Free Sweet Harmony by Luann McLane Page A

clung to her hand and leaned in to say something in Maria’s ear, it was all Pete could do not to hop over the bar and plant his fist in Jameson’s face.
    Maria smiled, but when Jameson gestured toward the high-top table he’d been sitting at, she shook her head and pulled her hand away. Pete let out a sigh of relief. Had Maria joined that smarmy-ass politician, Pete didn’t know what he would do but it would most likely not end well. Maria had that look about her that said she wanted no part of his bullshit, but John Jameson’s mouth kept moving. And, although Maria’s smile remained, it looked a bit strained. Pete really wished he could hear what was being said, but the music along with the clanking of pool balls and the dinging of the pinball machine interfered with his ability to listen in on their conversation. Dammit!
    Still nodding, Maria glanced around as if looking for someone she knew to help her escape, but happy hour was still a good thirty minutes away, so only a few other patrons were scattered around the room.
    Soon people would start pouring in and Pete would crank up the music, but right now all he wanted to do was tug Maria away from Jameson.
    Pete sighed again when Maria finally turned on her heel to go but the damned man reached out and put his hand on her shoulder, impeding her progress. Pete felt hot anger wash over him. He tossed his towel down and wondered whether he could still hop over the barwithout doing himself bodily injury—it would be a pretty impressive move. Pete placed one palm on the smooth wood and was wondering how much heft it would take when Maria reached up and deftly removed Jameson’s hand.
    “Oh, come on. Just one drink?” Jameson said loudly enough for Pete to hear. “You know you want to, sugar.”
    Pete wondered whether the doofus realized that Maria was his wife? Okay, ex-wife, he reminded himself. But seriously, couldn’t the man feel Pete’s gaze boring into his back like a red-hot laser?
    “The name is Maria and I said no thank you.” Pete watched Maria raise her eyebrows. When she tilted her head just slightly, Pete wondered what she was about to do. Pete had witnessed similar behavior from Jameson on numerous occasions but Pete thought he might be messing with the wrong woman this time. Was John Jameson about to finally get the slap across the face he so richly deserved?
    Pete sure as hell hoped so. He just might have to applaud.
    Instead, Maria abruptly turned away. . . .
    And Pete’s gaze locked with hers.
    Maria’s eyes widened and her mouth parted, making Pete wonder whether she was pissed that he hadn’t intervened, and then he remembered his clean-shaven face. She walked toward him with a slightly bemused expression that he wished he could read. After sliding up onto a barstool, she finally asked, “So what made you shave your beard?”
    “You never did like to beat around the bush,” Pete replied, glad that his voice didn’t sound as nervous as he felt.
    “There’s no reason to.” Maria pointed to his face. “So?”
    “Ah, just felt like a change.”
    “And how does it feel?”
    “Cold.”
    Maria tilted her head to the side and laughed. God, how he loved the sound. . . . How he missed the sound.
    With a move bolder than he felt, Pete leaned across the bar. “Wanna feel how smooth?”
    Her eyes widened again and Pete’s heart dropped when it appeared as if she was going to refuse but then she reached up with both palms and cupped his cheeks. She rubbed her thumbs back and forth and nodded. “Somebody replaced your face with a baby’s butt,” she agreed, and Pete wondered whether he imagined a slight breathless tone in her voice. As if reading his thoughts, she abruptly dropped her hands and cleared her throat.
    “Can I get you something? An Arnold Palmer?” he asked, making sure she knew he still remembered her favorite mix of lemonade and iced tea.
    Maria nodded and then lifted her chin. “I know it’s not five o’clock