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paper when he held it out, especially after they peered around him to see Audrey.
    Despite some misconceptions, most fighters were not dumb louts. Fighters in the SBC were more often astute than obtuse, and with one look at Audrey they surmised exactly why Brett was passing out her info.
    By the time Brett got them to the other side of the room, he was out of flyers—which meant he now had both hands free. He tugged Audrey over to watch the antics on the mechanical bull for a while.
    In no time, her eyes went wide with exhilaration and curiosity.
    When one fellow got tossed hard, Brett felt Audrey’s gasp and gave her a short, quick hug. Bending close to her ear, he whispered, “He only hurt his pride.”
    They shared a smile, and Brett said, “Come on.” He got her as far as the hallway, then she resisted going any farther.
    “I should get back out front . . .”
    Brett held her elbow in a light grasp. It was quieter here, but music from the band filtered in, overlain by the drone of laughter.
    He glanced at his watch. “We have a few minutes yet. Let me show you around the rest of the bar.” When she balked, he added, “That way, if you stage a protest, you’ll already have the lay of the place.”
    After biting her bottom lip, Audrey agreed.
    He wouldn’t mind nibbling on that soft, plump lip, too—but it was too soon for that, so Brett showed her the billiards room instead. Next he let her peek in on the arcade, and he then took her to where they served food on the upper level.
    In awe, Audrey walked to the railing and looked down on the crowded barroom floor.
    “I had no idea the bar itself was so . . . huge.”
    Leaning back against the rail, Brett watched her. Colored lights from below flickered over her face and in her eyes. She looked . . . mesmerized. And hot.
    “Wanna come back with me sometime?”
    She jumped as if he’d goosed her, and then she turned those big eyes on him.
    Oh, yeah, Brett thought. He had to have her.
    “Research,” he fibbed, remembering that he had to play it cool. “The more you know about the place, the better. Early evening during the week, the fighters are scarce. We could come on a weekday, and you could plan things out then. Like where best to stage your protest, what day of the week, and what time. All that.”
    When she still looked wary, he lifted both hands, palms out. “No obligation or anything. Just thought I’d offer to help.”
    “I don’t know.” Her brows pinched down as she studied him. “Why would you want to help?”
    Pushing off the rail, Brett stepped closer to her and again, he put his fingers to her chin, lifting her face. “I think you’re cute as hell, Audrey Porter, and I want to get to know you better.”
    Her chin tucked in. “Are you serious?”
    “Oh, yeah. You have no idea how hard it is not to kiss you right now.”
    “Not to . . .” She couldn’t even finish.
    “Kiss you.” He brushed a thumb over her bottom lip, then dropped his hand and took a step back. Damn . “But I can tell you’re not ready for that yet, are you, Audrey?”
    She snapped her mouth shut and scowled at him. “No, I am not.”
    “Then I’ll just practice patience.” Brett held up a flyer. “But this is important to you, right? So for now, I’m okay with just helping out. For you.”
    Giving him the same study she’d give a two-headed toad, Audrey put a hand in her hair. “This is nuts. How am I supposed to respond to all that?”
    “How do you want to respond?” Before she could answer, Brett said, “Don’t think about what you should do. Just tell me what you want to do.” He tried a persuasive grin. “Come on, Audrey. Fess up. You know you want to.”
    She gazed over the rail again—and nodded. “I’m very curious, I admit.”
    About the bar, or maybe about him, too? Brett hoped for the latter.
    When she turned back to him, she caught him looking at her backside, and she started scowling again.
    Brett grinned without shame. He wanted her,