God, she missed him.

Fighting back a sigh, she checked the mirror before she headed out to the bar. She donned her usual outfit: jeans, tank, and Skechers sneakers with high wedges. She left her hair loose and messy, since she wasn’t serving food, and deliberately veered away from makeup. No need to impress the man. They were both there for business, and maybe she’d gain more traction on his past. The image of his face turning cold and hard when he told her about the car accident haunted her. She’d been so intent on digging for information, she hadn’t prepared for the emotion behind it. He was someone who understood what it felt like to lose a parent in an accident. Somehow, she’d kept her idea of him separate from any feelings, as if his accusations against her father had numbed him to the power of grief. She was just beginning to realize it was going to be harder than she thought to revisit the past.

She’d be more confident in her abilities to handle Dalton Pierce if he hadn’t done the worst thing possible and touched her.

A shiver raced down her spine. The moment their skin had met, a jolt of pure feeling shook her body. She wished she could compare it to the unpleasant sensation of being shocked when her fur glove hit metal, but it was deeper than that. A hungry need pushed through her blood and burrowed into her gut, urging her to move closer to him, screaming for her to let the touch linger.

Hell no.

Instead, she’d jumped back and run away. Raven didn’t even care if she looked like a coward, she only knew it was key to her survival that she get far away from him.

But today, there’d be no touching. She was ready, dressed in armor, and focused on gaining information without being vulnerable.

She drove to the pub, unlocking the doors and flipping on the lights. The vast space was quiet and hummed with the energy of people endlessly rushing in and out, now ghostly on this Tuesday. Brewing a pot of coffee, she got ready, making sure she’d moved everything off and away from the bar. Setting up her workstation at a table midway back, she sorted inventory files and made her agenda for the day.

The warm breeze blew in as the door opened. She looked up.

Damn him for being so hot.

There was something about men who worked with their hands that had always turned her on. She had a tendency to attract the starving artist types or bad boy rockers, but Dalton’s craft was just as swoonworthy. The simple white T-shirt molded to his carved chest, and the jeans were faded and worn to cup his ass in exactly the right places. His golden hair was tied back in a short ponytail. He looked like Matthew McConaughey, one of her fave celebrity crushes. The longish nose and deep voice that dripped sex. The powerful aura and big hands that gripped tool cases and beams of wood. Even the work boots made her drool. Yep, large feet, too. Why was she surprised?

“Morning.” He set down the materials and gave her a smile. “Got a lot of stuff to bring in.”

“Need help?”

“No, ma’am. Part of the contract. I take care of everything.”

He dropped his gaze to her breasts, sweeping lower, then back up. Her skin tingled. She cleared her throat, hating how virginal she was acting around him. For God’s sake, she’d been around the proverbial block or two! She deliberately headed toward the bar. “Good. I made coffee. Want some?”

He chewed at his lip, looking a bit fearful. “Don’t know. Did you use the whole coffee tree this time?”

“I like my coffee strong.”

“Like your men?”

This time, she tossed him a careless smile. “Nope. I like my men one way only: committed.”

She appreciated his deep laugh. She could handle a lot of missing qualities in men, but a guy without a sense of humor left her cold. “I can do committed.”

Raven crossed her arms and tilted her head. “For the night?”

That slow, wicked grin hit all the right places in her girly bits. “The night, the weekend, the month. For as long as we’re happy. Isn’t that what life is about?”

“For you, maybe. For me, not so much. I can’t wait to start buying bridal magazines and talking about dresses and favors and cakes.”

He actually blanched, causing her to almost break the farce and giggle. She wasn’t wedding crazy, but it was the perfect weapon to use on him. “You sound like my future sister-in-law,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “Even my brother is caught up in wedding chaos. Building a house and planning a wedding in the same year isn’t a smart move, but hell, no one listened to me.”

“Morgan, right? She designed the Rosenthals’ estate. Can’t believe a pair of Hollywood celebrities live right in our midst.” The Academy Award–nominated super couple had bought property in Harrington while shooting a film, then decided to stay. Morgan had been all over the news regarding her talent in building the perfect house for celebrity clients, and was now highly sought after by Tinseltown. Raven considered her a casual friend, since she frequented the bar regularly, though her relationship with Cal made Raven keep up her defenses.

“That’s her. The house Morgan and Cal are building to live in will be better. She’s finally able to see her own personal vision come to life instead of designing around everyone else’s tastes.” He paused, regarding her intently. “Maybe you need the same freedom.”

“How so?”

“Society tells us marriage is the only way to prove a relationship is real. Don’t you think you may be bowing down to these constrictions in order to fit in?” His eyes suddenly blazed like a brilliant blue sky. “Wouldn’t you rather have something real and good for a little while, rather than fake for eternity?”

Again, that connection between them rose up and practically strangled her with intensity. Oh, this man was a true master. He had every line memorized, and knew exactly how to charm a woman out of her panties. She turned her back on him, reaching for a mug and pouring him a cup of coffee. “I don’t intend to choose, Slick.” She slid it across the stripped bar with a flick of her wrist, not spilling a drop. “But maybe one day, you’ll have to.”

His slow grin gained her respect. He took her jabs with a sense of play, proving he’d be an interesting companion. Accepting the challenge, he took a healthy swallow of the bitter brew, shuddered, and put the mug down like he’d tossed back a one-hundred-proof whiskey shot. “This coffee doesn’t get any better with time, does it?”