Page 5 of Tempting as Sin
Definitelyfun. Paige must feel this way all the time.
Mr. Non-Beckham’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Challenging, huh? That’s good. Want to get out of here? I’m hungry, and I’ll bet you are, too.”
She’d already started to swivel back around when her view of his arm was cut off. Somehow, another drink and another hand had found their way onto the bar between her and the cuff link, and another arm, too. The shirt on this one was gray cotton, the cuff was rolled up, and there was no ornamentation visible, not even a watch. But it was a beautiful hand. Solid. Strong. Tanned. Big palm, long fingers. A deep V-shaped scar showed white against the bottom knuckle of his forefinger, and the beginnings of some impressive muscle corded the few inches of arm visible beneath the cuff. That hand and arm had done some work.
The shirt was tucked into jeans, both pieces cut slim but not overdone. The body under there was pretty special, too, but he wasn’t flaunting it.
Oh, boy.
All of that went through her mind in the instant before he said, his voice low, amused, and tinged with the sexiest drawl east of the Mississippi, “Sorry I’m late, honey. Does another Flirtini make up for it?”
“It might,” she said, with a glance out of the corner of her eye. The David wannabe hesitated a second, then made the prudent decision to withdraw.
Because…wow.This guy’s—man’s—too-long dark hair brushed his collar all the way around, and it wasn’t slicked back in any way, shape, or form. Hedidhave some black scruff to go with it, and a pair of golden-brown eyes that were…she didn’t have the right word, or maybe she just didn’t want to think it. It was more than that, though. The amusement in those eyes was drawing her in, inviting her to share the joke. He didn’t look around, but asked, “Is he gone?”
“Yes. Thanks. Congratulations on getting the drink right.”
He turned, planted a forearm on the bar, showing off that beautiful hand, kicked a heel up on the rail, and leaned back to survey the crowd. “Seemed like the least a man could do. Plus, he was wearing cuff links. Poser.”
This time, she laughed. “Ten bucks says he has an arrow tattoo of some kind.”
“Eight inches of it along his forearm. Not that he’s asking you to measure.” His eyes lit up some more. She could see that, because she was swiveled the other way. Towards him. When had that happened? “Signifying courage and direction and toughness, except not. You know what would be a real good line of work? Tattoo removal. A man could make a killing around about ten years from now.”
A killin’,he’d said. If his voice was honey, it was the amber variety. Dark, rich, and pouring out slow. Some honeycomb in there, too, a few rough edges to go with all the smooth.
“On the other hand,” she said, “there shouldn’t be anything wrong with people presenting themselves in a way that makes them feel confident, should there? That’s what I keep circling back around to, even though being snarky is more fun.”
Whoa.She’d only had one drink, and here she was being all honest. She definitely wasn’t used to going out anymore.
“Pretty people shouldn’t judge, you think?” he asked. “Unfair, maybe?”
He didn’t ask it in an arrogant way, or a flirtatious way, either. More of a thoughtful way, like he looked reality in the face. “Yes,” she said, “I think so. We all put on our armor, don’t we? Even deciding youaren’tgoing to try to look your best is making a statement. Armor of a different kind, maybe.”
“Hmm,” he said, the golden-brown eyes intense under the dark brows. “Sounds like you’re thinking of somebody in particular. It can’t be you, because youdidtry, even though you make it look easy.”
“I was,” she said. “Thinking of somebody in particular, I mean. My sister. She thinks that paying too much attention to grooming is giving men power over her. I think it could be the opposite. I dress for myself, and if the way I look gives me more confidence? That’s not a bad thing, at least I can’t see how. Confidence gives you power, including the power to say no. But then, fashion is my job. I’m required to think it’s important, you could say.”
He didn’t look predatory, not exactly. If he had, she’d have sent him on his way. The bartender had already checked him out, she could tell from the way he was looking over here. He wasn’t moving closer, so the guy had passed muster there as well. What he was…it wasfocused.But casual, like his ego wasn’t in this, and it wasn’t a game. Like he was actually interested. “Somehow,” he said, “that doesn’t surprise me. About the fashion. What, exactly? You make decisions. That’s obvious.”
“I have a shop,” she said. She didn’t saylingerie.She liked him, yes, but moving this thing much further would be a bad idea. You didn’t go for the hundred-meter-freestyle medal the first time you jumped into the pool. But…You make decisions. That’s obvious.That was breath-stealing all by itself.
“A shop, huh,” he said, clearly rolling the idea over in his mind. “I could see that.” He looked at the drink she hadn’t made a move to take, and then at her face again. When he spoke, his voice was…gentle. It took her by surprise. “We could have the guy take that drink away,” he said, “and bring you another one. One that you could watch him make. Won’t hurt my feelings.”
She looked at him, startled. He smiled, purely rueful, and something happened that took her a moment to recognize.
Something she hadn’t felt for a long, long time. A flutter in her belly, and something, if possible, even less familiar.
A flutter in her heart.
Her eyes weren’t blue, Rafe found. They were deep brown, liquid and soulful. Which would make the hair not natural, except that if that was the work of a colorist, it was a bloody good one.
She had style, too, to go with the confusing shirt. Her earrings were made of blue feathers, their ends dipped in silver and dropping halfway to her shoulders. Three silver hoop bracelets fell down her forearm when she raised a hand to touch her hair, and she was wearing absolutely no rings. A statement, maybe. If so, it was one he was all good with.
There wasn’t room to sit. There was barely room to stand, and he didn’t care. She was swiveled around to face him, sipping at that second drink he’d had the bartender mix for her, her face moving from smiling to serious like clouds across the sun. Or across the moon, maybe, because despite the golden hair, she was more mysterious than sunny, more serene than shining. And her perfume was so delicate and floral, it was barely there.
“I’m Clay, by the way,” he told her. “Clay Austin.” He’d thought about telling her the truth, but how long had it been since he’d met a woman who had no clue who he was? She likedhim.Plain brown eyes, blue jeans, and all. He wanted to keep things right here.
“Li—Lindsay,” she said, a faint touch of pink appearing in her cheeks. She added hastily, “You’re not from here, though. Or not originally.”
