He edged forward another hundred feet, waiting for the woman to end her call before he approached.
“No, I’m not waiting another—” Frustration roughened her voice. “I didn’t drive all this way to stand out here . . . Dammit, I’ll buy you a bottle of wine if it’s that important—”
She strolled in front of her SUV, an older-model Jeep Laredo, and paused there, her free hand on the hood, giving Ethan a much better view of her body. And she wasn’t as skinny as she’d appeared from a distance. She had fabulous curves beneath that skirt, and, thanks to the dark night, bright lights, and translucent blouse, Ethan was treated to a perfect view of the very nice shape and fullness of her breasts.
This was definitely an unexpected and welcome surprise. Most definitely the best part of his day.
At least he thought so before he dragged his gaze from her figure, because her face was even better. The lighting wasn’t ideal, but she looked damn beautiful from where he stood. Oval face, little nose, wide eyes, flushed cheeks. That’s all he picked up before she turned to pace in the opposite direction.
As he watched her wander back and forth in front of the SUV arguing softly with whoever was on the other end of the line, he soaked in the way she moved, the tuck of her waist, the hollows at her collarbones, the way she kept twirling a loose strand of hair at her nape around her index finger. Heat collected low in his body. The kind of heat that made him smile. The kind that made all his problems fade into the background. The kind that made him restless. Made him think about the soft skin of a woman’s body, the sweet smell of a woman’s skin, the delicious lick of a woman’s tongue . . .
She disconnected her call and dropped her cell against the SUV’s hood with a clatter. “God, what a day. What a shitty day.”
She jerked open the driver’s door and rummaged in the center console, muttering things Ethan didn’t catch. He lowered his gaze to the license plate and found Burbank frames. So she was from Los Angeles. He was right; she was a city girl. Though he hadn’t expected someone from that far south. San Francisco would have been a more feasible option for a demolition contractor, just an hour and a half south of Wildwood.
“Six freaking interviews. Now this. Such bullshit.” She straightened from the car while looking at something in her hand with a shake of her head and a huff of disgust or disbelief; Ethan couldn’t tell which. She turned toward the building and squared her shoulders, studying it like an opponent. “They’ll be sorry when those kids overrun their budgets, miss their deadlines, and get defrauded by sleazy contractors. Their pretty little business degrees won’t look so shiny then. And I don’t need keys to get
into this hellhole.”
Hellhole.
Ethan smiled. Yep, he liked her better and better by the second.
She pushed those pretty legs into a march toward the bar, and Ethan crossed his arms and set his feet, watching and wondering what would come next. There was no turning back for him now. Not only did he have to know who she was and what that meant for this bar, but he now wanted to know what that meant for him. He may not have been in the mood to sweet-talk anyone a few minutes ago, but he was suddenly willing to become Prince Fucking Charming now.
She pounded those spiked heels up the rickety steps to an equally rickety porch as if she wore tennis shoes, then dropped into a crouch and started jimmying the door lock with whatever she’d pulled from the car.
The sight was so absurd, laughter tickled his ribs. His face broke into a grin, but he held a chuckle back. He wanted to see what she did next when she didn’t think anyone was watching. And the view of that sweet ass stretching her little skirt to its limits was admittedly quite enjoyable.
This was definitely the highlight of his day.
The scrape of metal against metal mixed with her disgruntled mutters.
“Can’t see a damn thing . . . place makes my skin crawl . . . stupidest thing I’ve done in a long time . . .”
A tiny crack broke the scrape of metal, and she paused, looking down. “Goddammit.”
Ethan would bet his next epic brew she’d just broken a nail. But that didn’t keep her from trying again.
He closed the last hundred feet to stand in the circle of light, making sure his feet crunched on the gravel to give her a heads-up. But she was oblivious to everything as she attempted to force the lock.
Another nail snapped in the night. A growl of frustration rolled through the silence. Then she threw her lock pick of choice at the porch, and it bounced with a clank, clank, clank before it settled in the dirt. Ethan got his first good look at the tool: a bottle opener.
A grin broke over his face, but he held his laughter in.
Still crouched, the woman pressed her palms to her eyes and exhaled heavily.
Ethan cleared his throat.
But she was lost in her world of misery. She dropped her hands, leaned her forehead against the bar’s cracked front door, and moaned, “What the hell am I doing here?”
He purposely kept his voice level and light when he said, “I was going to ask the same question.”
Her head jerked up, and her gasp cut into the night. She hauled herself upright and spun toward him at the same time—or she tried—but her fitted skirt limited her movement, and one of her spiked heels caught in a gap between the warped porch boards. She teetered, leaning into a fall.
Ethan rushed forward, but before he could reach her, she squealed and threw her arms out, catching herself on a wall. Barely.
He stopped in front of her, unsure what to do. Touching her didn’t seem appropriate, even though he’d have to if he was going to help her out of that awkward position. “Jeez, I’m sorry.”