Page 20 of Sirens
He was so close now that she could make out the individual filaments of his ridiculously long lashes. “Maybe I find you intriguing. Maybe I want to know what a woman like you is doing in a town like Townsend Harbor.”
Maggie tensed. This was the moment she’d been dreading.
“Just looking for a change of scenery, I guess.” Nottechnicallya lie.
“And decided to take a job bartending at Sirens?”
She shrugged. “They had an opening. I needed to make some money. Seemed like a pretty easy solution.”
“Even though you don’t know the first thing about mixing drinks?” Trent raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure you’re a woman of many talents.”
She leaned into him, damage control mode now her sole focus. “You have no idea,” she said.
The tension that had been simmering just below the surface since the moment they met was rapidly reaching its boiling point.
Their lips were a hairsbreadth apart now. The playful banter had shifted into something far more dangerous. Maggie knew she should pull away, but her body refused to cooperate. She was drowning in the intoxicating nearness of him.
And in no hurry to be saved.
Her eyelids fluttered closed, a brazen invitation to end this topic.
Any moment now, she’d feel that first brush. His lips on hers. Danger of discovery seared into oblivion by the very real heat between them.
“What did you do?” McGarvey’s question ripped through the haze of desire.
Maggie took a steadying breath, searching for an anchor. “In Boston? Oh, all kinds of stuff. Waitressing, data entry?—”
“No.” Trent’s expression turned serious, sending a jet of icy alarm spilling down Maggie’s spine. “You left Boston and traveled all the way across the country just to take a job as a bartender despite knowing nothing about mixing drinks and having a temperament terribly suited to the service industry. So, I’ll ask again,” he said, his breath warm on her lips. “What did youdo?”
It was bad.
Whatever she’d done was unspeakable. Illegal, probably.
While Trent prided himself on having a keen investigative mind, he found it in no way necessary to apply his training. The evidence was in the way she grabbed his face and mashed her mouth to his to avoid the question.
And…if the intensity, passion, and skill of her kiss was any indication of her guilt, she’d probably done something worth twenty-five to life.
Yet Trent couldn’t pull away to save his skin.
Or anyone else’s.
Shit, someone could have been robbing the wine seller across the street, complete with anEqualizer-style shootout, and he wouldn’t have noticed or cared.
Because Maggie Michaels kissed like the act was an Olympic sport and she was defending her gold medal.
Which was usually his thing. He had a formula, one wherein he applied hard-earned skill to turn a woman’s knees to quicksand and her insides liquid.
Then he’dreallystart trying, his every movement thought out and controlled in order to make certain the evening went the way it was supposed to, and she left singing his praises.
But tasting Maggie was like drinking a fine wine or a perfect cocktail, and Trent found himself helpless to do anything but savor every note and nuance.
Christ, she was sweet…but not cloying. Warm but not scalding. With a hint of liquor and an aftertaste of lime. He sampled it all. Her mouth, the slick glide of her tongue. The sweetness of her breath.
The world outside his open window melted away. The smell of fresh rain dampening pavement, the sound of a lone motorcycle engine growling in the distance, and a car door slamming shut. Who could mark those things when they were busy learning what desire tasted like?
He swore he could hear the blood throbbing in her veins. Could make out the individual twists and whorls of her fingerprints as she softened her touch against his face and charted the angles of his jaw with questing fingers. For a moment, Trent forgot everything else. Forgot about his job, his responsibilities, his own identity. All that mattered was the woman in front of him, the way her lips moved against his, the way her body pressed closer to his. It was a dangerous game they were playing, but Trent couldn’t bring himself to care.
Couldn’t summon the terror that truth should have wrought.
