Page 22 of Business or Pleasure

“I’m not a fan of tequila,” I lied.

He frowned. “I thought I saw you drinking tequila shots earlier.”

Shit. “Right. I meant lime juice.”

Craig’s face twisted into something ugly. “I paid for the damn drink.”

“Here.” The bartender set a glass bottle in front of me. “On the house for that stellar performance.”

“Back off, asshole.” Craig pointed at the bartender. “I saw her first.”

“Fuck you,” I snapped. “You don’t get to call ‘dibs’ on me.”

That ugly expression on his face deepened. “I bought you drinks. You owe me.”

Dammit. He was one of those.

“I don’t owe you shit.” Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the bartender at the other end of the bar, too far away for me to signal him. I was all for handling my own shit, but I’d rather have security throw this asshole out rather than have to kick him in the nuts myself.

“C’mon,” he said, “cut a guy a break.” He reached out for me, and I took a step back. He came closer. “Don’t be a bitch. Give me a kiss.”

I had a decision to make.

I could shout for someone to help me. Even though the place was loud, people were close enough that I was sure someone would hear me, and I knew that they took consent very seriously here. But it would make a scene and that was the sort of thing that would put a damper on my celebratory mood.

Or I could continue to handle things myself, going as far as to physically respond. A slap could get him pissed enough to just call me names and stomp off. It could also make him violent.

The options went through my mind lightning fast, but before I could choose one, another body suddenly appeared at my side.

“There you are, love.”

Craig stopped at the words, and I looked up at the owner of the deep voice. Auburn hair, the reddish tone visible only when the lights flashed a certain way, and eyes that I thought were some shade of blue. Over six feet tall and clean-shaven, the man was hot.

But it was the look in those eyes that had me smiling and saying, “Hey, sweetie.”

“Who’s he?” Craig asked as he took a few steps back.

“I’m her boyfriend. Who are you?” The man’s voice was mild, but he had the sort of presence that meant he probably didn’t need to sound angry to intimidate people.

“You didn’t say you had a boyfriend,” Craig muttered as he shoved his hands into his pockets. With a last glare at me, he walked away.

Once he’d disappeared into the crowd, my ‘boyfriend’ turned toward me, his body still close enough for me to smell the rich scent of his cologne or body wash. I liked it. Both the smell and how close he was.

“I’m Baylen.”

“Harlee.” I held out a hand and he shook it laughing, a pleasant, rumbling sound that twisted things in me. “I like your accent.”

“And I like yours.” He leaned down to avoid shouting and his breath ghosted over my neck, making me shiver.

“I have an accent?” I leaned in closer to him.

“Oh, aye. A lovely American one.”

Smokey blue. That was the best description of his eye color, I decided. “Where are you from?”

“Scotland.” His fingers brushed against my arm, sending electricity dancing across my skin. “At the risk of sounding like the jerk who just left, may I buy you a drink?”

“You’re nothing like that asshole,” I said. “He never asked. And yes, you may.”

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