‘You don’t like my cocktail skills any more?’
‘I didn’t think you’d want me to pay for your time.’ He turned on the smiling charm immediately—but then leaned a little closer to where she now stood setting up the small bar. ‘I thought you might prefer not to have to see me.’
She shrugged. ‘It wouldn’t matter to me.’ She carefully placed glasses. ‘Maybe I could do with the money.’
‘And that wouldn’t bother you?’ He watched her closely.
‘You’d be paying me to pour drinks,’ she answered with some sass. ‘Not anything else. And you’re offering to pay Jonny more than the going rate?’
‘To secure the private space I had to. I didn’t think you’d want me to treat you as a charity.’
‘But you wouldn’t be, would you?’ she asked coolly.
He studied her, a small smile playing around his way-too-luscious lips. Yeah, there was the problem—she now knew exactly how skilled that mouth was.
‘I can be professional,’ she said—to herself more than to him.
‘Can you?’
‘Sure, can’t you?’
His smile deepened. ‘I’m not at work. I’m here to have fun and flirt with the bar staff.’
‘You wanted to flirt with Jonny?’ She laughed. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, but Jonny is off sick. You’re stuck with me.’
He looked at her.
‘Am I worth double?’ she asked him and tilted her head on the side.
‘You do know what you’re doing, don’t you?’
‘Stirring a cocktail, yes?’
‘You’re stirring, but not just the cocktail.’
‘We can still be friends, right? Isn’t that what you said?’ she said archly.
That was before they’d slept together.
‘Of course.’ He inclined his head and walked to greet the first person coming through the door.
Mya watched the guests arrive and insecurity smote her—there were women here, seriously hot women. Smart ones too. Lawyers, the lot of them. And it was so dumb to feel threatened when she was ninety per cent on her way to being a lawyer too. And even if she weren’t, she still didn’t need to feel any less worthy than them.
Yet she did. The years of conditioning at that school had shaped her—that she should feel grateful for having that opportunity. That she shouldn’t stuff it up. That her drop-kick family background meant she’d never be fully accepted by the social strata that most of these people came from—as James had pointed out.
She watched Brad laughing with one of the women. Oh, no, maybe that was why he hadn’t wanted her to work the bar—had he been sparing her because he was here with another woman? Why hadn’t she thought of that?
Brad knew all the guys were checking her out. It had been a dumb idea to come here, but he’d thought he could pull it off if Jonny had been doing the work. Then Brad could pop into the main bar and snatch a few words with Mya and see how the land lay. Only now she was right in front of him, smiling, joking and teasing with them all as she served them.
And all he could do was watch like some lovelorn pup hoping for any kind of bone to be thrown his way. Some small scrap that might show she wanted him again. It was more than his pride that was stung. Did she really not want another night with him? Had that truly been enough for her? He didn’t believe it—was egotistical enough not to. All he needed was some proof. And to get that, he figured he just needed to get a little closer to her.
Mya fully regretted saying she’d do this. He was more handsome than she remembered, more fun with his wicked smiles and sharp words. And now she was assailed by images of sneaking him into the cupboard or some dark corner in the alley and having her wicked way with him. Quick and frantic and fabulous.
And to make it worse, he’d now taken up residence right beside her and was watching her every move with the full-on maple-syrup glow. Brad Davenport on full throttle. She fumbled with the bottle and was annoyed to glance up and see him suddenly smiling as if he’d won the lottery.
‘Not on your game tonight?’ he drawled. ‘Or is it because you can’t concentrate when I’m near?’
She stopped what she was doing—but couldn’t stop her blush. ‘Don’t be mean.’
His brows hit the ceiling. ‘I’m not the one who was mean—you’re the one who said one night only,’ he whispered harshly as he leaned over.
‘You only do one night,’ she whispered back.
‘Not necessarily.’ He leaned against the bar. ‘Maybe I can do unpredictable.’
Mya clutched the neck of the bottle with damp fingers and tried to joke. ‘Would you be saying this to Jonny?’
He didn’t bother to reply, just kept those burning brown eyes on her.
‘Why didn’t you ask for me?’ she added.
‘Can you honestly say you wouldn’t have got mad if I did? Can you honestly say you’d be happy for me to pay for your time no matter the context?’
She poured herself a tall glass of water. Damn, the guy actually understood her.
‘I’ll walk you home tonight,’ he said.
‘You’re hoping for a good-night kiss?’ She squared her shoulders and asked straight out
.
‘I’m concerned for your safety,’ he replied, his eyes twinkling.
‘Really?’
‘Partly. Mainly I want more than a good-night kiss.’
‘Do you?’ she asked softly. ‘What do you want?’
He didn’t answer with words—just that look.
Mya turned away while she still could. ‘I’ll get Pete to come in and finish serving you guys, and I’ll meet you out the front at closing time.’
To her pleasure, he was waiting as she’d asked, at the very end of the night.
‘Where do you live?’ he asked.
‘Tonight?’ she said. ‘I’m staying at your place.’ She walked up to him but he took a step to the side and back, out of reach.
‘I’m not touching you now,’ he muttered. ‘If I touch you now we’ll be all over each other in the nearest shadow and I don’t want to do that.’
‘You don’t?’ Her confidence surged at his words.
He closed his eyes. ‘I don’t want it to be sordid.’
Delight and desire filled her, topped off with relief. All that pleasure was smashed away by the need that pierced her a second later. She walked faster. ‘It wouldn’t be.’
He stopped on the footpath behind her. ‘Mya.’ A warning, a plea, a demand.
She turned her head to look back at him and smiled. Then she walked faster still, her body slick and ready. ‘It would be fun.’
As it had been the night of her party, she seemed to fly rather than walk. Her feet skimmed over the concrete. There was no alcohol in her system, yet she was in a haze as if she was under the influence.
She was under the influence of him.
She realised he was breathing faster than normal, and he was fit. The walk home hadn’t exactly taxed him. Something else was bothering him—the same thing that was bothering her.
She walked up the narrow path to his villa. Under the veranda they were shrouded in darkness the streetlamps couldn’t penetrate. The scent of the rose in the pot by the door was sweet and fresh. She stood in front of the door, like an impatient cat yowling to be let in, while he stood behind her.