, and challenge every word she uttered. Her phone buzzed and she jumped up with a smile.
“This is NSync, isn’t it?”
He shook his head, confused. “Yeah.”
“Funny, I haven’t been able to get a particular song out of my head. Keeps playing over and over.”
“Raven, I think—”
“It’s called ‘Bye Bye Bye.’ So bye-bye, Dalton. See you tomorrow. Enjoy your new babysitter.”
With glee, she threw the door open. Al stood there with a grumpy expression on his face. “How long do I have to be here?” he grunted.
“Until Dalton is done. Thanks, Al, I appreciate it.”
He waved her off and trudged inside, shooting Dalton a nice glare. “Yeah, yeah, go to your workout. See ya later.”
She kissed his cheek and bounced out of the bar, leaving Dalton with the overly muscled tank of a chef, who looked mightily pissed off at him.
Ah, fuck.
The chef took in the stool at his feet and shook his head. Plucked a battered pack of American Spirits out of his pocket. Then glared at him again. “I’m gonna have a cigarette.”
Dalton sighed. “Fine.”
The chef paused. “I don’t like tattletales.”
Dalton raised his brow. “You mean, you don’t want Raven to know you smoke.”
“Right.”
“I got your back. But you know, smoking causes some nasty shit, Al. I’d advise you to think seriously about quitting.”
The chef shook his head in disgust and headed out the back door. “Just keep your mouth shut and we’ll get along fine.”
Dalton surrendered and got back to work. After a while, Al joined him inside the bar, and the sound of newspaper pages flipping echoed in the air along with the music, which he’d significantly lowered in volume. “The bar looks great,” Al said.
“Thanks.”
“I like the stools, too.”
“They’ll make a big difference. I’m gonna rip out these crappy booths and replace those, too. And wait till you see the game tables for poker night.”