Page 62 of Man Cuffed
He glances up at me, and I forget what I’m doing. Because those gray eyes look so serious. “Why’s that? Is it a drink for grumpy guys who won’t date their hot neighbors?”
I let out a hoot of laughter as I reach for the limes on my countertop. “Yes and no. It’s a drink named after a famous old codger. I’m making you a Hemingway Daiquiri. Supposedly Papa drank these.” After cutting it in half, I squeeze the first lime into the cocktail shaker. After lime juice comes a splash of grapefruit juice, some maraschino liqueur, and the white rum.
Mac watches all this with growing amusement. “You’re telling me Papa drank fruity drinks?”
“Everyone likes a good cocktail. Some people—out of misguided ignorance or arrogance—pretend not to.” I shake the shaker. “These are delicious. And Papa was known to like his alcohol. They didn’t waste time with light beer in Cuba, Mac.”
He gives me an appraising glance. And then, as I’m shaking up our cocktails, he reaches for the moanies in their container.
I smack his hand away. “No cheating! You think you’re the only one who lives by an ironclad set of rules?”
“No, I suppose not,” he says, showing me that arrogant smile of his. “You obviously have standards. Fresh squeezed lime juice, huh.”
“Well, duh.” I pour our drinks into two martini glasses and cut lime wheels for a garnish.
“Loud show tunes in the evenings—oh, wait. You play loud musicallthe time.” He gives me a smirk. Then, before I have a chance to react, he reaches for the moanies again.
“Copper!” I set down the shaker and dart around the counter to where he sits, making a lunge for the dessert that I made for his grumpy ass anyway. Honestly I don’t really care if he eats the whole box. But I do enjoy teasing him.
He raises his arm to escape my reach, but I fearlessly sacrifice my body by reaching up, leaning against his. This destabilizes him on the bar stool, and for one tricky moment I think I might actually tip the man over. But his solution is to grab me around the waist with his free hand.
And it works. It works a little too well. His iron-like arm wraps around my body, just where I’d always wanted it to be. Suddenly we’re chest to chest, nose to nose. He goes absolutely still, and our eyes meet in a stare that’s full of possibility.
“Careful, Mac,” I whisper into the silence. “What would Hemingway do right now?”
Slowly, his grin turns sly. “Funny you should ask. Once he said, ‘It is awfully easy to be hard-boiled about everything in the daytime, but at night it is another thing.’”
“Is it now?”
“Yeah,” he grunts. “I don’t think I really understood that quote until tonight. You undo me, Trouble. I don’t make good decisions when I’m standing close to you.”
We both study each other for another long moment. Then Maguire puts the moanies down on the counter with a decisive thud. He slides a big hand to the back of my neck. It’s a maneuver filled with such control and confidence that I shiver. And then his mouth claims mine.
His kiss is shockingly hot and slow. As if he’s giving me time to get used to the idea. Firm lips close over mine. This time, the kiss isn’t a joke, or a ruse, or a mistake. It’s just us. A hungry man and a smitten girl finally coming together because we need it so badly. His lips press and search. My mouth lifts and beckons.
He wraps his hand in my hair and gives it just a little tug so I’ll tilt my head back to meet his lips more fully with my own. Our connection tightens, and so does my belly.
Nobody’s laughing now. Because this is a kiss that’s the start of something. Like a match flaring. All you need is a tiny flame to start a forest fire. I give his lip a little nibble, and he makes a sound deep inside his chest.
Then our tongues collide, and flames begin to lick at my insides. An aggressive tug pulls me more tightly against his chest as his tongue probes my mouth.
This. This is what I knew it would be like with him. I knew because I’ve heard him through my thin walls. He and…
No. I will not think aboutheror anyone else. I will not think about anything besides this kiss, and about the way his bossy hand is already cupping my ass. I’m flush against his big hard body. Tighter than a bumper sticker.
He doesn’t date, though. It’s only sex.
Shut up, brain! We don’t have time for semantics because this feels too good. I’m going to mack on Mac right now. And worry later.
But then he gentles the kiss, which is not okay with me. I wrap both arms around his neck and lean in.
“Hey, slow down, Trouble,” he whispers against my lips.
“Why?” I whimper. Every atom in me wants him to stay.
“We have all night.”
“Do we?” I challenge. We study each other, his gray eyes boring into mine. We’re both breathing heavily. I guess this is the moment where we decide. Are we crossing this line? Or does he head back to his apartment instead?
