It had to do with her.
The Tigress was, to put it charitably, a ball-buster.
He’d put her in her place quickly enough.
She’d driven him up the wall, demanding information she had no business demanding, telling him how he should be handling things, interfering every minute and every way she could, making his life hell until, finally, he’d taken her on, gone head-to-head with her, told her she was a total, complete, absolute pain in the ass and if she didn’t want him to pick her up and literally throw her out of his office, she’d better back off.
The look on her face when’d told her that had been just wonderful.
The thought of tossing her out had been equally wonderful.
Or maybe it had been the thought of picking her up. Hoisting her off her feet, lifting her in his arms, finding out if there wasn’t a way to convert all that icy need to control the world into heat and flame.
Of course, he hadn’t touched her. Why would he?
Chay looked around, saw his waitress and signaled for another ale.
Which was why it was impossible to explain what had happened at the wedding. The bride’s sister. The groom’s best friend. Of necessity, they’d ended up sitting next to each other. Being called to the dance floor. Posing for pictures and smiling through their teeth.
They’d managed to be polite for the sake of the bridal couple.
Then everybody had gone outside to see the newlyweds off.
Somehow, he’d ended up alone on the porch with the Tigress. And man, she’d done her best to put him in his place while he’d done his best not to react…
And then, somehow or other, she’d ended up in his arms.
All these months later, he could still remember that kiss.
The feel of her body against his.
The softness of her mouth.
The almost overwhelming desire to take her. There. Right there. No preliminaries. No explanations. He’d wanted to pull up her skirt, unzip his trousers and bury himself inside her.
The kiss had ended, fast.
So had those ridiculous imaginings.
The cause? He still couldn’t figure it out. Too much champagne, maybe. There sure as hell was no other way to explain it. She’d made some lady-of-the-manor crack about him never touching her again. He’d followed up with some smartass remark. Then she’d gone back inside the house and he’d driven to Dallas, and he hadn’t thought about Bianca Bellini Wilde again…
Come on, dude.
Yeah. He had. He’d thought about that kiss, too, for no reason he could come up with. Replayed it, especially the part where she’d kissed him back. Or maybe she hadn’t. Maybe he’d imagined it. Maybe…
“Here you go, handsome.”
He looked up, smiled and said “Thanks” as the waitress plopped a bottle of ale on the scarred wooden table.
Jesus.
Chay lifted the bottle, brought it to his lips and took a drink.
Why was Bianca Bellini Wilde in his head? Truth was, she’d been there a few times—okay, several times over the last few months. And that was crazy. Crazy. Especially tonight, his first night back in the world…
“Such a waste.”
The voice was female, a sexy purr.