Page 8 of Floored

She set down the towel and lifted her chin to meet my gaze head-on. "I like the upstairs option."

Bloody hell, I did too.

I took a deep breath and decided not to weigh the intelligence of walking this beautiful woman upstairs into the empty flat of my brother's pub, where I could close and lock the door. Where there was a sofa. And a bed. Hell, a kitchen table would do at that point.

Carl returned from the kitchen.

"Everything all right?" I asked.

He nodded. "Vickie dropped a glass. All good."

"Right." I tilted my head at Lia. "I'm going to get her a clean shirt from upstairs."

His eyes narrowed. I narrowed mine back.

He'd worked for my brother long enough to know there was no point in talking a McAllister out of whatever course they were on. He held up his hands. "I'll be right here. Where I always am," he muttered.

I smiled.

Lia set her hand on my back, and I turned. Her head just barely cleared my shoulder as she stared up at me. "Shall we?" I asked.

She answered me with a lopsided grin, and I led her upstairs.

3

LIA

Two options lay in front of me as I followed the hot man with the phenomenal ass up the narrow stairs that led to the space above the pub.

1- I was going to be chopped into a thousand pieces because he was a murderer.

2- I was going to get epically laid by the most beautiful man I'd ever seen.

And he wasn't even just beautiful. Considering I almost orgasmed just listening to him talk about soccer, I figured my chances of satisfaction were pretty freaking high.

"Do you live up here?"

He glanced over his shoulder, sending me a grin so boyish and delicious that I almost tripped.

Smooth, Lia.

"No, it's mainly used for storage, but there is a place to crash in a pinch." He stopped on the landing, sliding his hands above the doorframe until he found the key.

The doorknob was beautiful, as was the paneling on the deep red door. "That's beautiful," I murmured, touching one of the raised edges.

"Have a thing for doors, do you?"

I tell you what I had a thing for. British men named Jude with long legs and broad shoulders, a jaw cut like granite, and the kind of scruff lining it that made me feel downright naughty. But sure, we could talk about doors.

I smiled. "Don't you ever look at doors like that and wonder who made it?"

Jude unlocked the door and pushed it open for me. "Not particularly," he admitted wryly.

The room above the pub wasn't large, but it was clean. Plaster walls painted a soft gray had boxes stacked along one side. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined in beautiful trim looked out at the street below.

At the back of the room were two identical, white-painted doors with antique crystal doorknobs. He opened one door and stuck his head in, appearing with something large and white in his hand.

"It'll be big, but it's clean," he said, eyes holding mine steadily. Finally, I could see them clearly. They were a deep, clear green.

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