Page 2 of Taste Of You

Everything that this piece of shit counter is hiding from me.

“...is the position still available?” This beautiful little thing, with bright blue eyes and warm chocolate hair, extends a hand out for me to shake, and I do, enjoying how well her delicate hand fits in mine. How each small move makes those larger-than-a-handful tits jiggle. “Well? Is it?”

From the corner of my eye, I could see that my bartender and head waitress are both looking this way with interest, curiosity, since I never spare the women that come inside my bar more than a passing look.

This is more than out of the ordinary for me; however, as much as I like them both, I’m not ready to dissect this—or entertain the way Ben is looking at her.

“Not paying you to stare,” I hiss out low, a warning more to Ben then Ana.

“I’m going to go and pretend I never came here.” Camille pulls her hand from mine, and I bite the inside of my cheek to stop from asking for it back. Instead, she taps her light pink nails on the stone counter twice before half turning. And just as I am about to stop her, she looks back at me with fire in her eyes, and it sets my body ablaze. Heats me from head to toe. “All you had to say was that I’m not what you’re looking for. Spared us both the awkwardness.”

Not what I’m looking for? I’m almost salivating here.

With that, she turns and walks toward the exit, and I find myself jumping over the bar before she can curl those dainty fingers around the doorknob. My tunnel vision is set on her, and I pay no mind to the few patrons mingling around this early in the afternoon. Thank Christ this didn’t happen during the Friday happy-hour surge.

I’m acting irrational. Crazy. Like a horny teen who just caught sight of his first set of tits.

Without conscious thought, I reach out and cup her elbow, effectively bringing her actions to a halt. She gasps but doesn’t pull away. Just stands there while I bring her a smidgen closer—keeping her warmth far enough away so as not to graze my skin.

It’s then that the sweet scent of cherries hits my senses, and my hiss isn’t low.

Our eyes lock, her blue ones inquisitive. “Are you okay?”

Again, I don’t speak. My body is under attack: overstimulated.

Her sweet face. Her scent. Her height.

Fuck, it nearly tramples me—almost bowls me over—as I realize just how much smaller than me she is. My over six-foot-two frame dwarfs her no more than five-foot stature, and I barely hold back the groan that wants to escape.

Lord, forgive me, I could break her. Ruin her.

That realization is like a punch to the gut. She’s just a girl and too young for me.

At thirty-three, I should be desiring a woman and not this child. Her age is written all over her face; at the most, she’s twenty and that’s my wishful thinking.

“Look, I think—”

“Is this your way of telling me that you can talk and understand words? That you are in fact not mute?” Jesus, her sass sends a rush of adrenaline down my spine. Sparks to life this dormant desire I’ve ignored since my last relationship years ago, this need to dominate and demand respect.

Step the fuck back. Let her leave.

I should. God, I should.

Too young for you.

“Well? Because I need to—”

“You’re hired.” What the fuck did I just do?

“W-What?” she stammers before licking her bottom lip. A plump lip I want to taste.

Releasing her, I take a step back. “You’re hired.”

“This is giving me whiplash...I don’t understand.” Camille turns to face me fully, and it’s the happiness in her eyes that cements my resolve. “I mean, you have no idea if I’m even old enough to work here? If I have any experience?”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I stare her down. “Do you want the job?”

“Of course...” she wrings her hands in front of her “...but what about—”

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