Page 1 of Tempting Kat
Chapter 1
Conrad
I'm halfway through a bourbon when she walks in, and my cock immediately perks up like it's got a fucking radar for trouble.
Katarina goddamn DeLuca. Twenty-four years old, five-foot-nothing, and carrying the kind of curves that make my hands itch to grab.
Santiago slides another drink in front of me without me having to ask.
“You're gonna need it,” Santiago mutters, nodding toward Kat as she dumps her bag behind the bar.
“Fuck.” I down half the fresh bourbon in one swallow, letting it burn all the way down. My laptop screen's gone dark, the contracts I was reviewing forgotten.
Those cut-off shorts might as well be painted on her ass, and that fucking t-shirt—Christ. It's tied up under her tits, shredded across the chest like she got into a fight with a cheetah, and it's obvious she's not wearing a bra. I can see the dark shadows of her nipples through the rips, and my mouth goes dry.
I take another sip, letting the burn distract me from the hard-on pressing against my zipper. Six months I've been coming hereto escape. Six months of torture watching her flirt and smile and bend over the fucking bar to grab bottles, giving everyone a show.
Who the hell let her come to work dressed like that? Oh right. Me. I own this fucking place, and I've never once thought to implement a dress code. Might be time to reconsider that shit.
“Hey, Mr. Mysterious,” she calls out, that smart mouth of hers curving into a smirk. “Ready for something new?”
She knows damn well what I drink. She's playing with me, like she always does. Like she has no fucking idea I could buy and sell her ten times over. Like she hasn't been driving me insane for the past one-hundred-eighty damn days.
“You know what I like,” I reply, my voice dropping an octave.
“Sure do.” She smirks, not moving away. “You gonna sit there all night brooding again, or are you actually gonna talk to someone?”
“I talk when I have something to say.” She has no idea that smart-ass grin is a dare for me. It’s like dangling a carrot in front of me that says, ‘bend me over and fuck the defiance right out of me’.
She laughs, and the sound goes straight to my dick. “Fair enough, old man. Keep your secrets.”
Old man. She loves throwing that in my face. Like I give a fuck. Like it doesn't make me want to bend her over this bar and show her exactly what experience brings to the table.
I mutter under my breath, but she's already sauntering down the bar, hips swaying like she's got a fucking metronome in there.
Santiago drops onto the stool next to me, sliding a foil-wrapped package on a plate across the counter. “Mariana sent this. Said you look too skinny.”
The smell of his wife's carne asada hits me as I unwrap it, making my mouth water. Santiago's already digging into his, grabbing two Modelos from behind the bar.
“Your wife trying to fatten me up?” I ask, but my eyes never leave Katarina as she pours someone's drink at the other end of the bar.
“Someone needs to. You work too much.” Santiago takes a long pull from his beer bottle.
I grunt, shoving a bite of perfectly seasoned meat into my mouth. Kat's laughing at something some college prick said, and my jaw tightens. She's leaning forward, giving him a view I'd kill for. My fingers tighten around my fork.
“You know,” Santiago says casually, “staring holes through that kid’s head won't actually kill him.”
“Not for lack of trying.” I wash down the food with beer, cold and crisp against the heat of the asada.
Kat stretches up to grab a bottle from the top shelf, her shirt riding up to expose a strip of skin above those shorts. There's a tiny tattoo there, just above her hipbone. I want to trace it with my tongue.
“You gonna do something about this situation, or just torture yourself?” Santiago asks through a mouthful of food.
I tear my eyes away from her long enough to glare at him. “There's no situation.”
“Right.” He snorts. “And I'm the fucking Pope.”
Kat's mixing drinks now, her small hands moving fast, bangles jingling on her wrists. Every movement is fluid because she’s a damn good bartender. She pours, shakes, stirs. I imagine those hands on my chest, my stomach, wrapping around my cock.
