Page 34 of Single Girl in the City
“Just more qualified than anyone you’ve interviewed. I’ve tended bar.” She ticked off a finger. Then another. “Managed a wine bar, as you already know. And headed up boards full of helicopter parents and high-strung soccer moms. So, don’t you worry, me and my Bs can handle your bar just fine.”
“Now you’re just trying to make me blush,” he said. “And I love your Bs, but I have a reason for not wanting to hire you. It has nothing to do with your skills, and everything to do with this.”
He knew kissing her could obliterate any friendship they might have, but while his brain knew that, his dick was slow on the uptake. It was her eyes, he decided. They’d sucked him in from the first time he’d seen her at the tea shop. But her mouth—god, her mouth.
Staring at it was only asking for trouble because he started making a list of exactly how many things he’d like to do to those lips.
Lord help him. He was going to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her. Which made not one ounce of sense, because she was definitely not his type. Okay, with her killer body, lush mouth, and sex-soaked eyes, she was every man’s type.
What really got to him? Her smile. It was sweet and sad and so damn determined, it broke his heart—and drew him in. Every time. And Owen couldn’t afford to be drawn in. There wasn’t room in his life for a smile like that.
But his brain misfired. Maybe it was the way their thighs were plastered to each other, and their hips were touching. He didn’t have to go far when he cupped her face and brought her closer and then he did something incredibly stupid. He kissed her.
It started out gentle and soft, his mouth slowly moving against hers as he gauged her interest. Which must have been tracking his because she took it to the next step, sliding her hands in his hair and holding him to her.
She was a great kisser—a real girl-next-door meets sex-goddess combo that was enduringly hot. Speaking of hot, her second pass radiated a surface-of-the-sun kind of heat that slayed him. After the third kiss, he was a goner.
Endless possibilities rushed through him instead of good sense.
She pulled back just enough to look up at him. Her eyes dazed, mouth wet, breathing erratic. “We shouldn’t.” But even as she said it, she was kissing him again.
He moved down to her neck and lower. She released a little moan when he kissed the curve where her shoulder met her throat. “You taste good.”
“Like honey butter?”
He lifted his head. “Like sex.”
She held his gaze, and he could see the indecision in her eyes, but he could also see the desire. Stupid idea or not, she was in this as badly as he was. “Maybe just one more,” she said.
She took his mouth and gave him not one, not two, but four more until she was pressed all the way against him, officially scrambling his brain. But when he felt things taking a hot and feverish turn, he pulled back. It killed him, but he needed to slow things down. When they went there—and that kiss confirmed they would—it wouldn’t be some on-a-whim decision on his office couch.
Resting his forehead against hers, he said, “You see my problem?”
“It must be contagious.”
Chapter Twelve
Happy Things:
Sleeping in past noon
The best thing about owning his own bar was that Owen didn’t have to answer to anyone—anyone except his over-achieving self.
He’d awoken before six, tidied the loft, made himself a breakfast of poached eggs and bacon—double the bacon—and hit the gym where he and his brothers beat the shit out of each other for fun. Now he was sitting behind his desk shuffling through a giant stack of applications—and that was just yesterday’s pile. He had a dozen more interviews today and another ten on Monday. It was barely after breakfast and he already wanted to go back to bed.
And if things weren’t stressful enough, the door opened and in walked Rhett and Josh. Without a hello, Rhett plopped down on the couch and Josh in the chair.
“Come back for another beating?” Owen asked, smiling at the memory, then wincing slightly when he reopened the crack on his split lip. Rhett had taken a cheap shot when Josh had distracted Owen. It was the classic Follow the Queen card game, only instead of losing ten bucks, Owen lost a bet and won a right hook to the face.
“Just coming to collect my money,” Rhett said. “Pay up.”
Owen split an annoyed look between his two brothers. “You and me,” he said to Rhett. “One on one, next week at our usual time and channel, double or nothing, loser has to drive Mom to her lady-doctor appointment.”
His brothers groaned and Owen threw up in his mouth a little. No one should have to sit in a gynecologist’s waiting room with their mother. But Owen had drawn the short straw.
Like his favorite new applicant, Margo wasn’t big on driving. Ever since she sideswiped the center divider on the highway, neither were her sons. So they split the workload, leaving Owen with more than his fair share.
“No need,” Josh said. “Eddie offered to drive her.”
