Chapter Four

Wyatt

Wyatt noticed her immediately.

How could he not? She was gorgeous in an innocent-yet-sexy kind of way. She kept fiddling with the thin straps on her dress, and he couldn't help but want to be the one to slide them off her shoulders. He kept imagining his fingers sliding through her dark hair as he laid her onto his bed.

He could just imagine the way her beautiful red lips would look gasping his name. Her body was made for loving. Those long legs peeking out of the sheets... The way her hips would rise to his...

He needed to get a hold of himself. He was supposed to be making drinks, not imagining guests naked. Even if it was a really lovely image in his head. He should at least learn her name first.

He quickly finished pouring the last few mai-tais for the tourists in front of him. While he set the drinks out, he carefully checked out her left hand. No ring. That was a good sign. Thoughts of her in his bed once again filled his thoughts. He pushed them away, trying his best not to spill the mai-tais. She was distracting.

Luckily, it was a quiet night. The first few nights of the week always were. All the guests were either settling in from their travels or going to the club to start their vacation out right. He was glad that she wasn't at the dance club.

He slid down the bar and made eye contact with her.

Damn.

Those eyes. Dark and warm like hot chocolate on a winter's evening. She chewed on her bottom lip and all he could think about for the next ten seconds was what he would like to do with that lip.

“What can I get you?” His voice nearly cracked.

Usually he was smoother, but for some reason, she had him nervous. He hadn't been nervous about a woman in a while. That was a good sign. If anything, it meant that this would be a good week. He hadn't been really interested in any guests recently, but he wanted to change that with her.

“What do you recommend?” She smiled at him, and once again he found himself imagining her in his bed.

“Do you like sweet or not sweet?” he asked, giving her a smile of his own.

“I like strong,” she replied. She readjusted herself on the bar-stool. “And sweet.”

“You ever have sex on the beach?” he asked, already pulling out a shaker and the bottle of vodka.

“Well, I'm from Arizona, so no.” She frowned slightly, her brows coming together in confusion as her cheeks pinked slightly. “Isn't that a little personal?”

He couldn't help but chuckle. “I meant the drink.”

The pink spots on her cheeks blossomed into red. He wondered if that was her reaction to other things as well. He wanted to find out.

“Oh, right. Duh.” She sighed and gave him a self-deprecating smile as if disappointed with herself. “I'd love some sex on the beach.”

He raised his eyebrows provocatively at her as he added peach schnapps to the shaker. “Is that so?”

The blush intensified. He found he rather liked the look on her.

“I mean... I.. uh...”

He let her fumble for a moment as he quickly mixed, shook, and poured the drink into a glass.

“Sex on the beach for the lady,” he said, sliding it in front of her.

She gave him a bashful grin and took a sip. “It's good,” she said.

“I am the best,” he told her.

“Well, then I'll just have to get all my sex on the beach from you,” she replied. She took another sip. “You know how to make screaming orgasms too?”

It was his turn to grin. She kept a straight face, but the blush in her cheeks gave her away. She was trying to flirt with him, but she was nervous.

She liked him.

Wyatt was used to that. Women always liked the attractive bartender, especially after a couple of drinks. That was why he was here. That was why he picked this job out of all the possible things in the world he could do.

It was easy to pick up women here. And he was going to pick her up tonight.

He leaned forward over the bar, whispering in her ear.“I make the best screaming orgasms.”

She shivered as his words tickled the small hairs on her neck. A nervous giggle escaped her mouth, and she quickly downed most of the drink. He raised his eyebrows.

“Slow down there, slugger,” he advised. “I'm here all night.”

“Then I'd like another,” she replied. Her words slurred together slightly, but her eyes were still focused. She was tipsy, but not drunk.

So he made her another.

“What brings you to the Caribbean?” Wyatt asked, setting down the drink in front of her.

“One of my best friends is getting married,” she replied. “He's a great guy. I think they'll be really happy together. Although, If they have kids, I hope they get her hair and not his. He's balding. Bad.”

Maybe she was a little more tipsy than he thought.

“How long are you here?” He picked up a cloth and began wiping down glasses. He did it because it was his job, but it also kept his hands busy, which helped keep the temptation to slide those dress straps off her shoulders away.

“Just a week. I couldn't take more time off work.” She shrugged and took a sip of her drink. It was a smaller sip this time.

“And what do you do? Model?”

“No.” She laughed and shook her head. “I manage a hotel. Well, I'm one of the managers. The head manager. I'm important.”

“I could have told you that.” He loved the smile she gave him at the compliment, but she was definitely heading towards drunk rather than tipsy. How much had she had to drink before sitting down at the bar?

“What's your name?” she asked him.

He pointed to the name tag on his chest. “Wyatt.”

Her smile warmed, her eyes drawing him to her. “That's a nice name.”

“Thanks. What's your name?”

“Cassidy. But everyone calls me Cassie.” She shrugged. “I actually like being Cassie better than Cassidy. Cassidy sounds like I'm a cowboy. Like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.” She looked up at him with big eyes. “You probably get that a lot too. Not the butch part. Just the cowboy part.”

“If I had a dollar for every time someone said, 'like the cowboy,' I'd be a millionaire.”

Not that he needed the money. He was technically a millionaire already. One thousand times a millionaire. This job was just for fun. It was a way to meet women and give himself the life he'd always wanted. She didn't need to know that though. None of the women he brought back with him did.

He was just the sexy bartender fling they told their friends about without knowing who he really was.

“Well, we can be friends then,” she told him. “Just don't bring anyone named Sundance or Tonto next time you work, and we'll be fine.”

He chuckled. She was cute and funny. His own personal brand of kryptonite.

Unfortunately, new customers arrived, taking their seats at the other end of his bar. He wished they would have picked another bar for their drinks as he was enjoying talking to her. She was tipsy, but still in control. If anything, the liquor was giving her the courage to flirt with him. From the way she gripped her drink and the flush in her cheeks, she wasn't used to flirting like this.

“I'll be right back,” he said.

“I'll be here.” She took another sip of her drink and bit her bottom lip in a nervous smile.

He quickly poured the beers and margaritas for the new patrons. He knew the bar would only pick up for the rest of the night. The tiki bar by the pool was a spot everyone wanted to get a drink.

Wyatt kept an eye on Cassie. He made sure to fill her drink as often as he could, even at the expense of other patrons. He didn't need the tips, so it didn't really bother him too much. Besides, the smile she gave him every time he came near lit up the night. That was more than enough tip for him.

Even though he'd done this routine a thousand times, tonight felt fresh. She gave him butterflies in the pit of his stomach every time he caught her looking at him.

It was probably just his imagination. He hadn't worked this bar in a while, preferring the lobby bar with air conditioning. It had been a while since he'd picked up a date working the tiki bar. Any bar really. He'd lost his taste for random women the past few months.

But she was different. She was something new. That was it. That was where the excitement came from. He just hadn't done this pickup routine for a while.

Or maybe, it was her smile. The way she played with the straps on her dress like she didn't know what to do with them. Perhaps it was the way she grinned and joked with him, unsure of herself but trying anyway.

It was flattering in the most sincere way possible.

An hour later, she was still sitting at his bar. She'd had more drinks, and although he started watering them down, she was no longer tipsy.

She was drunk.

“You are cut off,” he told her when she slurred his name when he approached.

“I never drink this much,” she confided. “You just make them so tasty.”

“Well, no more for you.” He poured a glass of water and handed it to her. “Drink this.”

“I thought I was cut off.” She looked at him with those big brown eyes, not wanting to get in trouble.

“Just from sex on the beach,” he told her. He nudged the glass. “Drink the water.”

“Can I have sex on the beach later?” She grinned at him and giggled.

“We'll see,” he replied. He wasn't sure she'd want another fruity drink after this. How had she gotten so drunk? He'd barely given her three light drinks over the hour.

He silently chastised himself for not paying better attention. He'd been enjoying their flirty banter and making her smile. He didn't want her to be hung over in the morning.

He refilled her water glass. “Drink this one, too.”

She nodded and dutifully began to drink the water. He hurried over to pour some more beers for another customer. When he came back, the water glass was empty, but she was starting to sway on her chair.

“Here,” she said, sliding a napkin across the bar. She slipped off the bar-stool and caught herself with a nervous giggle. “For when you get off. If you want to get off. If you know what I mean.”

He looked down at the napkin and saw a room number. Seven-thirty-two. It was seared into his brain without even thinking.

But she was drunk. Some nights that might have been acceptable. But not with her. He wanted to see her sober. If she was this smart and funny while drunk, he could only imagine how amazing the sex would be sober. He didn't want drunk Cassie.

“You're drunk,” he said gently, sliding the napkin back to her.

It was the wrong thing to do. Her face crumpled and tears formed in her eyes.

“Oh god. I screwed it up,” she whimpered. Her whole body went from excited to dejected.

Wyatt felt like the world's biggest idiot. He was usually much better at this.

“No, Cassie. It's not like that.” He reached out and took her hand. “I really would like to. I just think you should have less alcohol in you.”

She sniffled and tried to hide wiping a tear off her cheek. “You don't have to sugar coat it. It's fine. I suck.”

She turned and started to leave. He had really screwed this one up.

Wyatt hopped over the bar and stood in front of her. She bumped directly into him and looked up, utterly surprised to see him suddenly there. He put his hands on her shoulders.

“I would like to see you again,” he said, making sure to speak slowly and clearly. “Have lunch with me tomorrow.”

Hope slowly brightened her eyes. “Really?”

He nodded. “Really. Please have lunch with me tomorrow.”

“Okay.” She nodded, her head going faster than her body could react. She put both her hands on either side of her skull to make it stop. “Where?”

“Castaway Cantina,” he told her. “Noon.”

“Castaway Cantina. Noon. Castaway Cantina at noon. Castaway Cantina at noon,” she repeated. She looked up at him and grinned. “Castaway Cantina at noon.”

“That's it.” He gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Now go to your room and get some sleep. And drink another glass of water before you go to bed.”

She nodded, but he wasn't sure if she really heard him. She was still repeating “Castaway Cantina at noon.”

Wyatt stepped out of her way and gently directed her toward the tower her room was in. She took a couple of unsteady steps before starting the drunken weave down the pathway. He watched her for a moment, wishing he could go with her.

“Dude! Drinks!” Someone called from the bar.

Wyatt sighed. He hurried back to the bar and poured the beer as quickly as possible. It had way too much head, but he didn't care.

He picked up the bar phone and called security. “This is the tiki bar. I want to make sure a guest makes it up to her room okay. Her name's Cassie. She's coming up to the main tower. She's in room seven-thirty-two.”

Security promised they'd look after her, but his stomach still twisted. He should have just abandoned the bar and walked her back. It would probably have cost him his job, but he didn't need the money. He liked this resort a lot, but there were others just like it all over the islands. It would be an inconvenience, but to make sure Cassie was safe would be worth it.

The thought surprised him. It had been a long time since he'd felt a connection like this with one of his flings. He'd had his share of women, yet he hadn't ever felt the need to abandon his bar to walk them home. Telling security had always been enough. The resort was one of the safest places he knew.

Yet, for some reason, he worried about Cassie. He wanted to make sure she was safe and that she had that extra glass of water. He wanted to make sure she was tucked carefully into bed, not just deposited inside her room. He wanted to take care of her.

Eight long minutes later the phone rang. It didn't even finish the full first ring before Wyatt had it to his ear.

“Cassidy Turner is safe in her room. Thanks for letting us know,” the security guard told him. Wyatt's shoulders relaxed and his stomach no longer felt like solid ice.

"She didn't have anyone else in there, did she?" he asked, feeling a little dumb for asking. She didn't have a ring, and she was flirting with him, but that didn't mean anything.

He didn't want to get his hopes up only to find out she was here with her boyfriend who was planning on proposing. That had happened to him once. He didn't want a repeat.

“No one was there,” the guard told him. “It's rented to her and another chick.”

Wyatt's chest loosened and the ice in his stomach finished melting. He smiled, feeling like he could breathe again. “Thanks.”

The guard hung up, and Wyatt went back to pouring drinks. Another woman tried to flirt with him. She was just his usual type, beautiful and long-legged, but he wasn't interested. Two drinks later, she too slid her napkin with a room number across the bar. It went in the trash without a second glance.

He was too busy thinking of the woman in room seven-thirty-two.