Morgan coughed delicately. “Goodness gracious. Your brother is capable of handling his job. Why don’t we leave Dalton to his own business? And his dick.”

Dalton hooted with laughter. Morgan was a polite Southern-born charmer with a spitfire living underneath. Hearing her curse in that pretty little accent cracked him up each time. “Glad to know someone around here respects me. Anyway, I have my eye settled on one woman I can’t seem to thaw.”

“The bartender?” Cal groaned. “I love My Place. Plus, she makes the best damn cocktails. You gonna screw that up for me by getting involved with her?”

Dalton rocked back on his heels. “Always thinking of yourself, big brother?”

Morgan tapped a nail against the curve of her lip, her arm around Cal’s waist. “I like Raven. But she’s not the type to tangle with, Dalton. There’s something about her that tells me she’s not as hard as she pretends.”

“I just want to get to know her better. She swings hot and cold. Most of the time I get the impression she resents me for some reason. Does she ever talk to you about us, Morgan?”

Her silvery blond bob swished back and forth. “No. I remember when she told us to get out of her bar, but she never mentioned it again. She’s always nice to me, but she definitely holds back.”

“Maybe no man’s ever been her match before,” Dalton said thoughtfully. “I don’t scare easy.”

“Unbelievable,” Cal said. “Sure, why find a woman who’s willing when it’s more fun to find one that hates your guts?”

“Didn’t you have that same experience with Morgan?”

Cal glowered. Morgan laughed. “He got you, Charming,” she drawled.

“Princess, I knew you were hot for me from day one,” he said. “It was just a matter of time.”

She jabbed him with her elbow, but Cal didn’t even flinch.

Dalton grinned. “I offered my services to renovate her bar. It’s a beautiful piece I’ve been wanting to get my hands on. Could be a great project for Pierce Brothers.”

Cal nodded, his face flickering back to business mode. “Hmm. A restored antique bar would be a nice advertisement for the company. Seen by a variety of people, too. What did she say?”

“No.” He paused, considering. “But I think she’ll change her mind.”

“Just make sure to keep business separate from your sex life,” Cal said.

“Absolutely. Just like you did with Morgan.”

Dalton turned his back and walked away, laughing at his brother’s grumblings. Months ago, his sibling’s constant ribbing about his sex life would’ve shot him into a temper with a thirst for a fight. Now he recognized the affection beneath, and the ease they’d had when they were younger had returned. It was nice to have his brothers back on good terms. He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed spending time with them.

He headed down the hill and pulled away in his black Ford Bronco. It was almost lunchtime, and he needed to pick up some supplies close to My Place. Maybe he’d swing in for a quick lunch and see if he’d be able to persuade Raven to let him touch her bar. Of course, if she was still as prickly as last time, he’d get another pink froufrou drink and maybe a stinging verbal slap.

The real problem was he liked her attitude. He rarely met a woman who didn’t enjoy his company. After the initial surprise, he’d found she intrigued him, seemingly hiding layers beneath the surface. Dalton adored exploring every side of a woman, not just her body. A better sexual experience revealed itself when he got to know not just how she liked to be touched, but what her fears were, her fantasies, her vulnerabilities. He’d refined seduction to a fine art and made damn sure both partners enjoyed the experience. But Raven threw him off guard, and he still hadn’t figured out a way to keep his balance.

It was kinda hot.

He pulled into the graveled lot and found the early crowd was just shuffling in. The outside of My Place was simple, with a blinking sign, dark brown shingles, and a saloon-type entrance. Dalton noted the worn condition of the roof. It would need replacing before winter, and the pathway leading up had too many broken cracks for liability purposes. He pushed his way through, enjoying the cool rush of air chasing away the thick humidity. He drew in the smell of frying meat and smiled at the familiar strains of “Piano Man” by Billy Joel. Sliding onto his favorite stool all the way to the left, he watched Raven in action.

Her long hair was caught up in a casual clip, and large gold hoops dangled from her ears. Her black cotton tank top showed off her smooth olive skin, and jeweled letters scrawled out I HAVE NO TIME FOR IDIOTS across her chest. She was multitasking with her usual economical but graceful motions, stacking glasses, tapping at the cash register, checking on the new pot of coffee brewing. He studied her tight ass, cupped perfectly in faded denim, and the lean length of her legs, which would make a Rockette jealous. The image of those legs wrapped around his hips hit him so hard, he skipped a breath. Her diamond nose ring sparkled as she turned her head to say something to a customer, shooting the guy a flirty wink that meant nothing but got Dalton hard, ready to go, and a teensy bit jealous. Damn. He’d been attracted to a thousand women, but there was an extra squeeze in his gut along with the one in his dick that threw him off. Raven pivoted on her heel and snagged him with her gaze.

And just like that, her smile disappeared.

Dalton mourned the loss. With a slight frown, she headed down the bar to stand in front of him. “What are you doing here? It’s not even noon.”

He threw up his hands in mock defense. “I’m addicted to the sweet potato fries. Plus, I have a pickup down the road. Figured I’d swing in for lunch.”

“Lucky me.” She let out an irritated sigh that made him itch to force her to look at him. Really look at him. “Anything else?”

“Coffee.”

She didn’t respond, just put in his order for the fries, headed to the coffeepot, poured him a large mug, and slid over creamer and sugar. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” He ignored the condiments and sipped the steaming black brew. Then coughed, pounding himself on the chest. “Damn, you may want to put a warning on this stuff.”

“Too hot for you?”

“Did you grind up the entire Colombian field for this pot? Forget putting hair on my chest. This’ll turn me into the yeti.”