CHAPTER 1

“If I had to choose one guy in this place to get naked with, I’d pick Reece Harrow. Without a single shred of doubt… My goodness, he’s so damn sexy…”

          Tiffany fanned herself with a cocktail napkin and slanted Amara Rafferty an envious glance.

“Unfortunately, there’s only one woman in this bar he’s interested in, and it certainly isn’t me, sweetie.”

          With a patient smile, Amara set down her serving tray at the end of the mahogany bar as Frank poured drinks for the waitresses to deliver to the Saturday evening thirsty customers.

          Her friend’s insinuation was as clear as the crystal hanging from the glass racks overhead. Reece Harrow wanted HER, and for the past nine months he’d made his interest in her blatantly obvious, despite how many times she’d turned down his advances.

          Unerringly, Amara’s gaze sought and found the man in question, a gorgeous male specimen with dark, tousled hair, hot, deep, dark chocolate eyes, and a lean, honed body made for sin of the carnal variety.

          Reece had certainly inspired a few private fantasies of her own, some of them quite dirty. He stood across the room in the gaming area of ‘Flaming Grill Bar’ playing a round of pool with one of his good friends, Andy Lewis, who was a detective. Even Reece was a private investigator who worked at his brother’s agency, ‘Hawkeye Investigations’.

          As Reece lifted a bottle of beer to his lips, Amara admired the strong line of his jaw and the broad chest that filled out his plain blue T-shirt. Snug, faded jeans encased lean hips, muscular thighs, and long, strong legs.

          Oh, yeah, the man was sin incarnate…

          Reece turned his head as Andy made his shot and caught her looking his way. A slow, sexy grin eased up the corner of his mouth and he winked at Amara, causing a tingling warmth and awareness to pervade her entire body.

          Suppressing her sexual reaction as she’d taught herself to since her last relationship, Amara smiled back and returned her attention to her drink order.

“Well, missy… Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?” Tiffany teased her. “Or are you just playing hard to get with Mr. Reece Harrow?”

          A bit annoyed, Amara rolled her eyes at her friend.

“Come on, Tiff… You know I don’t fraternize with the customers.”

          A personal rule she’d established for herself, and one Reece sorely tempted her to break with his devastating smile and male charm.

“Or anyone else for that matter,” Tiffany added as she loaded drinks onto her tray. “And Lord knows with that killer body of yours you could have just about any man you wanted, Mara.”

          Amara inwardly cringed at her friend and co-worker’s assumption. If anything, Amara tried to downplay the centerfold curves that turned heads, but the bar uniform she was required to wear jeans and a red T-shirt with ‘Flaming Grill Bar’ emblazoned across her well-endowed chest didn’t hide much.

          Reaching for a wedge of lime, Amara settled the garnish on top of the bottle of Corona on Tiffany’s tray.

“Trust me, Tiff, this body is more a curse than a blessing. Always was and always will be…”

          Her lush figure had brought her more heartache than joy, more insecurities than confidence… Not that she’d expect anyone to understand what she’d been through before coming to live in San Francisco, nine months ago.

          Tiffany glanced down at her own insubstantial chest, then back at Amara, her eyebrow raised with amusement.

“Pardon me, Miss Jessica Rabbit, but my… little girls tend to disagree.”

          Amara shook her head as she refilled a bowl of shelled peanuts for Tiffany’s customers, then her own.

“You know how the saying goes? You always want what you don’t have… So, be careful what you wish for…”

          The statement certainly held true for her. She’d spent too many years as a young girl wishing for a flat chest, much similar to an ironing board, and a couple of pounds off her hips.

          Not that anyone had granted her request…

“I’m very familiar with the saying,” her friend said with a toss of her dark brown hair. “And I CRAVE those.”

          Her hazel-eyed gaze dipped briefly to Amara’s chest.

“I’m hoping that the last part of your speech, ‘be careful what you wish for’ saying, comes true for me.”

          Amara laughed, and Tiffany swayed off to deliver her drinks, garnering a fair share of male attention as she crossed the room.

          In Tiffany’s case, the ogling and playful come-ons of the male patrons were appreciated. In Amara’s case, she tolerated the comments and stares as part of the job and the reality of her life.

          At the age of twelve, she’d been wearing a size way too much for her age, along with acquiring curvaceous hips and long legs that had made her feel like a giraffe compared to other girls.

          Her bust size had eventually increased by a lot, and by the time she’d graduated high school, she’d learned that most boys… and men looked at her and thought of one thing: sex… Hot, dirty sex.

          They’d dated her believing she’d put out and were sorely disappointed when she didn’t allow their wandering hands to make it inside her blouse or pants. Even the boy at the last foster home she’d lived at until the age of eighteen, had attempted to coax her into his bed.

          Amazingly, she’d remained a virgin until two years ago, at the age of twenty-three.

          Her first sexual encounter had been with Don Anderson, a coed with her at the University, who’d pursued her for weeks, until she’d finally accepted an invitation to dinner, which led to a series of dates thereafter.

          When Amara had finally agreed to sleep with him, believing she was ready to take that intimate step, the experience had been awkward and one-sided. And their sexual encounters failed to improve for her. Despite wanting more physically, she’d settled for less-than-fulfilling sex.

          As their relationship progressed, Don’s attitude toward her changed radically. He’d grown distrustful, domineering, and extremely jealous. Anytime a man looked her way, he’d comment that if she didn’t dress like a tramp, she wouldn’t draw so much attention.

          If Amara gave any indication that she wanted more sexually, like an orgasm of her own, he’d tell her she was easy. He’d been a master at mind games, and the possessive relationship had continued until she’d accepted a job as a showgirl at a Reno casino to make some extra money while going to school during the day.

          Don’s temper had exploded for the first time, and after berating her for flaunting her body in front of other men, he’d demanded she quit her new job. Done with him controlling her mentally, emotionally, and physically, she’d refused his order and broken off their relationship, which only enraged him more.

          For the next three months, Don had stalked her, threatened her, and finally attacked her one night, after work. Afraid a restraining order wouldn’t stop his madness, and having no loved ones to leave behind, Amara had packed up her belongings and abruptly moved to San Francisco to start out fresh, leaving no forwarding address.

          Her chest tightened at the awful memories, along with the wave of insecurities that had come in the aftermath of that tumultuous relationship.

          Diligently pushing those disturbing recollections aside as she’d done hundreds of times before, Amara focused on her new life in San Francisco. She might lead a solitary, monotonous existence, but she was safe here.

          And that was all that mattered to her.

          Or so she tried to convince herself during long, lonely nights when she wished she had more to keep her warm than college textbooks and sensual fantasies of a certain dark-eyed, dark-haired Adonis.

          But that’s all she’d have private musings and erotic dreams of Reece, because she knew how dangerous it was to let her desires be known, to get involved and allow a man control over her mind and body.

          Her relationship with Don Anderson had turned into a humiliating experience that had left her second-guessing her longing to be treated like a real woman, to enjoy her body’s response to a man’s touch.

“Ground Control to Miss Amara,” Frank said, his deep voice penetrating her thoughts. “You’ve got drinks to deliver and the crowd is getting restless… So, go!”

          Startled that she’d allowed her mind to drift while her order sat waiting, Amara hustled to load up her tray.

“Sorry about that, Frankie,” she said, slanting him a sheepish look. “Just resting my brain for a few minutes. I had a hellish day at school today.”

          He smiled, his brown eyes gentle with understanding.

“I’m thinking you’re spending too much time with your head between those college mumbo jumbo psycho books of yours and not enough time taking care of yourself, missy.”

“I’m fine, Frank, and it won’t happen again,” she promised and headed toward the lounge with her drinks before Frank could launch into one of his well-meaning lectures about needing more of a life than work and school.

          Her classes and studies were her lifeline and what kept her sane and her mind occupied. And she honestly loved her major, which was in social work. Counseling troubled kids was her goal, and she’d even taken on part-time work at a foster-care agency over the past summer months to gain hands-on experience and further her credentials.

          She’d been where those foster kids were. She knew how it felt being an outsider looking in and being a number in the system that didn’t always work in a child’s favor. She understood what they needed emotionally and wasn’t afraid to share her own personal stories to put them at ease.

          Minutes later, Amara was lost again in the demands of the patrons. The atmosphere in the bar was casual, and she chatted with the regulars she’d developed a friendly rapport with over the months.

          It was especially nice that most of the customers that frequented the establishment were blue-collar, and a good percentage of them worked in law enforcement, which made for a safe environment in Amara’s way of thinking.