There were a few stragglers still on the road but it was largely quiet, peaceful and warm. Despite the couple of mouthfuls of whiskey he’d had he was stone-cold sober. As he neared the club he started to walk that little bit faster—he could hear music. Worse than that, he could hear country music. Well past closing. He got to the door—it was locked and the stairwell light was off. He walked into the middle of the road so he could see up to the windows and into them a little—they were wide open and there was a light on inside. What the hell was going on? Was she staging some sort of lock-in? The music was appalling. Had she turned the place into a line-dancing school? Either way it was being shut down now.
He shouldn’t have hired her. Never should have done it. He’d been bamboozled by a beautiful body and eyes that begged for him to believe in her.
Idiot.
He pulled the keys out of his pocket and inserted them in the lock. She was about to be sacked.
CHAPTER SIX
It is essential for you to try things with your own hands
LUCY was whirling round the floor, arms outstretched, when she heard it. Heavy footsteps on the stairs. Inside. Coming up. Fast. She stopped still. Brain spinning. She dashed for the bar and got behind it. Then cursed herself for her stupidity. If he was after cash he’d come straight for the till. She thought about her mobile phone—in her bag in the back room. Useless. Fear slashed through her but she refused to freeze. She had to fight.
Her mind flickered, eyes hunting for a weapon. Glasses, bottles—weapons which would be used against her. Then she saw it—the postmix—the drink dispenser. She could squirt soda at the intruder and dash for the fire alarm with the seconds that bought her. She lifted the nozzle from its rung and stood square on to the door just as it opened and she saw the manly figure outlined—tall, broad, familiar. Body achingly familiar.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ they shouted simultaneously.
Lucy swore as he advanced and she saw it truly was him. Her heart didn’t know whether to speed up, slow or stop altogether.
‘You gave me one hell of a fright.’ She couldn’t mute the remains of high-strung panic. Snatching quick, full breaths, she tried to calm. The relief washing through her was as effective at shutting off her brain functionality as the fear had been moments before.
What was he doing here? Especially looking like that? Angry, dishevelled and so, so hot. He still wore his suit but the jacket and tie were gone now. It was just his white shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, tails escaping his trousers, and even rougher stubble on his jaw.
‘Well, what are you doing? You should be home by now and this place should be shut up.’
‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to get your precious licence revoked.’
‘So what about the licence? It’s dangerous for you to be here alone at this time. You should leave when the others do and go home in a cab.’
‘I was sorting the paperwork.’
‘Do it tomorrow. With music like that Noise Control will be here any moment.’
‘It’s not that loud.’
‘No, but it is truly awful.’
‘Don’t you like country?’
‘Hell, no.’ His glare softened. ‘Just what were you planning on doing with that?’ He nodded towards her hands.
She remembered she still held the postmix. Devilish temptation called. Not water—not enough power. Cola would stain and the taste brought back horrible memories. It would have to be lemonade. Her fingers flexed. Her hands raised to aim.
He saw the movement. His eyes narrowed. His mouth opened.
Before sound emerged, she pressed the button. Frothy lemonade squirted out, hitting him square on the chest. His shirt was soaked in seconds. He stood still, not giving any clue to his reaction. The liquid raced, leaving a translucent path down his chest, fitting the material to him like second skin.
She stared. ‘Maybe you should revisit the strip-club idea.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Or at least instigate a wet-tee-shirt night. Or wet business shirt.’ She couldn’t stop the huge smile spreading across her features, the burgeoning glow of amusement, the flame of desire, the illicit thrill that she got from his unreadable expression. How was Mr Cool Collected Type A going to handle this?
She lifted the nozzle again.
He spoke. ‘You. Dare.’
Goose-bumps peppered her skin, but her smile still grew. She got him in the hair and face this time.
And then he moved. Faster than she’d thought possible for such a big guy. He took three paces and vaulted over the bar to where she stood. In a split second he had the postmix out of her hand and held it firm in his and she was pinioned to his side by his spare arm.
She squirmed. He squeezed—pulling her even closer.
‘You know you’re trouble with a capital T.’ He waved the nozzle at her. ‘You’re about to get really wet.’
It must have been his proximity that caused her to do it. She looked at the broad chest against her, wanting to taste the trickling bubbles of soda. She wanted to taste him. She breathed in his male musky scent. The hit kicked her inner vixen to life. She replied, a slow, sassy drawl.
‘I already am.’
She lifted her lashes and let the lust out. Unthinking, uncaring. Just wanting the moment. Now.
He stood stock-still, body rigid. His gaze slowly left hers and lowered, to her lips and down—to her perfectly dry top. Then he looked back up—and to her delight the gold had flamed into life.
His arm pulled her even tighter to him and she sucked in a breath as her body flared against the hard feel of his.
‘Yes.’ She was close enough to feel his breath on her skin, to see the stubble on his jaw—almost close enough to flick her tongue out to taste him. She couldn’t control it. Her tongue touched the tip of her own lip—a tiny, flickering movement.
He tossed the postmix away. She heard it clatter on the bar and then that sense shut down as his other arm closed around her. She became aware only of the feel of him. Close, so close. His gaze had fixed on her mouth and she lifted it as he brought his down slowly.
Their bodies touched, chest to chest, abdomen, hip, thighs and finally lips. Sealing them from top to toe. The kiss was slow. Soft. Simple. But it heralded complications of seismic proportions. From the second his mouth pressed on hers it was all over. There was no way she wasn’t taking this to completion—him to completion—and her.
He lifted his head a whisker and the pulse throbbing in her lips forced her to part them. Immediately he was back and the soft, slow kiss resumed.
He had patience, able to take time for careful consideration.
She didn’t.
She wanted it all. Right now.
So she slipped her hands up between her and him, wanting to unfasten the buttons of his wet shirt. But found she couldn’t. The wet made the material hard to manoeuvre. So she just pulled, heard the rip, then felt the warmth. Fingertips touching the smooth skin that sheathed hard muscle.
She felt her moan rather than heard it. Loved it when he yanked her that little bit closer in reply. Soft became stronger. His hands lifted and worked into her hair, holding it tight at the roots. He took a step forward, forcing her back against the bar.
She ran her hands across the top of his chest, loving the heated strength. His hands massaged in her hair, fingers working through its length. Then one came to cup her jaw, to hold her as his kisses grew in intensity and her response grew more fevered.
She’d never imagined he’d kiss like this. That Mr In Control could have her so out of control in just a few minutes. She felt the shift deep inside. Her body readying, ripening. Wanting it all.
He seemed to sense it. His hands moved from her hair and face to her waist where they gripped and he lifted her up to seat her on the bar. He lifted his head and looked at her while his hands went to her knees—pushing them apart so he could stand between them. Then he reached round her back again and slid her forward on the bar so she perched right on the edge of it?
??so her open body was pressed against his. Unhesitatingly she wound her legs around his waist. This was what she’d wanted from the first moment she’d clapped eyes on him. Lust at first sight. Suit be damned.
The kisses resumed—deep, his tongue searching, conquering. And she ran her hands over his shoulders, pulling at the remnants of the wet shirt, pulling it down his arms until he shook it free, flinging it over the bar. She took a second to study the bronzed torso before her. Still damp, super hot. Defined muscles bunched, taut nipples tempted her, but before she could do as she wanted and lean in to taste he was pushing her skirt up to bare her thighs. His fingers trailed fire, teasing, striking at her need. His smile grew wicked at her sharp inhalation of breath. He undid the button at the back. This guy might seem to be square but he was by no means inexperienced in the art of undressing a woman. Maybe he was more of a player than she’d realised. Maybe it wasn’t all work. Right now she couldn’t care less. In fact it was cause for celebration; the sooner they were both free of fabric, the happier she’d be. He unzipped the skirt and, bunching it in his hands, slipped it up, scooping her top at the same time and taking both off over her head. She raised her arms to help. Then she was in panties, bra and cowgirl boots. His hands smoothed over her thighs, rubbing ever upwards while his head bent to kiss soft, hot kisses from her collar-bones to her peaking breasts. She gasped, things were happening fast now—her body melting, desperate for him, but her brain couldn’t keep up. She needed to keep some semblance of control—of protection.
‘You know you’re still not my type.’ It sounded so school-girl but it was the best she could come up with under pressing circumstances.
‘And you’re not mine, but we’re doing this regardless.’
Oh, yes.
Her panties were wetter than his shirt had been and she didn’t have the postmix to blame. The sense of urgency increased.
His hands slipped the bra straps from her shoulders and un-clasped the back of it. He stared at her bared breasts. She could see the flush in his face.
‘Condom?’ One word. Primitive male.
‘Bathroom.’ She panted. ‘Dispenser.’
He scooped her off the bar and she tightened her legs round his waist, kissing him. He headed in the direction of the toilets.