Page 28 of Fifth Avenue Fling

“I noticed.” He stands close enough so that our shoulders rub. It was safer when we had the marble island between us. The man exudes too much masculinity. My breath catches in my throat, and I hope to God he doesn’t notice. “Watch.”

Feeling acutely aware of my own breathing, I watch him as he adds water and fills the portafilter.

“The key is setting the grind consistency.”

His warm forearm brushes against mine again, sending a jolt of tension through my body. Did he mean to do that? He has the forearms for cutting wood. Or aggressive fingering. Both are equally sexy.

I nod, trying not to feel the heat radiating from his body. I think I know where I’m messing up, but it’s hard to concentrate when he makes the art of coffee-making sexual. Talking about grinding in that low husky voice while accidentally brushing his arm against mine.

I try to absorb his words. It’s a coffee machine, for Christ’s sake. I can handle this.

But his eyes, as blue and stormy as the Atlantic Ocean, distract me. So now I’m a poet.

“The grind determines the intensity. When you grind for too long, the beans become too finely ground, and the coffee becomes bitter.”

This close, I see he has a scar running through one of his thick eyebrows.

“Are you listening?” He glares at me like I have the attention span of a fly.

Can he read my mind?

“Yes,” I say hastily, nodding. “Get the grinding right. Got it.”

His brow rises, unimpressed, as he turns to face me. I watch as he brings the coffee to his lips and takes a sip. Then he holds it under my nose. “Smell it.”

I lean forward, taking a deep sniff. Mmm, the scent of a real man. He hasn’t had a shower yet. My period is due. The last time I let my period hormones control the decisions, Liam happened.

“Now taste it.”

He doesn’t hand me the cup. Instead, he holds it to my lips.

AsItakeasip,hiseyesdrifttomy lips,triggering my pulse to race. It’s stronger than I usually drink. “Notes… of… nutty,” I waffle as I wipe drops from my chin.

“That’s what I need you to do every morning. Think you can handle it?”

“Got it,sir,” I reply with an edge to my voice before I catch myself.

He glances at his watch, then chugs the coffee. With one swift motion, he pulls off his shirt and throws it onto the barstool, leaving him standing in just his low-hanging sweatpants.

I cough to stifle the choking noise in my throat and try to avert my gaze.

The guy has a massive cock. I justknow.That distinctive V can’t be pointing at a tiny penis. What would be the point?

Except I can’t avert my gaze because I’m a warm-blooded woman and wild Irish horses couldn’t force my eyes away right now.

Stiff Killian Quinn has a chest tattoo. A gray, sexy Celtic chest tattoo.

My ovaries come alive like beaconssendingoutan SOS.My blood is very fucking hot.

I can’t… I just can’t leave it alone. “You have a tattoo. I thought…”

Hereleases a long breath.“If my daughter sees an attractive young woman with tattoos, I’ll be nagged for the next two years about why she can’t get any.”

Attractive young woman. My throat goes dry. “Oh.”

“I’m going for a run now. See you in forty-five.”

I nod robotically. Great idea. Get out, man, get out!

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