“Coming right up.” It was difficult to tear his gaze off her, but he forced himself to act professional, sliding to the other end of the counter to prepare her drinks.

He jiggled the stainless-steel margarita shaker more vigorously than necessary, a sense of nervous energy overtaking him. Fuck. He wanted to talk to her. Find out her name.

Convince her to go home with him.

And wasn’t that a mind-boggler. He spent most nights turning down offers for sex, and all of a sudden he was imagining screwing a complete stranger?

His friends would die of shock if they could read his thoughts right now. Gage and Reed viewed him as Mr. Nice Guy, the man who held doors open for his dates and didn’t sleep with a girl until they’d been seeing each other for a proper amount of time. The guy who offered women his shoulder to cry on and bought them flowers for every damn occasion.

But he supposed they had every right to see him as the nicest guy on the planet. It was the image he tried to project most of the time, the label he’d been striving his entire life to live up to.

Christ, if people only knew. How hard he worked to be that polite, dependable guy everyone could rely on. How badly he fought to suppress the wild urges that arose more often than not. How frustrating it was to dutifully play the part of prodigal son, good friend, reliable boyfriend.

He didn’t always succeed, though. Sometimes the need to truly let go couldn’t be ignored. He had to ease it, and in the past, he’d used fighting to do that. He’d heard that people frequently used sex or violence as an outlet for release, as a way to feel alive, and he couldn’t deny that his days as an MMA fighter had certainly soothed the darker, restless part of himself that he usually hid from the world. Sex, on the other hand, didn’t achieve the same result. It had always been more intimate for him, tangled up with love and relationships and all that emotional stuff.

But for some strange reason, the raven-haired woman at the counter had unleashed his carnal, reckless urges. Because suddenly the idea of going home with a stranger had become very, very appealing…

“You gonna take those over to the customer? Or just keep staring at them?”

His head jerked at Sue’s teasing voice. Ignoring his aching cock, he glanced down, realizing that the drinks he’d poured were now sitting on the bar top waiting to be delivered.

“Naah, I’ve got it. Just spaced out for a second.” He plastered on a smile, then carried the drinks over to where the woman was waiting—and staring. Staring hard, in fact, and her plump lips were puckered in the tiniest of frowns.

Unease washed over him, but he tried to ignore it. “Three margaritas and one Coke,” he announced.

She gave a polite smile in return. Very, very polite…so polite it was clearly forced, and his wariness only heightened.

“Thanks,” she said tightly. “How much do I owe you?”

“Eighteen bucks.”

His gaze stayed on her as she dug around in her purse for her wallet. Her body language was as stiff as her voice, a clear indication that she was ticked off about something.

“Here. Keep the change.” She dropped a twenty on the counter, then lifted her head and noticed him staring. “What?” she said irritably.

“You okay there? You look kinda pissed.” His eyes narrowed as a thought occurred to him. “Is anyone giving you a hard time? The crowd’s a little wilder than usual tonight—say the word and I’ll sic one of my bouncers on whoever’s bugging you.”

His concern didn’t spark warmth or gratitude, but more hostility. “I’m just peachy, pal. And FYI—if someone was harassing me, I’d take care of it myself.”

He studied her slim, no taller than five-two frame, his lips twitching in amusement. “Uh-huh. I’m sure you would, angel.”

“I might look small, but trust me, I can kick some serious ass,” she retorted.

She picked up two of the margaritas and took an abrupt step away.

AJ spoke before she could hurry off. “Is it something I said?”

A cloud of annoyance continued to hover over her. “Nope. Thanks for the drinks. I’ll be back in a sec to grab these two. Make sure no one messes with them, okay?”

This time she almost made it three steps before he stopped her. And this time he didn’t do it with words, but by rounding the counter, then leaving it entirely to come to her side.

Her mouth partially opened as she tilted her head to gaze up at him. “What are you doing?”

Rather than answer, he gave a quick shout in the direction of the counter. “Yo! Henry, I’m taking a break.” He picked up the two glasses that remained on the counter.

“Seriously, what are you doing?” she demanded.

“Carrying these drinks back to your table. And…”

The swell of music must have drowned out his words, because she leaned in closer. “What?” she yelled.

A rush of dizziness hit him as her intoxicating scent filled his nostrils. Lord, she smelled good. Like roses in full bloom, with a trace of lavender and a hint of something entirely feminine.