LITMIR.BIZ

       CHAPTER THREE

      Tate

      I GLANCE AROUND the busy bar, the thick scent of cigar and perfume clogging the air as I take in the sea of people milling about. Most are talking about the trails they skied today, or worrying about the storm that’s supposed to hit midweek. I’m hoping I’ll be out of here by then, back in Manhattan, no longer worrying about my grandfather getting taken advantage of by Summer Love.

      I may have put this plan together quickly, but before following through with it, I tried calling Granddad to ask once more about Summer. Again, I didn’t get any straight answers from my grandfather, who has swung between acting like a moony teen and being purposefully evasive on this topic. This isn’t like him, and if I can’t rely on him for information, I need to get it myself.

      Honestly, he’s always been a generous man, always loved younger women, but something about this whole situation just isn’t right, and I’m not so sure I can blame it entirely on his mental deterioration. I visited him last summer, before he got sick. Since getting pneumonia last month, he lost his sharpness but two days ago, when he dropped this bombshell on me, there were times when he seemed like his young self, quick with a response, his mind as bright and agile as I remembered.

      Truthfully, when I was little, I thought he’d live forever, but I guess age and frailty catch up with all of us, eventually. Guilt niggles at me for up and leaving him, right after returning home. I fibbed and told him I had some urgent out-of-town business. I guess it wasn’t that much of a lie. He waved me off like he wanted me to go, telling me he was fine, that he had in-house care every day and didn’t need me fussing.

      I reach into the fridge behind me and grab an imported beer, then glance at the door to the bar. I’ve been watching it for the last hour, but Summer has yet to arrive with her friends. Maybe she changed her mind and isn’t going to come. Disappointment takes up residency in my gut. Not because I want to see her again, to continue our flirting and easy banter from earlier, but because I need to get close to her, get her into my bed, prove she’s only after my Granddad for one thing. Not that I plan to carry through with the seduction. No, I just need to strip her bare and expose her for the con she really is.

      I uncap a beer and slide it across the smooth mahogany bar top, before turning my attention to the next customer. As I take his order, I glance over his head to keep one eye on the door. I can definitely see what Granddad sees in Summer Love. She’s gorgeous, and has a sweet, almost innocent quality about her. It might be all an act, but dammit if that doesn’t bring out the protectiveness in a man—at least in the Carson men. Since Dad is okay with the arrangement, it sounds to me like he’s fallen for her charm, too.

      I, of course, am not about to be lured in by her, not in a million years, but Jesus, when I put my arms around her, felt her soft body against mine, I almost got derailed and forgot why I’m really here. But when it comes to her, there’s a line I have no intention of crossing. Not even when she whispered the word yes, all sultry and seductive like—okay, it’s possible I imagined the sultry and seductive part. My mind drifts once again, envisioning that one word on her lips when I have her naked, beneath me in bed, my cock sliding in and out of her hot, sweet body.

       Get your shit together, Tate.

      You’re not here to sleep with the woman, you’re here to prove she’s not who your grandfather thinks she is. With that last thought pinging around inside my brain, and steering me back on track, I finish making a Manhattan, then glance at the door in time to see Summer enter. Her caramel hair is piled haphazardly on her head, and she’s dressed in tight jeans and a snug sweater that showcases one hell of a hot body.

      My dick twitches.

      I track their path to the back of the room—and I’m not the only one—to a coveted window table that just opened up. Once she and her friends are seated, I turn to Henry, the older gentleman who runs the place. The two of us go way back, to when I used to come here during my high school years. He’s much older now, a little rounder, with thinning hair. After explaining the situation to him when I arrived yesterday, he jumped at the chance to let me work the bar. Granddad was always good to Henry, was always a generous tipper, and gave Henry’s wife a damn good job managing one of the hotels. Most people around here would bend over backward for Granddad.

      Would Summer bend over for me?

       Shit. Don’t go there, dude.

      “Hey, Henry, you want to take over the bar for a bit? I’ll take the floor.”

      “Sure,” he says, and gives me an understanding nod.

      I tug the cloth from my shoulder and slap it onto the counter, giving it a little scrub as I plot my next step with Summer. A drink is a great icebreaker, and since I promised her one, it gives me a reason to go to her and start up a conversation. If I could turn back time, I never would have grabbed her by the waist and spun her around. I shouldn’t have put my hands on her like that. It was a snap decision, a stupid one, because now, I can’t help but want my goddamn hands on her again. I clench down on my teeth, and whip up three strawberry daiquiris, taking a chance it’s their drink of choice, like most other snow bunnies, and set them on the tray. I wipe my hands on my apron and carry the drinks across the room.

      “Hello, ladies,” I say, and all eyes turn to me. I hand Summer the first drink. “On the house, as promised.” She smiles up at me, and it messes with my equilibrium. My hands shake and the drinks on my tray wobble. I make a quick adjustment, and I’m able to rebalance before making a damn fool of myself. I hand the other drink to her blonde friend, and catch the way the men at the table beside me are staring at the three ladies, most focusing on Summer. Not that I can blame them, she’s the hottest girl in the room.

      Her friend accepts the drink, and takes a sip, then nibbles on the straw. I hand the third woman a drink, and her lips twist into a grin.

      “A daiquiri for copping a feel,” she says, and leans a little toward me in a conspiratorial way. “What would you give her

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