Page 57 of Panty Dropper

“What can I get you?” Billy asked as he stepped behind the bar.

I wanted a shot, maybe even a double, to calm my nerves, but I thought I would go with something classier. “Glass of merlot.”

I watched Billy twist the corkscrew to open the bottle and I did my best not to drool over the vein that ran up his forearm as he did. It was all I could do not to reach out and touch it, or lick it. My eyes shot straight to his ass when he turned and grabbed a glass from a rack behind him. The sight had my heartbeat traveling down to my core. When he lifted the bottle to pour he glanced at me through dark, thick lashes and the brief eye contact had my entire body going up in flames.

I reminded myself that we were at a funeral reception, but that didn’t stop the tingles from spreading. It seemed my central nervous system flagged everything Billy said and did as foreplay.

Nadia was right, this was no ordinary man.

When I took the glass, I gripped the stem to avoid a finger brushing. If we touched—skin to skin—I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to hold myself accountable for my actions. After a sip, I asked, “Have you seen Cheyenne?”

His expression hardened, and he gestured with his chin.

I turned my head and saw Cash at the end of the bar where Cheyenne was sitting. They were leaning in toward each other, involved in what was clearly a deep conversation.

There was an electricity that seemed to pass as they looked into each other’s eyes, that was evident even from across the room. If the lights were turned out, I was sure that there would be visible sparks flying between them. And even more significantly, in my opinion, was the ease and familiarity in their body language with each other.

A smile spread on my face. She was obviously in good hands, which meant I didn’t have to feel any guilt for the escape that I was planning.

When I turned back to Billy and saw the daggers he was shooting their way I quickly concluded that he didn’t share my enthusiasm.

“Can you believe that?” he said under his breath.

I wasn’t sure what Billy’s issue with it was, but he clearly had one. Since I didn’t think that he was in the right frame of mind to hear my excitement at the unfolding scene, I played dumb. “What?” I asked, head tilted and eyebrows raised. The picture of innocence.

His brow furrowed even further. “Those two,” he growled. “Cash and my baby sister.”

Ah. So that was it. I wondered if he had more of a problem with the “baby” part, or the “sister.” Probably it was spread pretty equally between the two.

Again. I didn’t think he was in the right frame of mind to hear an argument about them both being adults, so I continued my dumb act. “What about them?”

“There’s obviously something going on between them.”

I smiled indulgently. I wondered if his fixation on his “baby sister” might be a good distraction from thinking about burying his father today. I remembered at Hal’s memorial service, I argued with the florist about the arrangement placement. “You think so?”

“Don’t you?” he shot back, still glaring in the oblivious couple’s direction.

“Maybe, maybe not. It’s an emotional day, and she doesn’t know many people here. Besides, she’s a twenty-five year old woman. I’m sure you’re not one of those backwards-thinking men who have double standards when it comes to males and females. Right, Panty Dropper?”

My use of his nickname got his attention. He turned his head back to me and a slow grin lifted on his face, causing the deep dimple in his left cheek to come out to say hi. “I bet you’re a really good lawyer.”

That was a reply I hadn’t expected. Which was unusual for me. Part of what did make me a good lawyer was that I had a gift for anticipating any and all possible responses. Cross examination 101: Never ask a question you don’t know the answer to.

“Why do you say that?” I mused.

“You’re good at getting your point across and leaving little to no room for argument.”

I’d always prided myself on that very quality and considered it a good trait. Blaine and my mother likened it to me being a smart ass, but Billy spoke of it as an asset, with admiration in his eyes and voice.

When I’d told Billy I didn’t want pretty words, I wasn’t just saying it. Pretty words, easy compliments, were cheap and meaningless. All my life, I’d heard people tell my mother how beautiful, stunning, and sexy she was, but they’d never respected her. If anything, she was looked down on because of her appearance. But hearing Billy say what he had the way he had meant more to me than “pretty” words ever would.

“Ms. York?”

I stiffened at the sound of a voice behind me, one that I immediately recognized as my boss, Mr. Abernathy. It was low and sonorous, like any good old Southern lawyer’s should be. It was meant to evoke emotion in the people on the receiving end of his words, and it had certainly worked on me just now. I felt a spike of fear jolt through me when I saw Billy’s jaw tighten and his nostrils flare in anger.

A sinking feeling gathered in the pit of my stomach as I turned around to see the man that I’d yet to meet in person, and who also signed my paychecks. When I did, three things struck me. One he wasn’t as tall as I’d thought he’d be from seeing him at the church and on Skype. Two, the mole on his right cheek was much more prominent this close up. And three, the tension in the air was so thick I could taste it.

I needed to diffuse this situation as quickly as I could.

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