She looked at him in mute surprise. There was no room in her head for conversation as unfamiliar hormones ran rampant through her bloodstream.
‘I’d remember if I’d seen you before,’ he added, and Scarlett wondered if the bar staff relied on tips. That would explain why he was being so friendly.
But water was free, wasn’t it? There was no need to tip and, therefore, no need for him to flirt with her. She’d never had a stranger flirt with her. She wasn’t really the type. She knew it was because she never encouraged eye contact, she didn’t have the knack of catching or holding someone’s attention. She knew the barman had only noticed her because she’d gasped when he’d dropped the knife and she was positive he was only flirting with her out of habit.
She glanced around, partly to confirm that he was actually talking to her and partly to see if anyone was paying them any attention. The bar area wasn’t busy; most of the women seemed happy to utilise the club’s table service and let the shirtless waiters come to them. The focus of the room was the stage and the tables were set facing that way, which meant most of the women had their backs to the bar. No one was looking at her. No one except the hot barman.
She wasn’t sure what she should do in this situation but, since no one was watching her and to ignore him would be rude, she smiled back. ‘You have women who come here often enough that you can recognise them?’
‘Believe it or not, we get a lot of regulars. Birthday parties and hen’s nights are good for repeat business. We’ve even had repeat customers who hold divorce parties.’
‘Divorce parties?’
‘The club owner thinks divorcees are an untapped market. Cashed-up women looking for some fun.’ He shrugged his smooth, sculpted shoulders. ‘He’s right and they do seem to enjoy themselves but I take it that’s not why you’re here?’
She shook her head and replied. ‘Hen’s night.’
Her eyes flicked across the room to the group she’d come with. No one seemed to have missed her and while she felt as though time was standing still she’d probably only been gone from the table for a few minutes.
As she scanned the room the stage lights came on and started pulsating. The deejay started spinning a eighties disco number and the dance floor cleared as everyone made their way back to their seats and focussed their attention on the front of the room as the next act, an athletic stripper in a sailor’s outfit, took to the stage. Scarlett could see the stage from the bar. It was in the club’s interest to make sure all patrons had a good view, but she wasn’t in any hurry to return to her seat, she was more than happy with the view she had here. She checked again but it seemed as though her absence wasn’t being noted. She guessed her company couldn’t compete with a semi-naked man gyrating on a stage.
‘You’re with Candice?’ he asked. Apparently he had followed her line of sight.
Scarlett’s eyes shot back. ‘You know her?’ she asked, as she remembered that Candice had known someone who worked here. Was this him?
‘We’re old family friends,’ he explained. He pulled the tea towel from the waistband of his jeans and began wiping the bar. It was already spotless and Scarlett wondered if it was a delaying tactic. Was he delaying so he could talk to her? A warm glow spread through her. She couldn’t deny she was enjoying the attention. ‘Do the two of you work together?’ he asked.
Scarlett nodded.
‘Are you a nurse too?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m a doctor.’
Her answer surprised him. He’d thought he was a good judge of character and while he didn’t think she looked like a nurse she looked even less like a doctor. Her neck was long and slender, her face a perfect oval. Her lips were full and pouty, shiny with a pale pink gloss. In contrast, her eyes were dark and mesmerising. Outlined with kohl, the lids dusted with dark eye shadow and her lashes coated with mascara, her eyes looked as though they could have a thousand secrets hidden in their depths.
Her hair, a brown so deep it was almost black, was thick and she’d pulled it back into a bun at the nape of her neck. His fingers itched to reach across the bar and pull the pins out, to let her hair cascade over her shoulders.
He realised it was the bun that had thrown his judgement off. It was far too severe for her stunning features and gave her the appearance of someone who worked in administration. All she needed to complete the look was a pair of glasses.
On the surface she looked like organised efficiency but his imagination suggested that underneath the surface was a different story. Perhaps he’d been working at the club for too long, he thought as his mind wandered. Maybe he was having difficulty separating fact from fiction, reality from fantasy.
‘What’s so funny?’ she asked.
He shook his head as he realised he was smiling. ‘Nothing.’ She was a doctor who worked with Candice. It wasn’t funny, it was perfect, but the story would keep for another day. ‘I’d better get back to work. Tell Candice I’ll come over later and say hi.’
He watched as she left the bar and crossed the room to return to her table. He wasn’t in a hurry to get back to work—checking her out was far more interesting. Her body was smoking hot. She had poured it into a simple black dress—round neck, sleeveless, zipped down the back. He wondered if she was trying to disguise her assets, but the sway of her hips drew his attention to her narrow waist and round bottom. He was enjoying watching her walk away.
Her dress stopped just above her knees and his eyes travelled lower. Her legs were bare, no stockings, and her calves were pale, her ankles slender. She was wearing heels, ridiculously high heels, which might explain the sexy sway of her hips. He just had time to notice her shoes had a leopardskin pattern before she slid into her seat at the end of the catwalk and the stage hid her legs from view.
He was fascinated. Her swollen lips, mysterious eyes, generous D bust and her unexpected shoes all contrasted sharply with her no-nonsense hairstyle and plain dress. She was a bombshell disguised as a secretary. Which part of her was real? Was she even aware of the bombshell? Was her outfit smoke and mirrors or did she really not know how hot she was? Did she ever let the bombshell out and how could he arrange to be there if she did?
By the time she sat down at her table, Evan, the sailor stripper, had been replaced by Caesar, a muscular man of Fijian descent, who was clad only in a loincloth. The guys were warming the crowd up again with their routines. As Jake mixed a fresh batch of cocktails Caesar backflipped off the catwalk and began dancing through the crowd, looking for a willing participant for his act. Jake watched Candice’s friend as he measured and poured. He could see she was trying to avoid eye contact with Caesar, desperate not to be picked and dragged into the spotlight. Just watching her made him grin. She was definitely a club virgin.
He watched as she dipped her head to the side, bringing him into her line of sight. She saw him watching her, a reversal of their earlier roles, but not one to be embarrassed at being caught out, he gave her another wink.
Scarlett felt herself blush again. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she keep her eyes to herself? Why did she keep seeking him out? She’d just turned down a marriage proposal and yet her head was full of lustful thoughts about a complete stranger.
She tried to focus instead on the dancer, stripper—she wasn’t sure what they called themselves—only to find that his act was finishing and his spot was being taken by another man, slightly older than the others but just as buff and tanned, who wore tight black leather pants and nothing else. He held a microphone and greeted the audience in a loud, showman’s voice, ‘Good evening, chicks, and welcome to The Coop.’
‘Good evening, Rooster!’ A chorus of women’s voices split the air as the majority of the audience called out a greeting in return.
‘Listen up, ladies, the Himbo Limbo is about to begin. Choose your competitor and send them to me,’