Twisted in Tulips by Nikki Duncan Read Free Book Online Page A

sides.”
    “Bullshit.” Women stuck up for each other even when they barely knew each other.
    “If you’re calling bullshit, call it on yourself.” Sam shelved a glass and braced her hands on the bar opposite Jace. Her long ponytail flopped over her shoulder. Her green eyes locked with his. “You’ve been coming in here for months. You sit in the corner booth nursing the same beer all night. You never pay attention to the waitresses or other women who try to get your attention aside from flashing that scary look of yours.”
    “So?” He heard the belligerence in his voice but didn’t care.
    “So… Ask yourself what’s really eating you. Is it how Misty dresses or is it that she doesn’t chase you or back down from your Captain Hook villainous mood? Because if you ask me…” Sam went on as if she’d been asked. It was something else women did a lot of. “I think you’re afraid she’s different enough to be special. Special enough to accept you.”
    Ha. Special. No modern career woman was special enough to understand, let alone accept him. She wouldn’t want to be saddled with the darkness that plagued his mind or the issues his arm caused. She’d prefer a whole man.
    Misty was most assuredly a modern career woman. She’d made it clear she appreciated his help. Her mention of him to Masters had been enough to land him the job he’d needed for the sake of his sanity. She’d also made it clear that though he aroused her she wouldn’t spend time around him until he respected her.
    “How’s a man supposed to prove he respects a woman if she won’t speak to him?” He’d tried for a week to catch her but only managed when she was with clients—when she couldn’t, or shouldn’t, be interrupted.
    “My great grandpa would tell you that mystery is older than the dirt under God’s toenails.”
    “Which is no answer.”
    “I would tell you to pay attention, figure out what makes her tick, what she’s overcome, if anything, and how she’s handled it. Learn who she is instead of worrying about how she dresses.” Sam put the dishwasher rack, now empty of the clean glasses, below the bar. “You say people judge you by your arm. You’re doing the same to her.”
    Jace stared into the amber depth of his beer that had long ago gone warm. Sam’s disapproval bounced around, slamming into his conscience with unavoidable truth. He’d seen Misty free of guards and reservations. She was more conservative with her clothes on. Her fire when he confronted her, the unwillingness to surrender that she’d stuck to in the face of an attack, and the way her short skirts glided along her lean legs appealed to him. She teased and intrigued him. She ignored him. Challenged him.
    Few women ignored him. Fewer still challenged him.
    Heated chills skated across his skin and deployed prickles of a desire-driven awakening. His grip on the glass went from relaxed to colorless tension.
    Misty.
    “Are you going to drink that beer, or are you expecting it to reveal a hidden secret?”
    Swallowing once, he turned his head and studied the woman who’d been marching the frontline of his mind. Holding a large box, with her hair pulled into a loose ponytail with wisps of bangs falling to frame her forehead, she looked sweet. Her snug suit jacket had been replaced by a flowing blouse with the top three buttons undone, and that just made her look sexy. Her curves were minimized by the loose shirt, but her legs, those legs that tortured him, still drew his eyes.
    From the slope of her neck to her fragile looking ankles she appeared regal. If he didn’t recall with vivid clarity the way that neck arched in invitation, or the strength in those ankles as she locked them behind his head to keep him near, he’d be more successful at blocking thoughts of her.
    The woman had driven him to the edge of stalking by avoiding him and here she stood as if they’d never battled barbs.
    “Misty, hey.” Sam nodded toward the box Misty set on