Page 9 of Finding Out

My stomach bottomed out at the sight of her like this. Fuck. The damn woman constantly ripped the breath from my body. Without slowing, she sidled up to her favorite holiday drink, a cranberry mimosa, and what appeared to be scotch on the rocks. And like the lost puppy I was in her presence, I followed.

“Thanks, Stew.” She sent a finger wave to the bartender.

When the man beamed back, my hackles rose.

“Do you know him?” I stepped up beside her and rested my forearms on the smooth wooden surface, zeroing in on the man who couldn’t be more than twenty-two. God damn. Annoyance vibrated through me. For as young as he was, he was ten years closer in age to her than I was.

She lifted one thin shoulder, then held her phone up and gave it a little shake. “No. The electronic concierge said Stew would have our drinks waiting for us.”

The hulk inside my chest eased back, no longer trying to rip his way out so he could throttle the poor kid. With a sharp inhale, I ran a hand over my face. I had to chill the fuck out.

She shifted slightly closer, and her soft, sweet scent filled my lungs. “This trip must be nerve-racking, but I promise this will be fun.”

Smiling, she rested a hand over my wrist just below the cuff of my shirt. The instant her skin met mine, sparks of electricity danced up my arm.

“Just have a drink.” She reached for her champagne flute, taking her warmth with her, and held it aloft. “To what is going to be the easiest, cleanest acquisition you’ve experienced.”

Swallowing, I reached for my scotch. Drinking was a shit idea, butif I didn’t unclench, I’d never get through the day. “ToStonehenge,” I said, clinking the rim of my glass against hers.

“ToStonehenge,” she whispered, her tone full of genuine emotion.

I froze, and instead of drinking, I focused on the way her lips closed around the edge of the glass and the soft skin of her neck as she swallowed.

“It’s customary to take a sip after a toast, Tom.”

The urge to reach across the space and pull her to me was overwhelming. I was desperate to taste the alcohol off her lips instead of from my glass. To see if she’d whimper when I slipped my tongue into her mouth and devoured her. To swallow every moan she made.

But I couldn’t.

So, jaw tense, I lifted my glass and let the burn of the liquor punish me for the forbidden desire I couldn’t shake. I swallowed harshly, then set the rocks glass back on the bar top.

“There.”

She rolled those dark eyes fringed by the longest lashes I’d ever seen, but she wasn’t deterred. With a single step back, she hopped up onto a bar stool, then crossed her long legs.

I surveyed the room, taking in all the men who were watching her. Wren didn’t seem to notice the attention she’d garnered. The woman was probably used to it. Everywhere she went, she was most likely lavished with attention.

Instead of sitting on my own stool, I did the opposite. I stepped in closer, erasing the space between us to block anyone else from butting in.

“Can you go over the game plan with me?” Even though I’d placed myself so close I could feel the heat of her body along my arm, I forced the conversation back into a box reserved for work.

“Sure.” Nodding, she leaned forward. As she lifted her drink, a piece of hair floated close, and without my permission, my hand snaked out to catch it. With one finger, I tucked it behind her ear. The move caused my finger to skate along the shell of her ear, and she shivered in response.

Her eyes locked on mine, open and willing. And when she parted her lips and swiped her tongue out to moisten the bottom one, myheart pounded and my ears buzzed. We were so close, just a foot apart. Slowly, I forced my focus back to her eyes. The emotion I found there was like a blow to the chest. Deep desire bloomed in their depths as she stared deep into my eyes. I almost gave in, but before my instincts could take over, rationality kicked in, and I remembered exactly why I couldn’t. Because I shouldn’t. Right?

I cleared my throat and brought my drink to my lips. With another large gulp, I looked away, relishing the flames that scorched down my throat and into my stomach.

“So when we get there,” she said, launching into a detailed account of what would happen the second we arrived at the MET.

I listened to every word, but I couldn’t look her way. Instead, I focused on breathing and steeled my resolve, putting this gorgeous woman back in the box where my daughter’s best friend belonged, where my own friend’s daughter belonged.

I was not an asshole, and I wasn’t a player. I never had been. When Avery’s mother ended up pregnant, she and I got married. I’d been faithful for the four years we were married. Since the divorce twenty-five years ago, I’d had a couple of relationships, but nothing too serious or dramatic. Each ended on relatively good terms, and none of my exes would trash-talk me. Most would claim I was distant. I was not the kind of man who was controlled by desire or passion.

And that wouldn’t change today.

“Sounds great,” I said when she finished her explanation.

“So…” In my periphery, she pinched the stem of her wineglass and spun it gently between her fingers. “What’s next?”

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