Oh yeah. He really liked her outlook. “What do you do back in Paris?”
“I work at a restaurant…” Something buzzed on the bar top. Olivia’s gaze cut that direction and her hand drifted from his shirt to pick up her phone. “Sorry, it’s Quinn.”
Without letting go of Tate’s hand, she answered. “Hey, I’m here, I’m—” She stopped abruptly. Her brows pulled together in a cute little scowl. “Wait, but you invited—” She pulled her hand from his and pressed it to her forehead. “I thought…”
Tate’s hand felt cold. And the heat she’d created in his body started to drain as if it knew he’d lost his chance with her. He might have met her only fifteen minutes ago, but Tate already knew she was very different from the puck bunnies that swarmed the team. She was the kind of woman Tate had wanted to meet since he’d divorced Lisa.
“Are you serious?” she said into the phone with the first hint of frustration in her voice. “I just got off a plane, Quinn— No, I’m at the bar, talking to— Quinn— Quinn?”
She pulled the phone from her ear and frowned at it, growling. Turning off the screen, she settled a frustrated but apologetic gaze on Tate. “I’m sorry. My sister…” She exhaled hard, and a slice of anger cut across her face before it melted away into annoyance again. But her shoulders sank, and the light in her eyes had burned out. “Quinn, evidently, didn’t invite me to enjoy the party. She invited me to work the party. And the only reason I’m not going to strangle her is because she’s never traveled and she doesn’t understand time changes and jet lag.”
Tate instinctively reached for her hand to pull her closer, curving the other arm around her waist. And Olivia acted as if it were the most natural thing in the world. As if being touched by a stranger didn’t alarm her in the least. As if leaning into him like they were already lovers was second nature. Which only made Tate want to seal that deal…like…now.
“Can I help?” he asked. “Is there something I can do to help you get your job done quicker so you can get back to me quicker?”
She stroked his cheek and smiled. “I could tell you were going to be one of those guys as soon as I met you.”
He braced for the nice-guy brush-off. “What kind?”
Her light eyes slipped down his face and rested on his mouth. “The kind I’d want to get to know a lot better.”
The sexual innuendo in her tone seared a path through his belly and straight between his legs.
“I’d like that too.” Tate couldn’t quite believe the words had come out of his mouth.
Olivia swayed closer, pressed a hand to his chest, and looked up at him with those big blue eyes. “Maybe later, if you’re still here when I’m done…” She gave a little shrug. “Have a great night, Tate. And thanks for getting me in. Quinn sounds like she’s going to need a hand.” She patted his chest and grinned a little wider. “Little sister to the rescue.”
Then she pushed up on her toes, skimmed her fingers across his jaw, murmured something in French, and kissed him. Just a soft press of her lips.
Then she glanced around. “Can you point me toward the kitchen?”
Tate was still dazed when he lifted his hand toward the doors leading to the kitchen. Then watched her walk away, her path to her sister followed by dozens of male gazes. She responded to greetings but didn’t seek out attention.
And when she pushed open one swinging door, she paused and looked back. When her gaze found Tate’s, it held, and she smiled. The moment hung there a moment while Tate’s stomach flipped. Oh yeah, there was definitely something special about her.
“Who’s that?”
The familiar voice dragged Tate’s gaze around just as Olivia disappeared into the kitchen, and Tate turned to face Beckett. He was holding a beer and wearing a frown.
“The sister of your event coordinator. She came to help out,” he said to make the explanation easier.
“If she looks anything like Quinn, I hope you asked her out.”
“I haven’t met Quinn yet. I arranged the event with Teresa. And I’m going to meet up with Olivia when she’s done here to see if she wants to go out. But she just got into town, so she may not be up for it. Especially not after working tonight.”
“That sucks. I was hoping she’d be back to hang on you some more.”
“Why?”
Beckett made a face. “Because Lisa just walked in.”
Everything inside Tate went cold and hard. “What?” He knew neither Beckett nor Eden would invite her, so he asked, “How?”
“She’s with Martin Kessler,” Beckett said. “My dad invited Kessler. I had no idea—”
“Fuck.” He sighed. “I know, Beck. I know.”
Lisa was a publicist. When Tate met Lisa, her business had been small. She’d been digging for clients, struggling to grow her one-person company. Hooking up with Tate had changed all that. Looking back, he had a crystal clear view of Lisa’s grand plan and how expertly she’d executed it, but at the time, he’d believed they’d wanted the same things—marriage, kids, a family, a future together. But all she’d wanted was Tate’s contacts to build her business. When that had only taken her half the way, she’d slept her way to the finish.