The waitress frowned at his choice of beer before she cocked her head as if to listen more carefully. "What was that?"
Blaine got that familiar smug look on his face and used his do-I-have-to-talk-to-the-simple? voice. "It's a Belgian beer, sweetie. Please tell me you've at least heard of it."
The waitress gave him a peeved glare. "Boy, I was born in Brussels and the last time I checked, this was my new homeland, America, not my birthplace. So you can either order an American-made beer or I'll bring you water and you can sit there and act all superior until you puke, okay?"
Blaine looked as if he were ready to choke her. "Does your manager know that you talk to your customers like this?"
The waitress gave him a snide, indulgent smirk. "If you'd like to talk to my mother, who owns this bar, my overindulgent brother, who manages it, or my father, who delights in kicking everyone's ass around, about your treatment by me, just let me know and I'll be more than happy to go get one of them for you. I know they'd just love to waste their time dealing with you. They're real understanding that way."
Marguerite stifled a laugh. She didn't know the woman, but she was beginning to like her a lot. "I'll have a Bud Light, please."
The waitress winked conspiratorially at her before she wrote it down on her small pad.
"Here, too," Todd said.
Whitney and Elise joined in with their orders.
Then they all looked at Blaine and waited for his next nasty comment. "Bring mine unopened, with a napkin and an opener."
The waitress cocked her head with a devilish gleam in her eyes. "What? Afraid I'm going to spit in it, big boy?"
Todd laughed.
Before Blaine could respond, the blonde left them.
Marguerite's smile faded as she suddenly felt something odd... The hair on the back of her neck rose. It was like someone was watching her.
Intently.
Menacingly.
Turning her head, she scanned the crowd, looking for the source of her discomfort. But there was nothing there. No one seemed to be paying any attention to them at all.
There were several groups of burly bikers playing pool. Tons of tourists and bikers milling about. There was even a group of seven men playing poker in one corner. Waiters and the waitress walked back and forth to the bar and tables delivering food and drinks while the two bartenders went about their business.
No one was even remotely looking in Marguerite's direction.
I must be imagining it.
At least that's what she thought until she spotted a man in the corner who appeared to be staring straight at her. Dressed in a baggy, untucked white button-down shirt covered by a dirty white apron, and faded, dingy black jeans that had seen much better days, he was a busboy who had paused in cleaning off a table. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled back to the middle of his forearms. His left arm held a bright, colorful tattoo that she couldn't make out at this distance.
She had no idea what he looked like, since his thick dark blond hair obscured most of his face and fell over both of his eyes. The back of it hung just past his shoulders. In fact, given his hairdo she couldn't really tell where he was looking, but every instinct in her body said it was at her.
There was something about him that seemed dark and dangerous. Predatory. Almost sinister.
She rubbed her neck nervously, wishing he would turn his attention back to his job.
"Is something wrong?" Blaine asked.
"No," she said quickly, offering him a smile. If she mentioned it, he would no doubt make a scene and get the poor man fired from a job he probably needed. "I'm fine." But the feeling didn't subside and there was something so animalistic and fierce about it that she was definitely unnerved.
Wren tilted his head as he watched the unknown woman who looked so out of place that he wondered how she'd happened into their bar. Sophistication and money bled from her every pore. She definitely wasn't their usual clientele.
He could also tell that she wasn't comfortable under his close scrutiny. But then, no one was, it was why he seldom made eye contact with anyone. He'd learned a long time ago that no person or beast could stand the intensity of him for very long.
And yet he couldn't take his eyes off her. Her dark chestnut hair that she had tied back into a ponytail held traces of auburn highlights-that and her darker skin tone betrayed a Cajun heritage. She wore a delicate pink sweater set and a long khaki skirt with matching pink espadrilles.
Best of all, she had a lush, curvy body that beckoned a man to hold it close and taste it.
She certainly wasn't the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, but there was something about her that held his attention. Something about her that seemed lost and hurt.
Sad.
In the wilds of Asia where he'd been born, such a creature as she would have been killed and eaten by something stronger. Fiercer. Vulnerability of any kind was an invitation for death. And yet he didn't feel that familiar swell of adrenaline that made him want to attack the weak.
He felt an inexplicable desire to protect her.
More than that, he wanted to go over to her and offer comfort, but then, what did he know about comforting a human? He was a feral predator in human form. All he knew was how to stalk and to kill.
How to fight.
He knew nothing of comfort. Nothing of women. He was alone in the world by choice, and he liked it that way.
Marvin, the resident monkey mascot of Sanctuary, came running up to Wren with a new cloth for cleaning the tables. He took it from Marvin's hand as he forced himself to go back to cleaning the table. Still, he felt the unknown woman's presence, and before long he found himself staring at her again while she talked to her group of friends.
Marguerite took a sip of her beer while Elise and Whitney ogled the men in the bar. She reached for a pretzel only to have Blaine slap her hand.
He looked aghast at her. "Are you insane? Do you know how long that has been out? How many grimy hands have been in it? For that matter, our termagant waitress probably poisoned it just for spite."
Marguerite rolled her eyes at his unreasonable paranoia. She glanced back to the busboy, who had moved closer now. He was working again, but even so she sensed that she was his primary focus.