“Every single one.” A smile twitched at the corner of his lips. “But glasses can be replaced. That ankle looks like it needs some TLC, though.”

“I’m fine.” She tried to stand normally while keeping all her weight on her good foot.

Stupid weak ankles and stupid, stupid heels. This day could not get any worse.

His face told her he wasn’t buying it. “Let me help you inside. You can take a seat, and we’ll call you a cab.”

Did she have to embarrass herself in front of the hottest guy on earth? No scratch that, guys like him weren’t best described as hot. Striking, perhaps…or exciting. Darkly sensual.

She swallowed. What happened to being a confident, intelligent, and powerful woman? That was the Libby Gal Cocktails brand. Her signature. But today every ounce of confidence she owned had slinked off with its tail between its legs, and now she was playing damsel in distress. Ugh.

“You look like you could use a drink anyway.” He smiled, holding out a hand to her. “I make a mean Negroni.”

“Can you make it in a vat?”

“That bad, huh?”

She hesitated for a second and then took his hand, a shiver running through her at the slide of his palm against hers. The grip was sure, strong…yet gentle. He abandoned the drinks tray and came closer to her, tugging her arm around his shoulders and supporting her weight against him. They moved slowly, and each step made their bodies press together.

Libby clamped her lips together to keep from crying out as the pain in her ankle worsened.

The bar looked warm and inviting. Golden light spilled through the open door, and the calming sounds of chatter and jazz music beckoned.

“How you holding up?” His easy smile and dark eyes made her heart thump as they stepped into the restaurant.

“Apart from the mortification,” she muttered, “I’ll be fine once I get that drink.”

There were a few steps down from the doorway to the main area, and she could already feel her ankle protesting.

“Are you going to be able to get down the steps?” he asked.

She hesitated and a second later he’d scooped her up into his arms and was carrying her down the steps and across to the bar.

“You can put me down now,” she protested, covering her face with the hand that wasn’t clinging desperately to him.

She hated heights, and he had to be at least six one…which would mean a painful landing if he dropped her. But he walked with her in his arms as though he was only carrying a bag of sugar. Confident, in control.

He probably thought she was a hot mess.

“Do you normally rescue clumsy girls in the street?” she asked as he stopped at the bar and set her down gently on a barstool.

“I’m a bartender; clumsy girls are my specialty.” He flashed her a smile as he reached over the bar and grabbed a pile of folded dishtowels. Placing them on the stool opposite her, he dragged it closer so she could rest her foot there. “You need to keep this elevated. I’ll grab you something cold to put on it.”

“You’re a regular first aid specialist,” she quipped as he came back with a bag of frozen peas.

“Our barista has a habit of burning himself, so we always keep these handy.” He placed the peas on her ankle and removed her shoe.

Each brush of his fingers against her bare skin made her stomach flutter. Talk about a real Cinderella moment.

“There,” he said, standing back and admiring his work. “Now how about that drink?”

“Thank you.” She chanced a look at him, and the dark stare sent shockwaves through her.

Oh yeah, this guy had lady-killer written all over him.

“So you’ve had a rough day?” he asked, heading behind the bar.

She sighed and checked out her surroundings. “The roughest.”

The bar was actually a bar and restaurant, the intimate tables obscured from the street’s view. Being a Tuesday night the room wasn’t especially packed, but they’d filled enough tables to take home a respectable amount, she suspected. The other barstools were empty, except for a lone beer drinker at one end.

“What’ll it be?”

How about you? Naked. Now.

“I’ll take you up on that Negroni. It’s been a while since I’ve had one.” Libby dug her hand into the bag on her lap, hoping to hell he couldn’t read her mind. She pulled out her phone and saw the four missed calls from her father. Ignoring them all, she texted Nina with a pleading request to come and pick her up.

“Now that’s a crying shame. I don’t get to make them too often, a lot of the ladies who come here either drink wine or vodka sodas.” He screwed up his nose and grabbed an orange from a container below the bar. “Pretty boring.”

“I’m definitely more of a cocktail girl.”

“Music to my ears.” He looked up, flashing her a brilliant smile that just about had her panties dissolving.

He deftly sliced the orange so a chunk of peel curled away from the flesh. Gin, Campari, and vermouth were added to a glass filled with ice and stirred. Then he ran the peel around the edges of the glass, squeezing it before dropping it into the sunset-colored drink.

Between his bartending skills and the way he’d carried her, Libby could tell this man was good with his hands…very good. A tingle ran the length of her spine, stirring her in all the right places.

“That looks delicious,” she said, hoping to hell he didn’t realize that she was referring to him and not the drink.

“It’s on the house.” He placed the glass in front of her. “On one condition.”

She sipped the drink and let out a small sigh as the perfect flavor danced on her tongue. An artful medley of sweet and bitter. “Which is?”

“You tell me why your day was so crappy…you know, other than crashing into me and breaking all my glasses.”

She flushed. “I’m working on a business venture, and it’s not going as well as I would like,” she said, fighting her natural desire to put on a confident face and sweep the bad bits under a rug.

He leaned forward, bracing his hands against the bar. “What’s the business?”

“I sell infused vodkas and cocktail mixes.” She took a sip of her drink. “Well, I was going to before all the places I’d lined up pulled out at the last minute.”

“No wonder you were walking like you had a train to catch.”

“I put my studies on hold to start up this business.” The words came tumbling out as though this gorgeous bartender had pulled out an invisible cork. “If I can’t make it work then I’ll have to go back to university. My father’s doing everything in his power to manipulate me into giving up…”

“Ah, family.” He laughed, the sound hollow. “They always complicate things.”

Libby nodded, looking down into her already half-empty glass. Warmth spread through her, loosening her limbs and her tongue, dulling the throbbing in her ankle. The Negroni was a serious cocktail and could do a lot of damage on an empty stomach.

But getting drunk seemed like an excellent idea right about now.

“How come you decided to be a bartender?” She took another swig of her drink.

“All the jobs for rocket scientists were taken,” he joked. “I don’t know. It chose me as a career… I’m good with alcohol.”

“Drinking or mixing?”

“Both.” He chuckled, raking his hand through his hair and offering her a devilish smile. “Although I’d say slightly better at drinking.”

“Cheers to that,” she said, picking up her glass and draining the rest of the cocktail. “How about another?”

“That problem is still going to be there tomorrow.” He accepted the empty glass from her and commenced making another cocktail.

“Can’t a girl have one evening of denial?” She dropped her chin into her hands and sighed.

Flattening his palms against the bar, he leaned forward. “Why did all the restaurants decide to pull out?”

Swallowing—and trying not to stare at how perfectly defined the muscles in his arms were—she considered her options. There was no harm in telling him the real reason, as horrible as it would be to repeat.