Page 8 of Just This Once

Meanwhile, Taryn has her arms folded, and I hope these two have their wills written. I’m not sure they’ll survive the next time she gets them alone.

As for me, I’m looking forward to it.

Once it’s only the two of us, I move my stool so I’m facing her and wrap my hand around the leg of hers, dragging it closer. Taryn squeaks out a surprised gasp, her eyes widening for a second before narrowing at me once again. But she doesn’t refuse me when I place my knees outside of hers.

“Did you have a good day?” I ask, and she slants her attention toward the kitchen, offering me her profile. And what a nice profile it is. Her slender neck, where she slowly drags her fingertips under her chin. Her skin looks so soft, and I envision burying my face there. Kissing that delicate place, over the flutter of her pulse. She purses her lips, making that Cupid’s bow even more pronounced. With her high cheekbones and severe, dark eyebrows, I wouldn’t call her pretty. She has a kind of unapproachable beauty, and I bet she put on part of her armor because the boys she grew up with never talked to her. I’d wager my next paycheck she was self-conscious growing up and started deflecting with this whole nose-in-the-air thing. But, really, boys are idiots, and she needs a man.

Especially one who won’t back down from her.

“You really want to talk about my day?” she asks with the exact right amount of venom to send adrenaline flowing through my veins. I presume this is how snake handlers feel. But snakes only strike when they feel sense danger, and there is nothing more I want than to prove she’s safe with me.

I sweep my index finger along the back of her hand and wrist she dangles off the bar top. “I’m trying here. Throw me a bone.”

She runs the tip of her tongue over her top teeth, her head shaking in suspicious amusement. Like she can’t believe her bad luck that she’s found herself here with me.

I do love a good challenge.

“That’s what you want?” She meets my gaze, brows arched. “To be treated like a dog?”

“Well, Icanbe a very good boy.”

That wins me a reluctant twitch of her lips. “I don’t deal with boys.”

I try and fail to bite back a grin. “Of course not. Only the manliest of men for you.”

She rattles the ice left in her glass then sips the dregs of the liquid. “Exactly.”

“And what qualities make up the manliest of men for you?”

“Catching a fly with chopsticks, punching a kangaroo, killing a fish with your bare hands.”

I cough a laugh. “I’m not sure if that’s a list of qualities for men or to show you’re a sociopath. What do you have against animals?”

She shrugs. “It’s caveman stuff. If modern-day men ever had to actually take care of anyone in their home, I very much doubt they’d be able to. So, maybe in order for a man to prove his worth, he should be forced to go hunt and gather some food before being allowed in a bed.”

“Not actually a bad idea.”

It might make me a dick for admitting it, but I love when women rely on me. I love being their protector and provider. It makes me feel strong and supportive. Not in the “I have to make more money” kind of way, but in the “I want to make sure they are completely cared for” kind of way. I don’t want themto be subservient or dependent on me, but I want to be their stability.

And obviously, Taryn wants that too.

I suspect if I ever learned who this ex-husband of hers is, I’d hate him on sight.

“Let me take you home,” I say, and she considers me seriously, her eyes roaming over my face. I hold very still until she decides.

“Just a ride home.”

“Just a ride home,” I affirm with a smile I know she doesn’t trust.

I back up, giving her room, and she loops her purse across her body. With her standing next to me, I finally get to see how tall she is—probably only a few inches under six foot—but she carries herself like she’s eight feet tall, not waiting for me to guide her out the door. Although, once we hit the sidewalk, she pauses so I can catch up. I motion to the right, and we stroll to the next block slowly, hands brushing.

“Did you enjoy yourself tonight?” I ask, and she shoots me a look.

“Until you showed up.”

“Can’t scare me off that easy,” I say because I like her attitude. Then I offer her my phone to plug her address into my Maps app and direct her to where I parked my Indian Scout.

She stops short. “You ride a motorcycle?”

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