Page 9 of Boyfriend of the Hour
“You should go,” he told them. “Unless you’d like them to stay.”
When he turned to me, those gorgeous brown eyes met mine and were full of clear, honest concern.
No motives. No games.
“I would not,” I confirmed with a smile.
My surprise savior turned back to the group of four. “Well?”
He set a palm flat on the bar in a way I didn’tthinkhe meant to be threatening, but it certainly came off that way. You know, the way things normally do when you’re obviously stacked and able to kick the other guy’s ass with one hand tied behind your back.
Gel Head swallowed. “Fine, yeah. On our way out, man.”
Mr. Chocolate Eyes and I both watched the men fumble their way to the exit.
“Well, now the drink is on me,” I said, handing him his Macallan. “Thanks for the rescue. They were harmless, though.”
Maybe not totally harmless. That sour feeling had lessened some, but it wasn’t completely gone.
My customer accepted the glass, put it on a new coaster, and sank onto another stool in front of me. “I didn’t like how they were treating you.”
“I’ve gotten a lot worse; I can promise you that.”
His expression shone full of something like sympathy, but not quite. “Well, someone like you shouldn’t.”
Someone like me?
What did that mean?
What kind of girl did he think I was?
Someone worth saving, I realized. Someone worth protecting.
With a hot face, I picked up a clean glass that suddenly needed a lot of polishing. “I guess I owe you one, then.”
“Owe me?”
That chocolate gaze melted over my body, then floated back up. Unlike the sleazebags he’d just dismissed, there was nothing cheap about it. He didn’t hide what he was doing, but it wasn’t lewd. Just appreciation, pure and simple.
And hot. Very, very hot.
When he was finished, his gaze met mine again. And didn’t move at all. “What could you possibly owe me for doing the right thing?”
We blinked at each other across the bar top like a couple of stunned deer. I didn’t need to look to know my nipples were basically conducting a staring contest of their own. Meanwhile, my brain had gone completely blank as I searched for something,anything, to say in return.
And there was…nada. For the first time that I could remember, my racing thoughts were perfectly still.
“I—um—er—” I cleared my throat, suddenly annoyed.
I’d had about enough of this. I was Joni freakin’ Zola. Neighborhood flirt, voted “Most Likely to Marry for Money” in her senior yearbook, she who had charmed her way out of not one butthreespeeding tickets. I wasnotabout to be tongue-tied because of a guy.
“Here’s your payback.” With a quick glance to make sure Tom was still in the back, I popped up onto my toes and across the bar to deliver a quick peck to Mr. Chocolate Eyes’s cheek.
Or so I planned.
Instead of sitting still like a good boy, he turned, and our lips mashed together in a—well, I wouldn’t call something that awkward a kiss. More like a collision of soft lips, five-o’clock shadow, and that chocolatey scent married with scotch, soap, andman.
It lasted less than a second. At which point I flew back to my side of the bar as if I’d been shocked and found my target standing up again, fingers to his mouth like he’d just been stung by a bee.
