Bet Me to Stay Read online

  They thought she wrote catalog copy for L.L.Bean. They had no idea what she did for a living. And every time she walked in the door, they believed she’d come home to work again. Now she’d have to go in there and tell them the truth, that she needed to borrow money to pay back the advance on a book she’d never be able to write because she apparently thought hot sex was like an eighties music video.

  Because she wasn’t like her sisters, who had all the tall, thin genes. She was Roly Poly, her brother’s favorite nickname for her. And while she’d thinned out a bit since college, she’d never be the supermodels her sisters were.

  Most days that didn’t bother her. But tonight, she felt defeated by her own gene pool.

  No. I can’t do it. Walking across the street and into The Rustic Pig meant losing all of her dreams.

  She blinked back tears.

  Needing some liquid courage, and not quite ready to face her family, Cassie headed to The Boar’s Head. She’d never been there, so no one knew her.

  And, maybe, their whiskey doesn’t come with a lifetime of guilt.

  Pushing the heavy wooden door open, she was immediately assaulted by the smell of beer and dusty peanuts, both of which liberally covered the weathered flooring. It was kind of awesome in an old-school, just-stepped-out-of-Ireland, authentic-pub kind of way.

  Her parents’ place called itself a pub, but it was geared toward strictly highbrow clientele, with sleek tables, velvet-roped alcoves, and a sophisticated black-and-white decor. But this place, this was what a pub really looked like.

  I kind of love it. It was soaked in atmosphere, like something out of an old film.

  Shoving her glasses farther back on her nose, she glanced around the huge bar, taking it all in. It was late for a Tuesday night, so most of the bar patrons had probably already left, but there was still a smattering of couples at low wooden tables, groups of women gathered around huge leather booths, and single men hovering around the bar in the hopes of catching a stray female on the way to the restrooms in the back. The bar itself stretched the entire width of the pub and appeared to be made from one thick piece of oak from a single tree.

  Wow. It really was like stepping back in time.

  Cozy. That was the perfect word to describe the place.

  Right here in the middle of Boston, they’d managed to create a comfortable bar that felt like home. So much more so than her family’s place.

  Amazing.

  Like a moth to a flame, Cassie was drawn to the massive piece of wood and walked closer. It had probably been here since the pub opened almost a hundred years ago. Her fanciful imagination tried to picture the flappers leaning over it, their pearls dragging across the warm oak finish. She wondered how many mugs had been shattered against the wood as brawls broke out between men over the affections of one of the patrons.

  She climbed onto a leather barstool and ran her hand along the worn length of the wooden surface. Where had this pub been her whole life? She wanted to get married here. Consummate her marriage on this very bar. No. She wanted to fuck the bejesus out of her husband so hard on this thick piece of wood they’d think they broke it. A blush stole up her cheeks as her imagination took off.

  Look at me using the word fuck.

  She kind of liked it. She was tired of being the good girl. The one her family thought had to be set up on endless dates with boring friends.

  Ugh. Tansey was right.

  No wonder my writing sucks. I need real-life experience. Maybe with a guy who uses the word “fuck.”

  Where was all of this when she was writing her novel? Maybe that’s what she was missing. Inspiration. She didn’t need to pick up a man to write sexier scenes; she just needed to be in a place so hot and masculine and raw that her imagination could be set free.

  She closed her eyes and tried to picture the hero of her book, Sam. He was tall and lanky, with soft brown hair that curled at the ends. Yes, he’d love this place. And he’d definitely want to do very naughty things to her in one of those corner booths behind her. A smile curled her lips and her lashes fluttered open.

  She almost choked on her own spit.

  The man standing in front of her had a huge grin splitting his face, even white teeth, and gorgeous dimples winking at her. Her gaze traveled farther north to take in his softly curling light-brown hair and twinkling green eyes. Good God this man was hot. All the Googling in the world for sexy male inspiration couldn’t have turned him up. And he’d been right here across the street the entire time.

  But when she tried to picture him taking her against this gorgeous wooden bar— Nothing. Nada. Zilch on the goose bumps meter. Her shoulders sank. Her fantasy man looked more like the type to take her ice-skating than fuck her brains out.

  Fantasy Bartender asked Cassie something, but she just shook her head. He wouldn’t do at all. Maybe that had been her problem? She’d written the idea of a sexy hero in her book, but he wasn’t the kind of guy who would talk dirty or do the wonderfully nasty things she’d written about.

  For the first time since hearing Tansey tell her that her book basically read like IKEA instructions, Cassie felt a little better. She’d written the wrong hero. She could fix that. She checked out the other men at the bar, hoping one of them would provide better inspiration. She needed someone rough but not too hard. Confident but not arrogant. He needed that look that said he’d do very, very bad things to you and you’d like it.

  “My brother was asking if you needed a drink, lass,” a deep, gravelly voice said to her right.

  Her head swung around and connected with the owner of the voice, and she honest to God thought she might pass out. Her thighs clinched and her breath caught in her throat.

  Whereas his brother was all dimples and laughter, this guy was dangerous.

  Oh. My.

  Breathe.

  If they’d lived a couple hundred years ago, he’d be the most feared gunslinger in town with a permanent room at the local brothel. And he’d never have to pay. The women would line up to try to bring a smile to that stubborn glint in his eyes. And those lips. No man should have lips that full, with a perfect Cupid’s bow in the middle. Her fingers itched to twine themselves in his thick black hair and hold on for dear life as he lifted her up with his huge arms and fucked her senseless against the door behind the bar.

  She blinked. Yup. Inspiration found. It was all she could not do to fan herself with her hand.

  “You can’t decide. Don’t worry, Liam prides himself on knowing exactly what drink suits a customer,” the fairer brother said. “Make the lass a drink, brother dear.”

  Liam. What a perfect name for a hero.

  Some weird silent communication passed between the two of them, and then her fantasy man—Liam—grabbed a glass and mixed what might possibly be the weakest gin and tonic ever poured before setting the abomination in front of her. Well, she shouldn’t be surprised.

  Part of her hoped he’d taken one look at her and immediately imagined getting her naked and talking dirty to her, but that’s not the effect she tended to have on men.

  Do you have many cats? That’s usually how conversations began.

  She hadn’t bothered with her appearance today. Hell, she’d cried most of the afternoon, so she was fairly sure her face was devoid of makeup. She’d wrestled her long brown hair into a ponytail and shoved her feet into comfy boots and her glasses onto her nose before heading out to admit defeat to her family.

  Forgive her if she wasn’t on the prowl and dressed to slay.

  Raising a chin, she leveled Liam with a pitying glare. Everyone always looked through her.

  Not tonight. She pulled her shoulders back.

  “Jameson. Straight,” she said, and satisfaction burned through her, as a hint of a smile touched his lips.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. He tossed the offending gin and tonic in the sink before pouring her a whiskey. He placed the new drink in front of her without any fanfare. She liked that. “My apologies.”

&n
bsp; The other brother leaned his elbows against the bar in what was obviously a practiced move. He winked at her and said, “You’ll have to excuse my brother. He was raised outdoors.”

  Yeah. Not interested, for sure.

  “Good,” she said, grabbing the tumbler of whiskey. “Rough is better. Now shoo.” She motioned with her other hand at the surprised Romeo, and Liam snorted. It was an attractive snort, so she let him have it. She tossed both fingers of whiskey to the back of her throat, enjoying the burn as it slid down and warmed her immediately. An idea formed in her head.

  Maybe if she brought her laptop to the bar every day, she could get cozy in one of the booths in the back and rewrite her novel. She just needed to remove every trace of the brother and let fantasies of Liam take over. In no time, he’d be telling her imagination all the insanely erotic things he planned to do to her, and she’d have a bestselling novel and never have to work at The Rustic Pig again.

  This plan was so perfect, what could possibly go wrong?

  Chapter Two

  Liam couldn’t believe his eyes when the object of the bet with his brother had walked in the doorway. She’d clearly just returned from a cat lovers’ convention, her legs hidden behind loose black sweats and her oversized sweater hiding any hint of feminine curves. She had brown hair that didn’t look any other shade than mud pulled back in an elastic. No chestnut or mocha or other fanciful way to describe what was just plain brown hair. And huge black glasses that nearly covered her entire face.

  It wasn’t that she was unattractive; it was that clearly this woman had zero interest in luring a man to the altar. Not in that getup. She wasn’t looking for some kind of happily ever after.

  She didn’t give a shit what anyone thought of her.

  Perfect.

  He’d figured he’d ask her out on a few dates, she’d probably be grateful he even noticed her, and they’d part ways with only fuzzy memories of boring dinners in thirty days. His heart never in any danger.

  Meanwhile, his brother would be in monk hell for the month and their bar safe.

  He almost grinned, but he didn’t want to give anything away to Finn. If his brother thought the bet was uneven, he’d try to increase the stakes. No, best to play this close to his chest, let him think he was immediately into her, that Finn’s plan to break his heart out of cold storage might work.

  He’d been amused when she’d not noticed his brother trying to take her drink order, but then she’d seemed to almost orgasm as she ran her hand along the bar top. With reverence, her fingers had softly glided across the surface of the wood, and she’d closed her eyes and moaned. Her whole face had softened, her plump lips parting on a breath, and suddenly he wanted to be the one to make her sigh like that.

  When she’d told Finn to shoo, Liam almost fell over laughing. His brother’s expression from his charm failing on someone of the fairer sex? Priceless. Hell, this month might actually turn out to be fun. And who knew, maybe he’d even consider getting his dick wet, as his lame-ass brother put it.

  Of course, Liam would need to stay on his toes with her. He’d made a mistake of thinking her a weak gin and tonic, but he had a better picture of her now. She’d pulled her huge glasses off after throwing back the entire glass of whiskey, a slight flush to her skin pinking her cheeks nicely. And then she’d looked him square in the eyes, no glasses hiding what he could now see so clearly.

  This lady had a lot going on behind her honey-colored eyes. She was sharp and she didn’t miss much. And as she shoved the hideous glasses back onto her face, her body almost shifting into an invisible mode, he realized something else. She was used to everyone underestimating her.

  He wouldn’t make that mistake twice.

  For the first time all night, Liam wasn’t bored. “Not a fan of my brother?” he couldn’t stop himself from asking.

  “Oh, he’s definitely handsome,” she said as she glanced at Finn pouring drinks at the other side of the bar, and Liam refused to notice the tightening in his chest. “And I’m sure he’s very nice. I just don’t need nice right now.”

  Liam had no idea what that meant, but he’d take it. Most women preferred Finn, which never really bothered him before, but he didn’t want her intelligent eyes finding his brother more favorable.

  He grabbed the bottle of Jameson and poured her another two fingers, then decided to join her, set a fresh tumbler on the bar, and poured himself a drink, too.

  “Oh, no thanks,” she said. “I should be getting home.”

  Well, hell. What happened if the object of the bet ran off? Not wanting to find out, he tried to pour on the charm. “You wouldn’t leave a man to drink alone, would you?”

  Her sharp eyes narrowed behind her glasses. Busted. Before she could object, he rushed to explain. “Sorry for that lousy line. It’s just been a pain in the ass night, and I’d love some company.” True story.

  She seemed to take the words at face value, settling back in her seat. “Yeah, some nights, the customers just seem to be filling a bottomless hole they don’t even know they have, eh? Wears you down, watching it.”

  Liam was struck silent. He’d never really thought of it that way, but she was so right. All night long, it seemed a never-ending stream of men and women were demanding he fill their glasses while their hungry eyes scanned the crowd for something that wasn’t there. “You sound like you’ve worked behind a bar before?”

  She swallowed and stared at her hands. Interesting. “Yeah, a few times, but not my favorite thing to do.”

  There was a story there, and Liam couldn’t believe he wanted to know more. Maybe their dinner dates wouldn’t be entirely boring. Another question came to mind, and it was impossible to keep the words from tumbling out on a low breath. “So what do you like to do for fun?”

  She totally missed the double entendre, but her face lit up as she breathed. “I’m a writer.”

  Yes, he could totally see this intriguing woman having an entire collection of weird and exciting friends in her head. No wonder she didn’t notice her cat lady attire. She was just as likely to be wearing a ball gown in her imagination. She was an artist.

  Liam used to be one, too. A long time ago, in what felt like a different lifetime, he’d wanted to be a musician. Everything around him would become inspiration for the songs he wrote, and he’d spend his evenings creating music that flowed from his fingertips to his guitar strings with effortless abandon.

  He’d made it through four years of boring business classes to please his father, but he’d planned to load everything he owned in his car after graduation and hit every honky-tonk bar and café between Boston and LA, playing all the songs he’d written while trapped in college.

  His girlfriend at the time couldn’t wait for him to get discovered. So he really shouldn’t have been surprised when she’d left him after his trip was cut short, and he’d had to give up his dream and head home. After his dad’s heart attack, his mother wanted them to move back to Ireland.

  He had done his family duty without complaint.

  But once, he’d had stories in his head, too.

  “Name’s Liam,” he said and reached out his hand toward hers. “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Writer.”

  She grinned at his joke and placed her soft, delicate hand in his larger one. Heat coiled low in his belly from her touch. “Cassie—Meadows. Although, I like Ms. Writer better.”

  …

  Cassie couldn’t believe she’d just given this gorgeous man her pen name as though it were her real name. She could say she did it to keep the fantasy in her head alive, to protect her story, but honestly, she just didn’t want him to figure out she was associated with The Rustic Pig, and their night would end.

  While the two pubs didn’t really share a lot of clientele, they were still two Irish pubs across the street from each other. Of course, there was a healthy rivalry. Once, she remembered her mom ranting that the Boar had added breaded pickles to their menu and her staff had said they were amazing. Two weeks l
ater, the Pig had breaded pickles soaked in buttermilk with a garlic aioli dipping sauce.

  It probably wasn’t a big deal, but Cassie didn’t want to risk it. Every word he said with his soft-spoken Irish lilt was like music to her ears. She was already mentally revising the hero in her novel to be of Irish descent with a penchant for calling the heroine “his lass,” a hint of gravel in his voice that slid across her skin like velvet.

  If this evening lasted much longer, maybe she wouldn’t even need to sit in the back of the bar and write. She’d have plenty of memories to build on.

  “Well, Ms. Writer, what is it that you write?” It was an innocent question that Cassie had zero inclination to answer. It would be a cold day in hell before she got up the nerve to say “erotic romance” to this man.

  “I really don’t want to say right now, if you don’t mind,” she rushed to answer. “I’m still in the developmental process of something new and don’t want to, well, jinx myself.” Sure, sure. That sounded plausible.

  His gaze drifted off for a second as though he were remembering something from his past. “Right. That makes sense.” He tossed back his Jameson, and she watched the muscles in his neck move as he swallowed the amber liquid. Yup. Even his Adam’s apple was sexy.

  He set the tumbler down and their gazes met.

  The earth moved. Or the liquor finally hit her. Something happened, because her breath caught in her chest and her mind whirled like a tornado slammed into it.

  Was there such a thing as too sexy? Because Liam might be it.

  She reached out to grab the edge of the bar to steady herself, but she was a tiny spaceship trying to escape the intense gravity of a black hole without hope. She looked back up at him, a little shocked to discover his gaze hadn’t wavered.

  Cassie was many things, but used to keeping the attention of a man this raw and masculine was not one of them.

  Could he be messing with me? Maybe he does recognize me and wants to get info on the family business.

  She wanted to smack her own head. Only she would think someone was so low as to flirt with her for information on their next appetizer.