Her Last Temptation. Leslie Kelly

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      Cat hesitated as a sensation of déjà vu washed over her. How many times had she stood in this room, filled with chattering people—customers, family, friends—and felt that exact sensation of being alone, separated? It felt as if the world was moving all around her but she was frozen for one moment in time, looking at her life and wondering if she really was traveling the same path as everyone else. Because she so rarely felt in step with anyone.

      Only now, in this timeless instant when she wondered just where she belonged and where she was going, she wasn’t completely by herself. This dark-haired stranger was right there with her.

      “Cat?” he asked, obviously sensing her confusion.

      She blinked rapidly and shook her head, shaking off not only the strange sensation, but also the intensity of the moment. Forcing herself to focus, she shifted her gaze away, toward a customer who’d just taken a seat at the far end of the bar. She stepped over to him, trying to convince herself she had to get back to work when, in truth, she needed a chance to regain her sanity.

      “The usual?” she said to the guy in the brown sport coat, a Friday night regular who liked his women easy and his martinis dirty.

      He nodded. “If you can…spare the time,” he said with a truly amused grin, probably having heard the quiver in her voice.

      Behind her, she heard a long, low chuckle. As throaty and sensuous as every word Spence had spoken.

      She deserved the reaction. She’d looked away first, losing their silent game of chicken, shocking even herself. Cat didn’t remember the last time that had happened to her.

      Being disconcerted around a man was something she had seldom experienced. Cat Sheehan had been able to hold her own with men since the tenth grade when she’d started busing tables at the family bar. She’d sassed the old-timers, ducked away from grabby strangers and eventually chosen her first lover from among the Saturday night regulars.

      Never before had a man taken the upper hand from her—unless she’d wanted him to. This guy with his jet-black hair and his badass grin and his big, hard guitar had done it with a stare.

      Which was why, after she’d served Mr. Sport Coat his martini, she was having such a hard time thinking of a single thing to say to the still-staring musician. How could she even try to explain away that silence as something other than what they both knew damn well it had been?

      An invitation. A challenge. A promise. None of which she had any business accepting.

      But oh, how tempting it was to consider it.

      Good Lord, no wonder she was having a hard time coming up with any kind of response—much less a sassy comeback. Cat felt completely at a loss for words. Continuing the flirtation would be reinforcing her implied acceptance of every wicked thing he’d suggested with his eyes.

      Ending it might just kill her.

      He finally spared her by steering the conversation into neutral territory. “I do have the right place, don’t I? You’re expecting the Four G’s?”

      The Four G’s…she instantly remembered the band from Tremont—the next town over—which she’d hired for this weekend’s live entertainment. Of course he’s with the band, idiot. Isn’t he carrying a guitar case? She cleared her throat and nodded. “Uh, yes, definitely the right place. I’m…we’re…glad to have you here.”

      Oh, yeah, she’d be glad to have him all right. Upstairs in her apartment. On the swing in the back garden.

      Hell, on top of the bar might be nice.

      Cat thrust the mental picture out of her head, promising herself she’d lay off the romance novels. And the occasional late-night blue movies on cable. And the erotic fantasies during her middle-of-the-night bubble baths. Because she had obviously become a sex-starved maniac.

      She did have to give herself a little bit of a break. After all, it’d been a year since she’d had even bad sex. As for good sex? Whew, she wasn’t sure she could remember when that had last happened. Which had to explain why she wanted this guy like a woman on the South Beach Diet wanted a baked potato. With fries on the side.

      “Thanks. We were glad to get the call.” Spence smiled, a cocky half smile that said he knew what she’d been doing—trying to act nonchalant and not quite succeeding. “Though it looks like a small audience.”

      “What, are you kidding?” she asked, glancing around the room, where at least twenty people sat at the usually empty tables. “This is a crowd for us, lately. As close to wall-to-wall as we’ve seen since they tore up the nearest intersection, banned on-street parking, and set up a horrendous detour.”

      Obviously hearing her disgust, he said, “You sound like you definitely need some entertainment this weekend.”

      Oh, he had no idea how much she needed entertainment. Or maybe he did. His tiny grin told her they were flirting again. This time—maybe because he’d let her regain her equilibrium with small talk about the bar—Cat felt more able to handle it. “I’m a little particular in how I get my…entertainment.”

      “Oh? Anything you’d care to share?”

      Licking her lips, she did a classic blond hair toss—which she’d learned around the age of three—and reached for a martini shaker. She splashed a generous amount of vodka into it, dirtied it up with a splash of olive juice, then poured it for the guy at the end of the bar, knowing by the look in his eye that he was ready for another.

      “I don’t think so,” she said when she returned her attention to Spence.

      He shook his head. “Too bad. So I guess I’ll just have to do my stuff for everyone else in the room.”

      “I somehow suspect the women in this place are going to like seeing you do your stuff,” she replied, her tone dry.

      “I somehow suspect I won’t care what any other woman thinks.”

      Cat nibbled her bottom lip, seeing an expression that somehow resembled tenderness cross his face. As if he were no longer flirting, but being entirely serious. Which was ridiculous, considering they’d known each other all of a half hour.

      She shook off the feeling. “They’ll be a good audience, since you’re here at their request. I asked the loyal regulars who’ve been sticking it out through the road construction to vote on what they wanted for the last few weekends we’re open. Two of the three are strictly country and western, but this weekend Temptation is all about rock and roll, and you guys came highly recommended.”

      “Lucky me.” Straightening, he lifted his guitar case off the floor and looked toward the door, where another guitar-carrying musician was entering. “Guess I’d better go.”

      He was going to be across the room, but for some silly reason she almost missed him. Maybe it was because she knew in a few minutes he would be the property of every on-the-make woman in the place. “Want me to send over a drink to keep your pipes wet?”

      He nodded. “Just water, if you don’t mind.”

      He started to walk away, then paused and looked back. Nodding toward something on the wall behind her, he lowered his voice and said, “By the way…not me. And hopefully not you.”

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