More Than Want You (More Than Words 1)

“Baby, if you want to end your drought”—he cups his junk—“I’ve got nine inches of what you need.”

She raises an auburn brow at him. “First, no means no, and if you haven’t learned that, I don’t want anything to do with you. Second, it sounds like you’ve measured your penis. That kind of guy usually exaggerates, so reality is probably more like five inches. Maybe five and a quarter if I’m being generous. Either way—”

“That’s not fucking true. My cock is massive.” He sidles closer. “Come with me and I’ll show you.”

She brushes his hands away and grips the hell out of his balls. His eyes bug out, but she keeps talking with an almost pleasant smile. “I have no interest in seeing it when you’re too rude to know that you shouldn’t interrupt someone, much less how to bow out gracefully. Also, I’m a grown-ass woman. Don’t call me baby.”

“Okay,” Hulk squeaks.

I manage not to laugh aloud—barely. He’s a foot taller and outweighs her by a hundred pounds, but she’s got his full attention.

“Now turn your ass around and find your seat.”

She pries her fingers off his nuts but leaves them hovering right there in case he decides to get another case of the stalker-creepies. But Hulk Moron finally rubs two brain cells together and backs away, cupping his junk. He’s either too cautious or too sore to turn his back on her. When he reaches his table, his buddies are all ribbing him as they rise and laugh their way out the door.

“I’m not sure whether I should be afraid or impressed,” I flirt her way. “If you treat all new guys to that patented ball-busting maneuver, your drought isn’t really the surprise I imagined when you first mentioned it.”

Keeley shakes her head, grinning wide. “I know his type. I grew up in a rough neighborhood with macho guys like him. They only understand a few things. Potentially being a eunuch is one of them.” She thrusts out her hand. “Keeley.”

“Maxon.” I shake her hand, more as an excuse to touch her again. There’s still an electric arc between us. A jolt. My blood turns hot. This girl has something. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Sure. Crown and Coke.” She rubs her hands together nervously.

Nice that I get to her. I shouldn’t be the only one trying to keep my cool intact.

As I watch her, I spot a tattoo of a musical note on the inside of her wrist. Small and pretty. Feminine but interesting. Does she have more ink? It’s not something I usually like on a woman—mostly because I’m not into anything permanent—but this seems to fit Keeley.

“Is that okay?” she asks.

Damn it, my thoughts have been drifting. “Absolutely. I was mentally exploring the ways I might suggest we end your ‘drought.’ Want to hear my ideas?”

“Not before booze and my next set. After that, if you’re still here and interesting…then I just might.”

I like the way she banters. And meets my gaze. So many women do that shy, coy thing. I’m not into feeling as if I intimidate lovers. Rivals? Oh, yeah. All day. That shit’s fantastic. Not so much with bedmates. But Keeley meets my stare head on—no flinching—still wearing that hint of a smile that’s getting to me.

“I’ll be here. I’ll make sure you still think I’m interesting. And I won’t call you baby.” I turn and motion to the bartender, who starts pouring Keeley’s Crown and Coke, along with my dirty Grey Goose martini.

“So you’re a smart man, then?”

“I try to be.”

“You dress well,” she observes as she rakes me up and down.

“You dress like a woman who doesn’t mind attention.” My stare caresses every one of her curves.

No discounting or discarding the truth. I want her.

It’s pretty fucking inconvenient when I need her to distract my brother more…but I’m flexible. Maybe there’s a way for everyone in this picture to be happy—except Griff.

“I figured if I was finally going to go on stage, I should wear something eye-catching. Good to know I succeeded.” The bartender sets our drinks in front of us, and she takes a swig.

Damn, that mouth. Those plush, red lips.

“What do you mean, finally? You’ve never performed in public?”

“Not really.” She smiles and shrugs, her expression saying she may have jumped off the deep end for the hell of it. “I’ve done a lot of karaoke, which I love. People have said I have a good voice. So I thought…why not try it for real? If people boo me off the stage, then I’ll know all my friends are full of it. And then I’ll plot revenge, of course.”

“Of course,” I rush to agree. “But there’s no way you would be booed. You’re pretty incredible.”

“My one practice with the band a few hours ago paid off. Yeah!” She giggles.

I can’t help but laugh in kind as I stare at her, cold drink in hand. I can usually figure out the perfect way to proposition a woman. I’m good with charm. But Keeley is different, I think. She’s not going to fall for the usual you’re-pretty/your-eyes-sparkle BS. But she’s easy to talk to, and if my goal was merely to pick her up, I’m sure I could think of something that would persuade her to get naked and horizontal.

Instead, I’m wondering…would it be really awful if I slept with her before I introduced her to my brother? That sounds skeevy, I know. But I’m totally able to separate business from pleasure. Besides, if we have a one-night stand, we’ll inevitably part ways in the morning. What’s the harm in seeing if we can scratch each other’s backs in a different way after the sheets cool?

Actually, the worry nagging at the back of my brain is that she seems so genuine, asking her to deceive and derail my brother will be counter to her nature and earn me one of those unpleasant ball strangulations that might alter my ability to father kids. Hopefully, once I spend some time with her and understand her a bit better, I’ll find the words to tell her what I want without totally pissing her off.

“You’re really great,” I compliment her. “Seriously.”

“Thanks. Can you sing?”

“Not a note,” I assure her.

“Wow, you didn’t hesitate an instant before you answered.”

“I know my shortcomings. I mean, I don’t have many,” I assure with a wink. “But that one is too obvious to overlook.”

“So you’re tone deaf but otherwise perfect. And obviously humble, too.” She raises an auburn brow at me.

“No. In my business, being humble doesn’t pay.”

The little furrow between her sparkly, purple-shadowed eyes snags my gaze. “You’re a doctor?”

“Real estate agent. Number one on Maui.”

“So if I scraped some money together and wanted to buy a condo, you’re the guy I should call?”

“I could help you find the right agent. I deal exclusively in luxury properties. Normally, I don’t touch a place under four million. Time is money, and unless you treat the first as if it’s in short supply, the second will be, too.”

She gives me an assessing gaze as she sips more of her drink. “Interesting philosophy. I never thought about it like that.”

“So what do you do? If you’re not making a living from your voice—and I think you can—what’s your occupation?”

“I don’t really have one, per se. I have a couple of odd jobs. I waitress a couple days a week at one of the swanky hotels in Wailea. I spend about ten hours a week doing admin work for a psychotherapist down the street. On weekends, I teach some group exercise classes to seniors and help a zip-line crew with big groups.” She shrugs. “Whatever helps me pay tuition and makes ends meet. Right now, I don’t take anything too seriously.”

Not taking something seriously is foreign to me. I’ve always attacked life. Business, workouts, even trivia games. I’ve been programed to require winning and given the disposition to do whatever necessary to make it happen. Though I don’t understand Keeley’s attitude, I don’t think I’d change it. She’s made me smile a lot in the last five minutes, probably more than I have all week. That’s he

r laid-back charm.

Griff will love it, too. I try not to think about that just now.

“You’re still in college?”