Page 13 of Last First Date
Okay, focus. What were we talking about? Oh, that’s right.
“I don’t want to go to a fancy pants bar. Let’s go grab a beer and you can tell me exactly what I’m supposed to say.”
“You know that’s not how this works,” he purrs. Or rather his voice makes my body purr. Why is the very sound of his voice so damn distracting? Wait, we were definitely arguing about something. Okay, I’ve got it.
“Are you telling me you can’t get the job done at Riddles?” Yes, there we go. Maybe if I goad him a little bit, he’ll give in to what I want.
His chuckle drips into my ear like the promise of sins to come. “Nice try, Darcy. But I don’t buy into those petty little power games. I practically invented that particular argument tactic.”
Well, shit. I huff out a breath with a little profanity thrown in for show.
“Why don’t you bring that filthy mouth of yours over to my place, and then we can go. We’ll be there for the after work happy hour, and I’ll give you a very personal wooing demonstration.”
My pulse races at his words. Why does everything he says sound like it’s dripping in sex? I’ve got to get my head in the game or else tonight is going to be a total bust.
“Fine,” I snarl, and disconnect the call.
I’m not being fair, and I know it. This is exactly what I asked Abernathy to do after all. The whole point is for me to feel more comfortable with that high-end sort of crowd so I can take Hesse Kotner to the hospital fundraiser gala without making a complete mess of everything.
But all I really want to do is have a beer with Abernathy at Riddles. And then maybe get drunk enough to make a move on him. Or let him make a move on me. Whichever.
I noticed the way he was watching me. I’m much more used to being one of the guys, so his very pointed, very male attention was more than just unusual. It was flattering.
To have the dark, glittering eyes of Thom Abernathy trained on plain old tomboy me of all people—well, it certainly woke up all my bits and pieces and made them dance to the tune he was playing.
He’s very, very sexy, even if he is a bit too fancy for my taste. But even in his three-piece suit, he’s certainly a hell of a lot rougher around the edges than the perfectly polished Hesse Kotners of the world.
No, Thom Abernathy seems like the kind of man who would force a woman to her knees and then make her thank him for putting her there.
He’s a panty destroyer. A lady killer. He’s the most notorious one-night stand in our entire little town of Valentine, and judging by the rumors circulating about him, it’s worth sacrificing a little feminine pride in order to spend that one magical night with him. Because everybody knows Abernathy doesn’t do repeats.
It’s been so damn long since I’ve gone to bed with a man that it’s possible my virginity has regrown by now. And honestly, I’ve never slept with a man anything like Thomas Abernathy.
With those wicked thoughts in mind, I put on the tightest jeans I own and pair it with a low-cut, slinky black top and some little black boots. This is about as fancy as it’s going to get at my house, and black always works. Besides, I know that Abernathy is going to be unable to keep from staring at my tits all night. Unless we count the part of the evening he’s going to spend staring at my ass.
I give myself one last glance and then head out the door.
I ring the bell at his fancy loft, then drape my body casually across the entryway, being sure to stick out my breasts. I want to get his attention right away, and I can’t think of a better way than to use my best assets. Maybe if I play my cards right, I can even talk him into a night out at Riddles.
He opens the door with a white towel slung low around his hips. Because of course he does. God, he didn’t even know we were playing the “use your body like a weapon” game, and he’s already winning this round. What an asshole.
Unfortunately, he’s even more fit than I remembered from our misadventures at Aunt Opal’s and the racy photoshoot. Up close, I can see that his arms are thickly muscled, like an action figure. His chest is broad, and he still has a couple of droplets of something wet lingering near his clavicle.
I’ve literally never even heard of a sexy collarbone on a man, but I’d certainly be game to lick off whatever that moisture is. Because I’m definitely thirsty as fuck right now.
And then my eyes drift down. Down past the ripples of his abs, to the little thumbprint of his navel. Directly to that sexy treasure trail that dips into the folds of the towel he’s wearing.
Holy shit. My eyes must be deceiving me. Is that really even a towel fold?
I take back the wanting to lick his neck part. I want to lick Thomas Abernathy’s thighs and then fall down and worship at the altar of his giant, lady-business destroying dick.
He clears his throat and I guiltily look up at his face, even as my cheeks flush with heat. He gives me a long, intense gaze and then leans toward me. “Like what you see, Lieutenant?”
The job title is like a bucket of cold water on my out of control libido. I shake my head momentarily, then give him a sharp look, folding my arms in front of my chest. “I find it hard to believe that you accidently came to the door like that, Abernathy. Is this really what works for you in the getting laid department?”
His eyes light up at my teasing words. “Why don’t you come inside? Then I can answer all your most personal questions about what works for me in the getting laid department.”
And there go my fucking panties. Lost in a sea of unreasonable lust-fueled hormones and that mega-bulge that’s lurking beneath his clean, white towel.
