Free Four Dukes and a Devil by Jeaniene Frost, Cathy Maxwell, Tracy Anne Warren, Sophia Nash, Elaine Fox Page A

like grape brine than wine, but for Gray it beat cheap beer.
    “But it’s fun. You know, kind of.” She looked uncertainly around again. “Is it always so empty? I thought there’d be more people here.”
    “It’s early.” He placed his beer on the bar next to him. “This place doesn’t really get going until after ten or so.”
    He didn’t have the same hard edges as the rest of the patrons, and from what she could tell from their brief exchange, he seemed educated. She wondered if he was a tourist or a resident.
    “So what are you doing here, if you think it’s a dump?”
    He grinned, and Gray was struck by the thought that he was nice-looking. Strange thing not to notice right off. The smile did it, though. Deep dimples and appealing crow’s-feet made him distinctly handsome.
    “I like dumps.” He tilted his head. “But I don’t think that’s true of you. Which leaves only one conclusion.”
    She eyed him while sipping her wine again. “Which is?”
    “You’re slumming.”
    “Slumming?” Gray tried unsuccessfully to look surprised. It was exactly how she felt. Still, she didn’t need to admit it to this guy. Something told her he’d hold it against her. Heck, everybody in the room would hold it against her, but she got the feeling this guy was testing her. And she’d never failed a test in her life.
    He cocked a grin at her. “Aren’t you?”
    “Are you judging me, Mr….?” She knew calling him “Mister” anything was ridiculous, but it was the closest she could come to his cheeky banter.
    He laughed, and she thought again that he was nice-looking. In a Jekyll-Hyde kind of way. “Sam. My name is Sam. And I am being something of a jackass. I apologize. It’s just that I’ve never seen a woman who looked like you in this place.”
    She looked at her drink, unwilling to be flattered, if that was indeed what he meant. It was hard to tell. “So you were judging me.”
    “Aren’t you judging me? Aren’t we all judging each other?” He flagged the bartender.
    “Sounds like barroom philosophizing to me.” She took another sip of her wine, which she was pleased to note had become almost palatable. It meant she could finish it and leave. She’d gotten out of her comfort zone, been gutsy for one full drink; maybe she could give herself a break and have a nice dinner at Aesop’s Tables.
    “Sometimes that’s the only kind of philosophizing that makes sense,” Sam said.
    She picked up her purse to retrieve her wallet when the bartender placed another drink in front of her and one in front of Sam.
    “Oh, I didn’t order that,” she protested.
    “I know.” The sumo wrestler pointed to Sam. “He did.”
    Sam picked up his beer and saluted her. “Cheers,” he said. “Ms….?”
    She gave him a brief, undecided look, then picked up the glass. What the heck, she thought. It beat going back to her haunted home. Besides, if she couldn’t be gutsy with this brazen fellow, who could she be gusty with?
    “My name is Gray,” she said with a smile.
    “ Gray? ” He started to chuckle.
    She shot him a warning look that had no effect on him whatsoever. Oddly, this made her feel better about his teasing.
    “I’d’ve pegged you for more of a Saffron. Maybe even a Magenta. But Gray?” He shook his head, smiling. “No way.”
    “It’s a family name.”
    “The Crayola family?”
    “My first name is Cynthia,” she explained, trying to clarify—what? That she was not in fact a crayon? He was joking, for pity’s sake, and she was acting like the schoolmarm she was.
    “Ah.” He nodded, picked up his beer, and took a long pull from it.
    She was boring him. She was a humorless snob. He was thinking her name suited her perfectly.
    “So what’s a nice guy like you doing in a dump like this?” She straightened her shoulders and tried to look confident.
    He smiled slyly, looking at her from the corners of his eyes. “Slumming. What else?”
    She laughed— see? I get jokes —and her