I’m just not interested.
Now that I’m in my thirties, I prefer to date women who view the world through a similar lens—no attachments, live and let live. Life is too short, and there are far too many fish in the sea to swim alongside only one for the rest of my life.
The door opens, and a curvy brunette in a red dress enters the Siren. She has an unusual walk—wobbly?—and as I watch, she straightens her spine and marches to the bar like a soldier headed into battle.
My eyes follow her for some reason, almost as if I know her. Maybe it’s the determined expression on her face or the way she scans the crowd resolutely. She doesn’t look like she wants to be here. Welcome to the party, princess.
I can’t help but notice she’s pretty, with hair that falls down her back in shiny waves. I’m not the only one checking her out. From my angle at the table, I see a geeky guy in a brown corduroy jacket giving her an eyebrow waggle. Her reaction to him makes me chuckle softly. She inhales deeply, and the motion causes her chest to rise, bringing my attention to her full breasts pressing against the fabric—
“So what’s your favorite color?”
I blink, looking back at Bride Girl. “What? Who cares?”
Hurt flashes over her perfectly made-up face, and I grab the reins. Bernice would kill me for being a dick-hole to this otherwise nice person. I need to get my head in the game. Be a gentleman. Stop fantasizing about running interference for Red Dress—even though every time I glance her way, I see her squirming more in an attempt to get away from Corduroy Boy.
“I just thought it would be a good way to get to know each other.” Bride Girl sniffs. “I’m sorry if it’s too mundane for you.”
I shake my head and reach across the table to pat her hand lightly. “No, I’m sorry for the short answer. The truth is, I’m completely wiped from my flight. I had a shitty week, and I honestly didn’t expect to meet someone so creative for dinner.”
True story. My sister had sprung this on me. I’d expected to be eating alone tonight so I could prep for my meeting tomorrow about the rehab at the B&B. I’m anxious to meet the owner, “Ms. Hall,” who I imagine is an older lady, just by the formality of her tone.
She messaged me online about renovating her house, and it sounds like a dream come true for TV—a hundred-year-old home smack dab on the South Carolina coastline. Talk about history and setting, plus my handsome face—if that doesn’t get HGTV’s attention, nothing will.
“Okay,” she smiles, seeming to buy it.
I force a smile. “My favorite color is…” I glance at the brunette, who’s still being chatted up by Short, Beige, and Dorky. She’s so far out of his league—but right in mine.
“Hello?”
I blink, coming back to my date. “What?”
Her pink lips tighten. “Your favorite color?”
“Sorry. Ah, red?”
She shrugs, disappointment on her face. “Mine’s lavender. I did the best wedding last year where the bridal bouquet was all purple with hyacinth, lavender, and lilacs…”
She drones on, describing in detail the color and layout of the flowers as I suck down the rest of my drink. I lift a hand and signal for the server who’d taken our order earlier to bring me another, but he doesn’t see me. Not surprising, since he’s occupied with a large table in the back.
Dammit. I need another drink if I’m going to sit here pretending to care about hyacinth bouquets and lace patterns.
“…the best month to get married is April, of course—it’s not just a joke. The weather is perfect here, not too hot and not too cold. Don’t you agree?”
“Uh-huh.” My eyes are back on the brunette as I chew my ice.
Admittedly, I’m a little fascinated by her and glad I can study her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. She’s a stunner with an oval face framed by hair the color of rich amber whiskey. I can’t make out her eye color from here, but in a perfect world, they would be something memorable, like hazel or gray, a color that changes with whatever mood she’s in. I’m pretty sure our eyes meet in the mirror, and I give her my classic, lady-killer grin.
“Are you listening?” My date is pissed.
Fuck. I give myself a mental shake. Obviously, I’ve been working too hard these past few months trying to juggle my day job in real estate with my online show. I’m completely off my game. It’s the whole reason I came to Charleston. I need a damn vacation, not female drama.
I clear my throat. “Yes.”
She follows where my eyes have been and checks out the bar area. “Why do you keep looking over there?”
My eyes follow, and I see things change suddenly between Red Dress and my competition. She quickly puts her drink on the bar and makes her way through the crowd away from him, toward the back. His expression is defeated, and I feel encouraged. Yes!
It gives me an idea.
“Honestly, I need a drink and the server hasn’t been back.” I tilt my head at her wine glass as I stand. “Yours is empty, too. I’ll get us two more, yes? Maybe we can dance when I get back?”
She shrugs, her eyes narrowed. She’s not in Mensa, but I’m fairly certain Bride Girl knows I’m lying through my teeth. “If you say so.”
Before she can utter another word, I head for the bar, just as the woman in red disappears, with corduroy blazer calling after her. Step aside, Poindexter, it’s time for the master to get to work.
Depositing our empty glasses on the bar, I veer away, disappearing into the crowd of dancers, following her toward the restrooms. The bodies close in behind us like a sea, and I follow the movement of her skirt, swishing over her slim thighs, bouncing with the movement of her cute, round ass.
She stops suddenly, and I slam into her, my chest to her back.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, stepping forward and catching her elbows, stopping her from falling forward. “I didn’t expect to bump into you.”
She looks up at me, her hazel eyes widening. Red-satin pillow lips part. “No, I’m sorry.” Her voice is soft, breathy. “I shouldn’t have stopped so fast.”
We’re in a dim hallway with two doors at the opposite ends, and people brush past us, but I’m unaware of them. I stare down at her, drinking in her pretty face. In my peripheral, I can’t stop noticing her breasts rising and falling rapidly.
“I was walking too fast,” I say with a small grin. “Have we met before? I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere.”
“I don’t think so.” She shakes her head. “I would remember…but you do look familiar. Funny, right?”
A pretty shade of pink floods her cheeks as she blushes. Her eyes drop to her shoes. She’s flustered, and it’s sexy as hell.
“Are you from Charleston?” It’s such a mundane question, but it’s safer than what I want to know—how many times I’ll be able to see her and hopefully fuck her in the week I’m here.
Her eyes fly up to mine. “No,” she says, and my chest sinks. “I live outside of Palmetto, on the coast.”
My chest rises just as fast. “I’m actually visiting there this week. Maybe we can see each other, get dinner one night?” Or every night, with you as the main course.
She smiles, exposing straight, white teeth and a little dot of a dimple beside her mouth. I want to lick it, but her grin wavers, her gaze distracted.
“What?” I pull back, curious.
“You have a… something.” Stretching out her hand, she lightly touches my face. “Something on your cheek. Just a bit of fuzz.”
It’s electric, her finger warm against my skin, and I reach up to clasp her hand in mine. It’s soft, and something primitive rises in my gut. I step forward, and she doesn’t back away. She’s into me. My brain knows it. So does my cock.
“What’s your name?” My voice is husky, low.
“Ashton,” she whispers.
The crowd has dispersed, everyone in their places for the moment, and it’s just her and me in the hallway. At six-two, I tower over her petite frame, but she isn’t intimidated by me. There
’s a heavy look in her eyes as she gazes up, and damn, I feel an urge to kiss her.
My inner caveman is yelling for me to take what’s mine, but I push him down. Don’t be an ass, Jax. Still, it’s difficult. Underneath my new hair cut, freshly shaven face, and expensive suit, beats the heart of a Neanderthal who’s found the girl he wants.
“I like it.” Even my tone sounds possessive. “Ashton.”
“Is that so?” Her hand is in mine, and she’s not pulling away.
Her other hand is on my chest, and those soft, round breasts are rising and falling even faster, pressing hard against the V of her dress.
“Do you live around here?” Her eyes are on my mouth.
The heat between us is intoxicating. I’ve heard of lust at first sight, but this is the first time I’ve felt such insane chemistry. Her fingers curl on my shirt, and she pulls me closer. Her lips are cherry red and dewy, juicy and sweet. I must be drunk because all I can think about is tasting them.
But, I can’t kiss her without her permission
The hot whisper of her breath is against my skin, and I’m a heartbeat away from saying chivalry be damned. I have no guarantee I’ll ever see her again, and I can’t live my life without kissing this woman.
“I grew up around here,” I manage to answer, “but I’m just in town for a visit. I want to see you again.”
She sways forward in my arms, pressing her soft body against my hard chest. She’s like a willow in the breeze, or sea grasses, or waves. God, I sound stupid.
My thumb rubs across her bottom lip, and she inhales sharply, her lips parting at the pressure. “You have the most gorgeous lips.”
Her tongue darts out and touches my finger, and it’s all the invitation I need.
Without thinking, I lean down, and I’m gratified to feel her arching up, stretching her body as her hands pull me closer. In a breath our mouths meet, soft and hot and wet. Her lips are full and sweet, and a little moan escapes from her throat.
Fuck! My erection springs to life, and I know she feels it. She doesn’t seem to mind. She moves closer, still swaying in that way that’s driving me crazy. Is she the siren this fucking bar is named after, because I’m caught in her spell like one of those sailors. I’d follow her into the ocean to my death just for the promise of sinking into her depths…
Our tongues touch, and my dick gets harder. Her mouth opens wider, and I consume her. We’re hungry, devouring. I’m moving her mouth with mine, tongues curling, hands everywhere, touching, pulling clothes, grinding. If she’s this good fully clothed…
“EXCUSE ME!” a male voice shouts, and I pull back, ready to throw a punch.
Instead, I rest my forearms on the wall on either side of Ashton, caging her against my chest to let the guy pass on his way to the restroom.
He mutters “Get a room” as he passes, and we’re both breathing hard, panting and flushed. I look down, and when our eyes meet, we both smile. She exhales a slight laugh, and wonder hangs in the air. It’s crackling and electric, and I know how I plan to relax this week.
It only leaves one thing…
“Will you be here a while?” I don’t want to stop kissing her, but I know I have to get back to Bride Girl and do the right thing.
I need to pay for her drinks then get her the hell home. My sister will be happy she set me up with someone nice, and she can check it off her list of things to do while big brother is in town. Then I’ll race back up here and toss Ashton over my shoulder and carry out the door like a good caveman—and spend the rest of the night jackhammering…
“I don’t know.” She blinks those sexy eyes up to me as she smiles. “It’s kind of late. I was thinking I might call it a night. Unless I have a better offer?”
She waits, her eyes expectant, and I cannot believe this. Is she giving me an open invitation? How could I be cursed with such shitty timing? Here I am on a duty date for my sister, and the sexiest thing I’ve seen in the last five times I’ve visited home is holding the door wide open for me.
“Don’t call it too soon. I have to run a quick errand, but I’ll be right back.”
Can we just stop and acknowledge what I’m doing right now? Why are none of the women who call me a man whore or a jerk or a cocky bastard ever around for moments like this? A beautiful—correction, gorgeous, sex kitten—who, by the way, got my rocks hard with only a kiss, is putting out all the come-hither signals, and what do I do?
I do the right thing.
I’m going to go out there and take Bride Girl home and pray to all that is just and fair in the universe that when I get back here, Ashton will still be waiting.
“An errand?” Her slim brow furrows, and I see her confidence falter.
“I’ll be back before you know it. Just… hold that thought.” Leaning forward, I pull her pillow lips between mine one last time.
She exhales a little sigh, and her fingers tighten on my shirt. Our eyes meet once more, and I groan deeply at having to leave her this way. Damn, doing the right thing.
“Wait for me, beautiful.”
She nods.
Turning on my heel, I dash up the short hall and back out into the sea of bodies, pushing them aside as I go. My hand is in my pocket, and I’m fishing out cash. I don’t have time to wait for the credit card back and forth. Looking down, I’m holding two twenties. It has to be enough for a glass of wine and a scotch. We didn’t get top shelf anything. It’s more than enough.
Bride Girl is bouncing a foot and looking all around the bar when I arrive and catch her arm, helping her off her stool.
“Jax!” She immediately starts to protest. “What’s going on? I thought we were going to dance—”
“I’m sorry. I got a call while I was in the bathroom. My mom needs me.”
Her brow furrows. “What’s wrong?”
I shrug. “She heard a strange noise in the house—probably nothing—but it scared her. She’s home alone tonight, so I should pop over and make sure everything’s okay.” God. I’m rambling and I’m such a damn liar. I haven’t spoken to my mom on purpose in years. But that’s another story.
“Should I go with you?”
Shit. I hide my panic as I usher her to the front door. “No, I’m fine. Let’s get you home.”
I can’t tell if Bride Girl is buying all this, but I don’t have time to worry about it. I can feel the seconds clicking by, and I don’t know how much longer before Ashton stops waiting. After that taste in the hall, it won’t be enough until I have the whole thing.
I’ve got to get back here.
Fast.
Three
Ashton
Random Hot Guy never came back.
I waited and waited, sitting at the bar while I tossed back another margarita. The music blared, and I listened to Roger drone on about the benefits of hydroponic gardening versus building up the soil in a sandy landscape such as we have here on the coast. My heart jumped every time the door opened, and it wasn’t until the song “Closing Time” started blasting through the speakers that I finally gave up.
I know who I want to take me home, and I don’t even know his name.
Part of me was tempted to ask the bartender if he remembered the hot guy with the broad shoulders in a gray suit, but then I figured it would sound silly, so I didn’t. Instead, I sat there and daydreamed about him, picturing his chiseled face and full, sensuous lips that memorized mine in that small hallway. His mouth was rough, demanding as his lips pushed mine apart and claimed me.
It was the best kiss of my life.
I turned on all the charm, and even as clumsy as I was, he knew I was giving him an open invitation. If his mouth was that good at kissing, I was hot all over imagining what else it was good at doing.
My bravery was totally out of character, but he put me at ease. I trusted him for some reason. Something about him was so familiar, although for the life of me, I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what it was. Maybe it was the curve of his smile or those smoldering blue eyes,
the deep resonance of his voice…
Whatever. I shove all that aside. He didn’t come back, and that’s all there is to say. If he’d really wanted me, he would have come back like he said he would. His whole wait for me was probably just a ruse to get away without getting an argument.
Roger walks me to my car, and I give his forearm a squeeze before telling him goodnight and climbing into my Volkswagen alone.
Disappointment curls in my stomach as I drive my baby blue Bug down the narrow road, all the way out to The Conch Shell, Granny’s big ole house on the beach.
At least when I’m here, I always feel like everything’s going to be okay.
“You let him leave?” Lulu shrieks in my ear once I’m home and on the couch in my pajamas with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s in my hand and the Property Brothers on the flatscreen. I stick another bite of creamy goodness in my mouth and savor the flavor of gooey cookie dough chunks mixed with salted caramel.
“What else could I do? He said he had to run an errand. I couldn’t exactly chase after him. Ugh.” I cringe remembering how I’d pretty much thrown myself at him in the hallway. “Face it. I attacked him with my lips, and he blew me off.”
The line is silent except for a heavy sigh from Lulu, and I figure she’s troubleshooting. “What kind of errand would a guy have at ten o’clock on a Friday night?”
“Exactly.”
She clicks her tongue. “It’s fishy. Are you sure he’s not married? Some of those guys in clubs take off their wedding rings, you know. Sneaky assholes.”
I sit up straighter, anger itching just below the surface for all the cheated-on women everywhere. I’m part of their ranks now because of stupid Kyle.
“You think? What a dirty, rotten bastard.” I rub my head, feeling a headache coming on. It’s been building for a while. “You know when I first walked in, I thought I saw him with some skinny blonde, but then when we started talking in the hallway, I just assumed he was single. I’m so stupid. I mean, really? An errand?” I groan. “He probably had to go buy diapers or baby formula before he went home.”
Lulu sighs. “Mother trucker. Want me to kick his ass?”
The Right Stud Page 2
