Page 4 of Sweet Escape

Melodious and playful and warm.

Unlike anything I’ve heard before.

“Oh, I don’t doubt it in the slightest. I had a brief but informative stint as a bartender at a nightclub a few years back.” She leans forward and dips her voice. “I felt officially scandalized after one night.”

“I can only imagine.”

I stare at her for a long moment, unable to look away.

Unusual for me. I’m rarely distracted from the things I need to get done just because a beautiful woman looks my way.

But for whatever reason, my focus is glued to her.

And she stares right back, her eyes never leaving mine as she takes a sip of her wine.

It feels brazen.

Or maybedefiantis a better word.

Like she refuses to look away just because etiquette would suggest that she should.

I like everything about it.

“What brings you here tonight?” I ask her, my eyes scanning the room only briefly. “Waiting on a date?”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes, but the playful energy is still there. “Definitely not. I have no interest in dating right now, I assure you.”

“Oh?” I step forward and brace my hands on the counter again. “And whatdoyou have interest in?”

It’s been a while since I’ve intentionally flirted with someone. Sure, I’ve had a run in the past of hooking up with tourists or people coming through The Standard, our local watering hole. But the past few months have been a lot, and I’ve not had the time or the inclination to head out for more than a beer with some friends at our monthly pool night.

This woman, though ... gives me the inclination.

Her smirk returns at my playful comment. “I have many interests, though I’m certain some of them would scandalize you.”

I should be checking in with other customers. Or cleaning. Or making a list of the things the bar staff needs to work on.

But instead, I find myself drawn to her. Like a moth to a flame.

“And what if I wouldn’t mind being scandalized?” I ask her.

She leans forward again, and this time I find myself doing the same.

“Tell me, Mr. Bartender,” she replies, her voice dipping low, “when you picture being scandalized, am I on my knees or on my back?”

I swallow thickly, shock ricocheting through my body. I don’t know what I expected her to say, but it wasn’t something like that. Something outlandish and wild that has me beginning to grow hard inside my jeans like a goddamn teenager.

Her eyes twinkle, and my imagination takes the reins, picturing her in the very positions she just mentioned as she lifts her glass to her lips and takes a long sip.

Something delicious skitters down my spine when she winks at me, and it occurs to me how much I’ve been missing out on by relying on my imagination and my own fist. In seconds, this woman has set my entire body on fire. Has me ready to close down the wine bar and take her to the tasting room, where we have a massive couch and a fireplace and stone walls that would echo as she cried out in pleasure.

It’s equal parts the best feeling and the worst.

The best because it’s a reminder of how incredible it feels to want someone like this.

The worst because it’s also a reminder of the fact I don’t have the time to have even just a bit of fun.

One night couldn’t hurt, though, right?

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