Page 30 of Tame Me

I chuckled. “Yes, you got me.”

“Well, we need to fix that. Let me introduce you to my low-carb, low-calorie, high-nutrient brew.” He handed a plastic cup to me. “I’m Frankie, by the way.”

“Hi, Frankie. Do you make this yourself?”

“Sure do. Wild Horses is my brewery up in the Adelaide Hills. It used to be a stud farm, hence the name, but we make more money out of beer than we do the horses. I’ve been perfecting my beer since before I was legal to drink.”

I felt the pressure to like his drink and took a tentative sip, but the taste grabbed my tongue, and before I knew it, I scrunched up my face.

“Okay, so that was Bucking Bronco. By the look on your face, I’d say you’re a sweets kind of girl. Let me guess—chocolate mud cakes are your thing. Am I right?”

I was pleased he wasn’t upset with my reaction and nodded in response as he took the plastic cup from me and tossed it into a waste bin.

He poured a decent quantity of a different brew into another plastic cup and handed it to me. “This is Curious Colt. It’s at the other end of the spectrum. It’s sweet, and you’ll taste notes of honey and pear.”

Again, I sipped, bracing for the affront to my taste buds, but I needn’t have worried. This one was much more pleasant.

“And . . .?” I was taken by Frankie’s green eyes as he watched me. They were a fascinating shade, like freshly podded peas, and there wasn’t even a hint of any other color in them—no gold flecks, no shades of blue. It was as if his eyes were absolutely pure.

I took another sip, just to be sure, then I nodded. “This is much more to my liking.”

“Hmmm, but could you drink it all night long?”

I frowned and sipped some more. “No, probably not.”

“Right.” He took my cup, binned it, and spun toward the back of his stand where he had six large silver barrels lined up. He paused, with a cup in his hand, and turned back to me. “Corn chips or white chocolate?”

“Pardon.”

“Which one, quick?”

“Corn chips.” I laughed as he held the cup beneath a barrel and turned the tap.

He handed the cup to me. “This, Jane Nichols, is the brew for you.”

I was fascinated by both his powers of deduction and his conviction that I’d love this drink. With his fabulous green eyes on me, I sipped. It was fresh, crisp, and more like a complex wine than a beer. A few sips later, I nodded, and Frankie slapped his hands together.

“Boom! I’ve got you, Jane. You, my lovely, are a Frisky Filly woman.”

I laughed at his enthusiasm and the interesting name for his drink. “I guess I am.”

Frankie enraptured me. His jovial manner, his fascinating eyes, his enthusiasm—all of him made me wish I could stay with him all night long. It took a mammoth effort to drag myself away from the bubbly hunk with the honey-colored hair and his vibrant energy, but I’d already been away from reception for too long.

I returned to my desk, pleased that there wasn’t a line-up of people waiting for me.

The next couple of hours were a beautiful blur as some of the hottest bodies on the Gold Coast cruised through the lobby. They drifted between the conference room, the Triple H Bar, or outside and then, ultimately, up to their rooms.

Frankie was one of the last to leave. He came out of the conference room, laughing with a couple of buff men. None of them looked my way as they headed toward the elevator. Whilst the two muscular gods at his side walked with a stiff gait like every muscle was made of steel, Frankie had a manly smoothness to his stride as if he was walking through a grassy meadow. As they waited for their ride, he turned to me, and our eyes caught. “Oh, hey, Jane.”

I blinked at him, stunned that he’d remembered my name. “Hi, Frankie.”

“What time do you finish?”

“Not until six-thirty tomorrow morning.”

He whistled, and the sound echoed about the marble expanse. “You poor woman. I feel for you. Come by and see me tomorrow.”

My heart fluttered at his invitation. “Okay, I will.”

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