The First Night Read online

  One morning, for what seemed like the ten-thousandth time, he awoke feeling empty and alone despite the blonde bombshell lying naked next to him. They had been seeing each other for a few months, longer than he’d been with any of the girls he had fucked. Any other time, if he’d bothered staying, he would have awoken the girl by gently rolling her nipple between his forefinger and thumb, lightly flicking the other with his tongue before sliding back into her, pounding until both of them came. Instead, he rolled out of bed, quickly getting dressed. He watched her sleep for a few minutes, knowing it was the last time he would see her. She’s not Kayla, he’d thought. None of them are.

  He snuck away and went back to his apartment. That was the day he realized he had to go home, where he’d grown up, where she’d grown up. The town she would always go back to and maybe, just maybe he would increase his chances of seeing her again. And there she was. Four months to the day since he’d moved back.

  Unable to keep his eyes from her for more than a second or two, he mechanically took and filled drink orders. And when she moved from the table and began walking toward the bar, his heartbeat sped up.

  She paused, watching the dance floor. The way she nibbled on her bottom lip made his cock throb. She looked up, directly at him as if she’d sensed his staring, and smiled.

  * * * *

  Music blared from the band, pounding in Kayla’s ears and masking the nervous hammering in her chest. She tossed the apprehension from her head. The bartender was watching her again, and she was glad. After all, it had been a long time since anyone held her interest and he…well, he seemed to be matching her awareness. She was determined to talk to him, and with liquid courage having her back, she was in rare form. Feeling tenacious and certain, she licked her lips to make them shine and walked toward the faintly familiar man.

  The closer she got to the bar, the more the courage escaped her. Never in her life had she approached a man she was attracted to. “Just go to the bar and order a drink,” she said quietly to herself. “He won’t bite.”

  Kayla grinned, took a deep breath, and settled on a bar stool. She didn’t have to wait. The bartender met her as she sat. His gaze held hers for a second longer than she was comfortable with, and her breath hitched in her throat. She moved her stare to the shelves of bottles behind him. Without her asking, he placed a shot of tequila in front of her. She slowly traced the rim with her index finger, trying to think of something clever to say when he sat another shot on the worn mahogany bar top. “Thanks, but I can’t handle two more. I’d like to be able to walk out of here.”

  He held the extra glass up to her eye level, leaning toward her, his eyes burning into hers. “This one is for me. I’d like you to be able to walk out of here too. Let’s have a toast.”

  People around the bar repeatedly shouted out their orders, but the bartender didn’t seem to hear them, or if he did, he didn’t acknowledge them. Two other guys serving drinks took up the slack.

  Kayla picked up the small glass of liquid meant for her and slowly batted her lashes. “A toast to what, exactly?”

  She couldn’t help but notice the black scribe tattoo on the inside of his upper arm and wondered what it said, but didn’t allow her eyes to dwell as they followed his arm to his shoulder and to his neck. She imagined her tongue trailing across his skin and quickly flushed, blaming her erotic dream for her bold thought.

  He smiled, and his eyes sparkled as he clinked his glass to hers. “To four-inch, platinum heels and jeans that make an ass like yours trigger heart attacks for all that may lay their eyes upon it.”

  Kayla laughed out loud. He had to be joking, how cheesy. “Well, I wouldn’t say it has such an extreme effect on everyone. Does a line like that work on every female?” She licked her hand where he’d showed her earlier and grabbed the salt shaker.

  He leaned in closer, inches from her, his gaze intense. “I couldn’t be more serious. I’ve always—”

  “Gannon!” one of the other bartenders interrupted. “We’ve got a fight!”

  His eyes narrowed, and irritation spread across his face. He glanced at the anxious announcer behind him and back to Kayla. “Give me a few minutes?”

  She watched him jump across the bar and disappear into the crowd. Shivers went across her skin as she noticed the muscles in his arms flex when he lifted himself over the counter. Forgetting about the salt, she tossed the shot back and helped herself to the one he’d left on the bar. As an afterthought, she bit into the lime. His name is Gannon, she thought, racking her brain to figure out why it seemed they’d met before. Why he looked even more familiar now that she’d had a chance to soak him in.

  Ten minutes later, the alcohol kicked in and with no sign of Gannon, Kayla wandered toward the dance floor in search of Sharon. The place had become packed, and she felt herself bounce from shoulder to shoulder until she was at the table where her friend sat.

  “Oh, girl! You are drunk,” Sharon said, leaning in close to be heard over the music. She scooted an empty chair away from the table. “Have a seat.”

  Kayla plopped down as gracefully as the alcohol allowed. Tipping, she fell into Vic’s chest, catching herself with her hands. Through his crisp cotton shirt, she felt his heartbeat rise.

  “She’s gotten frisky,” he announced, placing a hand on her neck. His thumb grazed the skin just below her ear, and her shoulders twitched. “Are you ready to dance yet?” he asked, raising Kayla up from his chest by her shoulders.

  Kayla shrugged, thinking what the hell, why not? I’m at a bar, the band is great, and I’m feeling pretty damn good. “Sure,” she replied, and met Missy’s eyes. “You don’t mind?”

  “Go on, have fun. I’ll be out there as soon as I finish my smoke,” Missy said, and flicked her ashes. She took a sip from her wine glass, her eyes never leaving Kayla.

  Vic’s lips turned up, showing a mouthful of bright, white teeth as he stood and took Kayla’s hand.

  At first the dancing was fun. Kayla moved about in sync with the beat, laughing, playfully touching Vic’s arms and chest and shoulders, knowing it meant nothing because he was there with Missy. But when Vic came from behind and pulled her in, pressing his swollen bulge against her lower back, grinding as he slid his hand under her shirt, Kayla was shocked at the tingling sensation between her thighs. But she liked it, and for an instant, she pictured her body bent over a table and Vic taking her from behind. She glanced at Missy who smiled and winked at her. Vic’s arm wrapped around her waist and he pulled her in. Kayla’s neck flopped back and her head rested on his shoulder. His mouth found her neck. Together their bodies shifted with the music. His hand rubbed between her legs, over her jeans, and she didn’t want it to stop. This is wrong. I’m drunk…way more drunk than I need to be.

  Kayla stepped away from him. Aware her walk was more of a stagger, she used the backs of chairs for stability as she found the table and her seat.

  “You’re not ready to go…are you?” Sharon asked, breathlessly.

  Kayla’s eyes focused to see Sharon sitting on some man’s lap, his hand clearly slipped up her short skirt. What the hell? Huh. Maybe they all fuck each other. This is too much. You are slobbery-ass drunk. Where’s the bartender? Jeez, what is his name?

  “Did you enjoy yourself out there?” Missy laughed but her eyes were serious and seductive. Kayla felt herself become caught in them for a second until she noticed a few strands of Missy’s blazing—obviously dyed—red hair had fallen over her face, and in her drunken state Kayla leaned over to push them out of the way. As she did, the room began to spin and the only thing going through her head was please don’t pass out. And then she did.

  * * * *

  “What the fuck, Sharon?” Gannon asked when he walked up to the table where Kayla was passed out. The assholes had at least been considerate enough to prop her arm under her head.

  “Don’t ‘what the fuck’ me! She passed out. You’re the one who kept giving her shots! I’ll take care of it,” Sharon said, despi
te her shallow breaths. She squirmed on the man’s lap, and Gannon noticed the table was not screening them as much as they may have thought. The man’s hand was up her skirt.

  “She’s not going with you.” Gannon glanced around the four of them. Not one did he trust to get Kayla home safely. Sharon frequented the bar often, always taking home someone new, and from what he had witnessed, she didn’t care if it was a man or a woman…or even a couple.

  “Well, I’m not letting her drive.” Sharon dangled a set of keys on her finger, speaking in short gasps, and Gannon refused to question what was going on under the table. “These are hers. I got them after her first shot of tequila. I’ll get her home.”

  “Hell no!” Gannon said, trying his best not to sound as pissed off as he actually was. “I’ve. Got. This.” He snatched the keys from Sharon’s finger. His face flushed with anger. There was no way, under any circumstance, he would allow any of them to take her home, if taking her home was actually their plan. He cringed at the thought of Kayla being caught up in one of their sexcapades.

  “Do you even know where she lives?”

  “Of course I do.” Furious with Sharon, not wanting to hear her voice more than he had to, Gannon lied. Different scenarios darted through his head as to how he could successfully get Kayla home, noting to himself he was clueless to the vicinity of her house. He looked at her unconscious body. She would definitely be no help.

  The man under Sharon whispered in her ear. “Fine,” Sharon said, and she turned to kiss the man fully on the mouth. A few seconds later, she gave her attention back to Gannon. “But nothing had better happen to her. She’s my friend, and if you do something to her...”

  Gannon shook his head, Sharon was unbelievable. “Are you kidding me?” He scoffed. “What do expect me to do, Sharon, take advantage of her? No chance.” He glared at the four of them individually, taking his time, and making certain each one knew he was serious. “Which I might add, is something I can’t say for any of you.”

  Chapter 3

  Kayla opened her eyes and rolled over to blinding, head-splitting sunlight. She winced and covered her face with the blanket. For a few minutes she lay still with her eyes closed. Inhaling deeply, she smelled an amazing scent—a mixture of musk and faint cinnamon—that made her breath catch even with the pounding in her head. That smell, scrumptious as it was, told her she was not in her own bed.

  She peeked from under the foreign covers, and despite already knowing she wasn’t in her room, at the sight of the unfamiliar, she shot straight up. Immediately, she regretted the sudden movement. Her head throbbed, but she looked through the pain at the gray paint coating the walls. Dark wooden furniture spun around her. She gazed at the navy blue comforter, unconsciously rolling the corner between her index finger and thumb. Disoriented, and maybe still a little drunk, she fought against the thumping and swirling in her head.

  She tossed the blanket off, relieved to find she was still wearing last night’s clothes, sans shoes. “Where am I?” she quietly asked, speaking to no one. She was alone.

  Kayla scooted off the bed and picked her shoes up off the floor. She faced three closed doors. Surely one is the bathroom. She gripped the knob of the first one and turned it…the closet. She tried the next and sighed in relief…the bathroom. Thank God!

  She splashed her face with water, wiped away her smudged eye makeup, and smoothed her hair. Is there any chance I’ll get out of here unseen? She took a deep breath and opened the third door. As she did, a sweet smell filled the air, bringing back a rush of memories, though they were jumbled and impossible to place. She tossed them from her mind, too hungover to pay them attention, and slowly followed the scent down the hall, doing her best to recall anything that had happened the night before—after her second trip to the bar.

  It was blank.

  A void.

  A never-ending abyss that gave her no knowledge of whose house she might be in. Or who was cooking breakfast.

  When she came to the end of the hall and rounded the corner she was forced to plant her right hand against the wall for stability. Damn tequila!

  She wanted to hide. Or run. Or put on an invisible cloak. Or snap her fingers and disappear. The bartender. The hot bartender with smoldering eyes was maneuvering through the kitchen. As he turned around, she did her best to wipe the shock from her face in hopes of leaving her expression illegible.

  “Hey light-weight.” His full lips turned up, showing a hint of teeth. He stood there barefoot, with nothing on but thin, gray, cotton, drawstring pajama pants. They sat low on his hips, showing off the well-defined v-shape of his lower torso, boasting more of his tan body than she thought she could handle. Despite her headache and the searing mortification of waking in his bed, Kayla found herself wanting to peel the pants off of him.

  She dropped her head to look at the floor in order to give her mouth a chance to close. “Sorry about that, I don’t drink much.” Horror went over her. She couldn’t remember his name. Gavin? Gammil? Garrett? Ugh! Embarrassing!

  As if he were able to see the pulsing in her head, he went to the cabinet and pulled out a package of BC powder, tossing it on the kitchen island. “You’ll need water,” he said, filling a glass at the sink and setting it beside the hangover meds. When she didn’t reach for the glass, he added, “The sooner you take this, the sooner you’ll feel better.”

  Once she choked it down, she said, “Thanks. I need to get going.” Because I can’t remember your name and I don’t want to ask, and I don’t even know how I got here…or where ‘here’ is.

  “Food…you need food. It’ll help, and not to brag or anything, but I am a master pancake chef.”

  Unable to turn down her favorite food ever, she allowed the smell to compromise her judgment. “Yeah? Well, I happen to be a pancake connoisseur, so I guess I’ll have to be the judge of that.” She leaned against the counter and dropped her shoes on the floor.

  “Challenge accepted.” He grinned, and it lit up his eyes.

  The bartender moved to the stove top, his back to her, and she admired his every move. It was hard not to. His broad shoulders alone commanded attention and his back, lean and toned, showed every muscle as he worked.

  Kayla caught herself before she fell into a drooling trance, and cleared her throat in an attempt to simultaneously clear her head. “I have a question.”

  “What’s that?” He turned and looked at her quizzically as he moved close to set a short stack of pancakes in front of her. He didn’t back away. He stayed close.

  The heat from his body made Kayla’s skin tingle, and she had a hard time not staring at his chest from the corner of her eye. Smooth and strong. She pictured her hands on him. Ugh! Concentrate. What is wrong with you?

  Forcing her gaze not to stray from the plate, she took a bite of food. The pancakes were fabulous. “Mm…these are really good. Are you not eating?” She took another mouthful, hoping the mundane gesture of eating would dull the energy that was obviously building toward him.

  “That’s your question? Am I eating? You got all tensed up for that?”

  Was it that obvious he made her nervous? She chose to ignore his comment. “No…I mean…it was a question. Not the one I planned to ask though.” She sounded like a blubbering idiot. The bartender stepped away, taking his heat with him, and Kayla let out air she didn’t know she was holding. “I just, well, I don’t remember much of what happened last night…after I left the bar for the second time.” Damn tequila!

  He snorted under his breath. “Yeah, you were pretty hammered.”

  She felt him soaking her in and turned so that her entire body faced his. Her gaze went to the scribe tattoo on his arm…Never Forget. She took a deep breath, mentally preparing for the answer to the question she didn’t want to ask but knew she needed to. “What happened last night?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Why was he insisting on specifics? Humiliating.

  “Between us?” He answered his own question while
regarding the expression on her face, which she could only presume to be one of disgrace. “Let’s see.” He tilted his head, his right index finger lingering on his lips as if in deep thought. “First, you passed out on the table. Your orgy-loving friend, what is her name? Oh, yes. Sharon. She insisted on taking you home, but I struggled with trusting her. There was no way I was going to let her have you. So, I brought you here.”

  Let her have me?

  A sweet grin formed across his lips. “What’s wrong?”

  She wiped the look of confusion from her face. “Nothing. I’m just surprised, I guess. Is that all?”

  He laughed, his dark eyes sparking with light. “Oh, no, there’s more, but by the look on your face, I’m not sure you can handle it.”

  “I can handle it,” she said, though she wasn’t certain. She racked her brain, trying to recall any information that would shock her, but failed. There was nothing.

  The shirtless bartender stepped closer, and her breath hitched. He gave a glimmer of a smile. Sardonic maybe, she didn’t know. It was too fast to read.

  “As soon as we walked in the door, you tried to take me on the couch,” he said, his seductive eyes holding hers, and her heart thumped in her throat. His voice was low, mellow music in her ears despite him describing such horrific behavior. “I turned you down, and you got seriously pissed.” He shrugged as if what he’d just said were no big deal.

  Kayla stood there, jaw at the floor, eyes wide, and frozen, inches away from him.

  The right corner of his mouth turned up slightly. “And then you passed out…again.” The bartender reached by her to the partly eaten stack of pancakes, and with her fork, cut himself off a bite.