Mr One-Night Stand. Rachael Stewart
CHAPTER TWO
IF HE HAD to watch her pop another olive in her mouth, her eyes alive with wicked suggestion... He circled the rim of his glass with his index finger, the move rhythmically in line with the heat coiling through him.
He really should’ve left when he’d got the bail-out text from Andrews. Instead he’d sent a brief acknowledgement wrapped up in a warning.
Be at the solicitor’s nine a.m. prompt for contract exchange or else.
And then he’d settled back.
He really should’ve been more annoyed too, but it was fascinating what the sight of a blazing-eyed redhead enjoying her fill at the bar could do. And he wasn’t just referring to the olives—there were the bar snacks too. Whatever they were, they had her licking her lips and her fingers with such teasing that between that and the olive-sucking his lower body couldn’t get a let-up.
And, Christ, those eyes—they pierced him from across the room. The warm lighting of the bar glinted off their depraved depths as they came back to him again and again, demanding his attention, drawing him in, giving him hope that she wasn’t waiting for someone else to appear.
She was chatting to the barman now, her perfectly poised body leaning in as they exchanged words, their easy flow of conversation suggesting she was probably a regular. The guy nodded to her and moved away, freeing her once more, and he sensed her attention returning to him. His breath halting, his hand paused over his glass. And then her mobile lit up and her eyes dropped to it. She gave a flicker of annoyance and then a smile. She tapped at it and placed it back on the bar.
Now her eyes came to him and, fuck, were they calling.
His gut clenched, his jaw tightened and the room disappeared. Something had changed.
‘For you, sir.’
Not now. Grudgingly, he looked to the voice and found the blonde waitress hovering, a tray with a lone drink resting upon her palm.
‘J&B.’ She took hold of the glass and bent to place it on the table. ‘From the lady at the bar.’
His gaze dropped to the glass and he smiled.
Hell, Andrews, you’ve actually done me a favour.
* * *
From her elevated vantage point upon the bar stool she watched him straighten and plant his feet, the move sending her heart into her throat.
Oh, yes, come for me...
He lifted his glass off the table and started towards her, his tall, imposing frame filling her vision, his eyes lighting up every nerve-ending in their path as they raked appreciatively over her.
She turned on her stool to face him, sipping at her drink as she waited until he was within earshot, and then she smiled. ‘It’s lovely of you to join me.’
He tilted his glass. ‘I wanted to thank you for the drink.’
Wow, that voice. She drew a breath as her body flared. It was deep, husky, rough...the perfect mix for a body that exuded power. And that accent—she couldn’t place it, but it was there, teasing her.
‘And I wanted to thank you for improving my outlook this evening.’
He rewarded her with that easy grin, his eyes sparking and pulling her in. They were the colour of chocolate, the dark and rich kind, and they were on fire, burning into her as he said, ‘You and me both.’
‘Is that so?’
‘You know so.’
‘I know no such thing.’
He gave a small chuckle and reached past her, placing his glass on the bar. She twisted into his arm on impulse, felt his scent invading her, the heady masculine cologne sending lust slamming into her core.
‘Perhaps I can convince you over another drink?’ He leant back against the bar-edge. ‘What can I get you?’
What could he get her?
She wanted to laugh as the word you rode on the tip of her tongue but instead she looked to Darren, ‘I’m already being taken care of.’
He followed her gaze. ‘Is that another vodka martini?’
‘It is.’ She smiled, her fingers toying with the empty stick still floating in her glass. ‘I think I’ve found a new favourite drink.’
His eyes travelled from her to the stick. ‘It’s quickly becoming one of mine too.’
She could take a guess at why. She would have said as much if he hadn’t spoken first.
‘So, what brings you here?’ He angled himself towards her, his forearm resting on the bar-top, his fingers coming to hover just above her knee. ‘Beautiful woman, no companion—it just doesn’t fit.’
Beautiful? She loved how that sounded coming from him, loved how close his fingertips were reaching. If she just uncrossed her legs they would brush against her, those long, capable fingers that were sure to possess such skill...
‘Business or pleasure?’ he probed.
Her eyes shot back to his, her thighs clenching anew. The way he said it—pleasure—it rolled off his tongue like a physical caress.
‘I was meeting someone...’ She was barely aware of the words coming out of her mouth.
‘Was?’
‘They cancelled.’ She lifted her empty stick and nibbled at its end, needing to do something—anything to keep herself busy. ‘What about you?’
He eyed the stick, a pulse working steadily in his jaw as he took up his drink once more. ‘Business.’
She could hear it then, in that one simple word, an edge to his voice. A barely contained need that matched her own.
Her attack on the stick ceased, and her breath was shallow as she struggled to say, ‘Are you finished for the evening?’
‘Never even started,’ he said, that same husky edge to his voice teasing beneath her panties. ‘Lucky for me, they cancelled too.’
‘Lucky?’
He nodded, his lips quirking over his drink as he took a sip.
‘And why’s that?’ she said, dropping the stick to caress away the strain building in her throat.
‘Isn’t it obvious?’
‘Maybe—but I’d like to hear you say it.’
He placed his drink on the bar, his eyes coming back to her, ever closer. ‘Do you always get your way?’
‘Most of the time.’
‘Why is it I can believe that?’
He reached up to brush her hair behind her ear, his delicate touch sending an excited ripple through her, and then he trailed it down, the ripples multiplying exponentially.
‘What makes you say that?’ she asked, barely audible.
He studied her, his eyes dropping to her lips, their depths flashing darkly as she swept her tongue out to ease their sudden dryness.
‘I get the impression you can be quite persuasive.’
She knew what she wanted to say, knew it was brash, knew it was out of character, but... ‘Does that mean I can persuade you into an evening of pleasure?’
His brow flickered, the only show of surprise at her proposition, and then he grinned: a slow, heart-stopping smile that unveiled a dimple in his right cheek, the boyish feature at odds with the virile masculinity emanating from the rest of him.
‘Is