Page 29 of Dear Rosie

I drop my eyes back to the glass in front of me.

His fingers flex, twisting the glass on the counter. “Unless you prefer to drink alone.”

Nathan’s voice is quiet, meant just for me.

And god dammit, I shouldn’t.

I really, truly shouldn’t.

But I have just enough of the golden liquid flowing through my veins to not care about the consequences.

So right now, at this exact moment, I don’t care if this is the worst idea I’ve ever had. Right now our childhood history doesn’t matter.

Tonight we can be Rosalyn and Nate. Two adults, sharing a drink.

I tip the bottle.

A rumble rolls out of Nathan’s chest. “There’s a good girl.”

I almost moan.

Why is that so hot?

And does he talk like this to everyone?

I pour the rest of the champagne into his glass.

It’s too full. An absurd pour. But I can’t be tempted with more thanI already have. And I can’t function with him saying stuff likegood girlin this dimly lit kitchen.

Setting the bottle down, I fortify myself to look up and meet Nathan’s eyes.

And I have to stop myself from throwing a fit when I finally do.

How is he hotter every time I see him?

I don’t know what happened to his suit jacket, but it’s gone. And along with rolling up his sleeves, he’s undone his bow tie, and his shirt is unbuttoned low enough to see that ridge between his pecs.

Does he know what he looks like?

Did he leave his bow tie hanging like that just to tempt me to pull him close?

EIGHT

NATE

She can’t take her eyes off me. And the attention has me more turned on than I’ve been in a long time.

Slowly, I lift my glass—filled to the brim with champagne—to my lips.

The movement passes through her line of vision, and her gaze catches on the glass, following it to my mouth.

I take a drink.

I’ve already had a few whiskeys. I don’t need more. But I do need more of this tempting woman.

My swallow is deliberate.

Then I take another mouthful.

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