Page 23 of Sweet Escape

“That was rude.”

“It was rude of me to point out that my bartender was neglecting her job? I disagree.”

“She was hardly neglecting her job, though it’s unsurprising that you disagree with me, since that seems to be all you’re capable of.”

My eyes narrow as she swirls her glass of wine against the oak wood of the bar top, one of her eyebrows higher than the other as she stares right back, her lips tilted up at one side.

“Instead of gracing us with your presence every evening, I’d be happy to have a crate of wine delivered to wherever you’re staying,” I say, redirecting us entirely. “If you’ll let me know where, I can have it dropped off with you tomorrow.”

Her smirk grows, and I want to kick myself when I realize how long I’ve been watching her mouth.

“You know, Icoulddo that. But what fun would that be when I could be here instead. Gracing you with my presence, as you sokindlyreferred to it.”

I take a step closer to her, dipping my voice low to make sure the woman two seats over can’t hear me. “You really plan to blow hundreds of dollars a night sitting at this bar just in an attempt to rattle my cage?” I ask. “Because I’m sure there are better ways to waste your money.”

“Oh, honey. I have bottomless pockets and a tendency to provoke. You have no idea the lengths I’m willing to go torattle your cage.” Then she reaches out and adjusts the collar of my shirt, her finger gently tracing along the skin of my neck. “Nothing about flustering you the way I so obviously do could ever be a waste.”

The touch of her skin on mine sends a shiver down my spine, and my nostrils flare. And when her eyes flick to my lips for barely a second, almost faster than I can even record that it’s happened, the back of my neck grows hot.

God, she’s exasperating.

I want to kiss that fucking smirk right off her face.

“You end up at the Firehouse?”

The sound of my sister’s voice is like nails on a chalkboard, and I take a step back, belatedly realizing how close I was hovering to Vivian.

As much as I hate being interrupted, my family’s ability to intrude on every single interaction I’ve had with Vivian is actually appreciated.

“Yeah,” Vivian responds, her shoulders relaxing, the smirk on her face morphing back into that smile she had given Mira a few minutes ago. “You were right. Errol is a sweetheart. And I could literally drown in that tub and go out a happy woman. I can’t wait to have a night where I set up candles and soft music and ... soak my body.”

Murphy groans. “We don’t have any tubs in our house, and it is a crying shame. I’m so jealous.”

“Well, you’re welcome to come by any time to use it.” Vivian’s eyes shift back to me. “What about you, Memphis? You a man who loves a good bath? You’re also welcome to come by and ... soak for a little while. You seem kind of tense.”

I roll my eyes. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some things to handle.”

And before Vivian or Murphy can say anything else, I turn and book it through the dining room.

Past the kitchen, the hosts, and the crowd outside.

I don’t stop walking until I’ve made it back to the house.

But then, once I’m there, I’m alone with my thoughts.

What a horrible place to be.

I’ve never met someone who has been able to crawl under my skin the way Vivian does.

Normally that’s meant as an insult, but in this instance, I almost can’t help but acknowledge that it’s a compliment. What did she call it? A tendency to provoke?

The woman is ... fucking stubborn. And maddening. And it makes me hard when she volleys back.

I’m a bossy guy. I know that. And most of my relationships in life revolve around work, so that means that when I tell people to do something, they do it.

And Vivian . . . does not.

She has no intention of giving me what I demand, yet it somehow feels like she’s dangling everything I couldeverwant just inches away from where I’m standing.

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