by C. C. Snow
Sirens went off in my head.
I inhaled sharply and lowered my gaze to my lap. Feeling shaken by my lack of control, I fought to steady my breathing, to regain my composure.
“Elle, is it so hard to understand why I want to get to know you? Aiden’s every other word is ‘Eoh,’ by the way, so I know you’re an important part of his life. And Cora and Jake’s too.”
A smile formed on my lips at the way he mimicked Aiden’s babyish voice and I gazed at his strong profile. From the side, his chin looked…stubborn. I had a feeling a lot of people underestimated him because he appeared so laid back, but that feature was revealing.
“I swear I won’t do anything to cross the line. If I do, you have my permission to punch me in the face.”
Against my better judgment, I sighed and gave in. “Fine. One drink.”
He snapped his head around to look at me, as if he never expected my assent, and grinned. “Good. Are you free Saturday night?”
“Yes,” I replied, already regretting my hasty decision.
“I’ll pick you up at eight.”
“This is not a date,” I clarified.
“No, of course not,” he agreed readily. “Just a friendly drink.”
“No funny business,” I warned, sounding like a priggish virgin.
His smile curved slowly, deliciously. “No funny business.”
Why did I get the feeling we were talking about two different things?
Chapter 7
“Cora, can I ask you a question?”
She glanced up from her report. “Of course, Elle. What is it?” Setting the papers aside, she gave me her full attention.
I nervously cleared my throat. It was only after I agreed to go out for a drink with Troy that I considered how Cora might feel about it. “Uh...Mr. Weston…I mean Troy asked me to go to have a drink and I wanted to make sure you were okay with it.”
When she raised her eyebrows, I hastily clarified, “As friends! We are not dating.” I slashed my hand through the air for emphasis. “I know that’s a conflict of interest and I’d never go there, but I want to know if you’re okay with a casual friendship between us. If not, I can easily cancel the…uh…non-date.”
To my shock, she tossed her head back and laughed. I frowned and waited, confused by her amusement.
“Did I ever tell you how Jake and I met?” she asked when she recovered.
Not sure what that had to do with the topic, I shook my head.
“I was his executive assistant,” she said with a wry smile on her face. “Within a few months, we were engaged.”
“What?” I gaped.
She snickered. “Yeah. So I’d be the last person to moralize about workplace romance.”
“It’s not a romance!”
My objection was met with a slight lift of her brows. She waved a hand. “Romance. Friendship. Neither is any of my business as long as it doesn’t affect work.”
“It won’t,” I assured her. “I love what I’m doing and I’m not going to do anything to jeopardize it.” I felt compelled to explain the situation. “Troy has this crazy notion that he should know me better because I’m your PA.”
“It’s not as crazy as you think.” Cora tilted her head and said softly, “I already feel like you’re part of the family. You’re so good with Aiden. I don’t even know what I would do if I didn’t have you. Hiring you was the best thing I ever did.”
Her words made the back of my nose prickle in warning. I had experienced more kindness from her than from my own flesh and blood. “Thanks, Cora. I truly appreciate everything you’re teaching me and I love Aiden.”
Smiling, she laced her fingers and rested them on her baby bump. “The Westons are a close-knit family and you’re going to find yourself sucked into their lives sooner or later. Mom and Dad are on a cruise right now, but once they’re back, be prepared. They have a way of absorbing you into their family unit whether you like it or not.” She went on to describe how Jake’s parents had taken her and her brother into the fold.
My heart squeezed tightly. The idea of being part of a family made me break out in cold sweat.
She grinned, brown eyes sparkling. “Don’t look so nervous. They’re the nicest people you’ll ever meet. Susan is warm and outgoing. You’re going to love her. As for Geoffrey…” She laughed boisterously. “Do you know how to bake?”
I furrowed my brow. “Yes. I love to cook and bake.”
With a cryptic smile, she merely said, “Good,” and picked up her report.
***
I scowled at the pile of discarded clothes on my bed.
“This is not a date, Elle,” I reminded myself for what felt like the twentieth time.
Picking up a blue sweater, I held it against my body and frowned. Why did everything I own seem so frumpy? When was the last time I went shopping?
“Arghh!” I glanced at the clock. It was already 7:30.
Sick of my dithering, I snagged the black jeans and green blouse I had originally tried on. I dressed quickly and pulled my hair into a bun at the nape of my neck. Other than a light pink lip gloss, I went without make-up. This was just a friendly evening and I didn’t want to give Troy the wrong impression.
One drink and then we would part our ways.
When I told Troy we didn’t have anything in common, I was being perfectly honest. Cora’s description of his parents confirmed that we came from opposite worlds.
He grew up in a safe and loving environment. He seemed like the type of guy who made friends wherever he went.
I was fucked up from the moment of conception. Other than a few college friends’ parents and Cora and Jake, I had never seen a relationship that wasn’t dysfunctional. I glanced at my laptop and felt a lump form in my throat. Aside from my friendship with Ethan, I didn’t know how to maintain a normal relationship with another human being.
The sound of the buzzer pulled me out of my dark thoughts.
I walked to the intercom and said shakily, “I’ll be right down.” All of a sudden, my stomach was filled with butterflies at the thought of seeing Troy. Shit. Just one drink, Elle.
“Evening, Elle. Take your time.” Even over the tinny intercom, his deep voice sent a tremor down my spine and new doubts assailed me for agreeing to this ill-conceived non-date.
I slipped into my sweater coat and stuffed my keys, ID, and a credit card into my pockets. Other than my backpack, I didn’t like to carry a bag.
I took the two flights of stairs down to the ground floor. Looking at the silhouette behind the frosted glass of the front door, I took a deep breath and swung the door open.
“Hey,” Troy greeted me softly, blue eyes moving over me. His hair glinted a warm gold under the overhead light. I was glad I didn’t overdress when I saw his dark blue jeans and brown leather jacket. Underneath he wore a light-colored thermal shirt.
“Hey.” Feeling self-conscious under his gaze, I turned around to yank the door closed. I took a deep breath, swiveled around, and asked, “So where are we going for this friendly drink?” I questioned, emphasizing the word as a reminder to my unruly emotions.
He chuckled and swept his arm in a chivalrous motion. “To the divest bar I know.”
Unconsciously, I let my guard down slightly. Surely if he were trying to turn this evening into something else, he would try to impress me by taking me somewhere expensive.
“I can’t wait to see your definition of dive,” I said wryly. “Let me guess. Instead of serving warm Brazil nuts seasoned with rosemary and sea salt, they offer maple-glazed peanuts.”
Making a tsking sound, he placed a hand at my back to point me in the direction of his car. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
As soon as we pulled away from the curb, Troy started to talk about work and I slowly relaxed. To my surprise, the conversation flowed easily and I found myself understanding more about finances than I had anticipated. I must have been gradually absorbing the material as I helped Cora with her projects.
When I recognized the neighborhood we pulled into, I smirked. Lakeview was one of the nicest areas in Chicago. If this was Troy’s definition of dive, then I could expect to be eating lobster patties and drinking top-shelf liquor.
We parked in a garage and started walking.
The wind had picked up and I pulled my hood over my head. “So do you live in this area?”
“No, I actually live in River North. When Jake bought a house, I took his apartment. It worked out great because I can walk to work if I wanted to.” He led me down a small street off of North Broadway and came to a stop in front of a red door, over which hung a swinging sign that read: The Cave.
As soon as he opened the door, loud shouts reached my ears. I stepped inside and surveyed the bar with a critical eye.
Worn and mismatched chairs and tables. Check.
A bartender with more hair on his face than on his head. Check.
Another bartender with multiple lip piercings and a fuck-off attitude. Check
Patrons shaking their fists at the football game on TV. Check.
I took a few steps. Mysteriously sticky floors. Check.
I spun around and grinned with delight. “I guess you do know what a dive bar is. I think this one rivals the one my roommate and I go to.”
Troy laughed. “I’m glad I could impress you.”
Tilting my head to the side, I stared at him in speculation. I had a hard time imagining a billionaire frequenting this place. “Do you really come here?”
As if on cue, someone called his name from behind me. I pivoted around and saw one of the guys behind the bar give Troy a chin nod.
“Does that answer your question?” he asked, guiding me toward the bar. “Hey, Duncan.” He fist bumped the guy with the piercings.
Duncan was huge. He must have been six four and two hundred forty pounds. His hair was shaved on both sides and the remaining strip of dark brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail. He had deep set eyes and a hard mouth.
My eyes were drawn to his sleeve tattoos. One side was a writhing serpent, its tongue wrapped around his wrist. The other was a climbing rose tattoo, full of thorns and no flowers in full bloom. I wondered how far up and down his body those went and whether he’d let me photograph him. For his portrait, I’d definitely go with black-and-white.
He turned dark eyes toward me. “And who’s this?” Damn, he was intimidating.
“I’m Elle,” I said, trying not to squeak like a little girl.
“Nice to meet you, Elle. What’ll you have?”
I glanced behind him and my eyes lit up. “Bulleit on the rocks.”
“Dayum.” The word came out as two syllables. Eyes widening, Duncan slewed his head to look at Troy.
Whatever the big man silently communicated made Troy grin crookedly.
I smirked. I could imagine what his female companions usually ordered. Cosmos? Wine spritzers?
“Do you want anything to eat? They don’t have any nuts with herbs and sea salt…” Troy teased. “But their jalapeno poppers are pretty good.”
I chuckled and shook my head. I had been too nervous to eat a full dinner earlier, but I had been snacking all evening.
He turned to Duncan. “I’ll have my usual.”
“GlenDronach it is.” Duncan poured our drinks and set them in front of us.
“Thanks, Duncan,” Troy said.
I reached into my pocket to pay for my drink, but Troy gripped my hand and shook his head.
“I’m the one who suggested this, so don’t even try.” His eyes dared me to argue.
“Alright,” I said, picking up my drink.
He seemed to be shocked by my easy concession and I snickered. Something told me very little surprised him and I liked keeping him off balance.
Muttering under his breath, Troy slipped a couple of bills across the bar and without waiting for his change, led me to a booth near the back of the room where the noises were dampened.
Taking off my sweater, I sat across from him and wrapped my hands around my drink.
Troy shrugged out of his jacket and folded his elbows on the table. His broad shoulders pulled at the fabric of his shirt. He raised a brow and nodded toward my drink. “Bulleit?”
“I normally like Jim Beam Black, but tonight felt like a Bulleit kind of night.”
“What is a Bulleit kind of night?”
I shrugged. “It’s hard to explain.”
“Try.”
I ignored his officiousness. Arrogant man. “Why do you like GlenDronach?”
“What’s not to like? It’s a damn fine whiskey. My favorite is actually Talisker, but Duncan doesn’t carry it.”
So he preferred scotch to American whiskey.
“So you didn’t answer my question. What is a Bulleit kind of night?” He twisted his lips. “Let me guess. Having a drink with me is so painful, you need a bullet.” He dropped his eyes to my glass.
Grinning at his play on words, I picked up my drink and put it to my nose. “Not quite. Although I might have to borrow that next time. I choose my drinks according to my mood and…” Taking a whiff, I closed my eyes to better savor the experience. “Bulleit delivers on that extra sharpness. I love the caramel, citrusy smell.”
I swirled the ice cubes in the glass and then brought it to my lips. Taking a sip, I let the beverage roll in my mouth. “Hmm…then there’s the taste of oak, cinnamon, and pepper.” I swallowed. “The way it burns down my throat, leaving behind the woodsy finish on my palate.”
My eyes popped open to find Troy staring intently at my mouth. Unconsciously I licked my lower lip and his eyes snapped to mine. His eyes were almost black, his pupils swallowing his irises until there was a small ring of blue left. The heat in my belly flared and I knew it was not due to the bourbon.
Holy hell.
My eyes dropped to his mouth. Right now, it looked stern, his lips pulled tightly, as if he were fighting an inner battle. He parted his lips and inhaled deeply, giving me a glimpse of his teeth and tongue. My mind flashed to how he pushed that muscle into my mouth, taking what he wanted and my sex became wet and achy.
Slowly, the laugh lines formed around his mouth as his lips curved. “You almost had me sold, but I still prefer my scotch.”
His casual tone shoved me out of my trance and I looked away from him, my cheeks flaming.
What the hell is wrong with you, Elle? You’re the one who told him “no funny business,” and now you’re lusting after the man.
Willing the color to recede from my face, I turned back to him and nodded at his drink. “It’s un-American, you know.” I held up my glass. “You need to patronize things made in the U.S. of A.”
He snorted, picked up his glass and inhaled.
I watched, mesmerized, as his eyes dropped to half-mast.
“Nothing compares to a good single-malt scotch. That sweet, vanilla nose.” Placing the rim at his lips, he tipped his glass slowly, letting the liquid glide into his mouth.
He swallowed a mouthful and a smile of pleasure pulled at his lips, sending a tingle down my spine. That small curve at his mouth made a woman think of naughty things. Things that would bring another look of satiation on his face.
“I love the way it coats my tongue, warm, rich, with just a hint of spice,” he said huskily.
His words wrapped around me like warm satin and I felt the urge to fan myself. What the hell were we talking about?
His eyes deepened in color. “And nothing quite compares to that silky, creamy finish.”
Jesus. I bit back a needy moan. He sounded like he was talking about tasting a woman, not a malt beverage. Like he was contemplating licking between her thighs until she screamed her satisfaction.
Unbearably turned on, I crossed my legs and felt the moisture slickening my folds. My panties were ruined. My hardened nipples rasped against the material of my bra and I prayed the weak lighting hid the signs of my arousal.
&nb
sp; Gaze unwavering, Troy pushed his drink toward me. “Try it, Elle.”
So said the snake to Eve.
There were too many undercurrents in that sinful offer and I yanked my eyes to my own amber beverage. “Uh…that’s okay. I’ll stick with this, thank you.” Why did it feel like neither of us was talking about drinks anymore?
“Suit yourself. But you’re missing out,” he said with a light note in his voice.
Relieved to sense the sexual tension waning, I glanced up. “I’m being patriotic.”
“Scotch tastes better. Have you ever tried any of the ones from Islay?”
We spent a few minutes arguing over the merits of bourbon versus scotch. Something must be wrong with me because I enjoyed the back-and-forth with him far too much. His wit was razor sharp and his knowledge impressive.
Raising the glass to his lips, Troy looked over the eclectic crowd and I swiveled my head as well.
“How did you find this place? It doesn’t seem like your scene,” I said, gesturing around.
His eyes returned to mine and he lifted one brow in inquiry. “And what’s my scene?”
I shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know. The lounge at the Ritz?”
Grinning, he nudged my foot under the table. “Told you, you shouldn’t make any hasty judgments. The Ritz is too stuffy for me. I stumbled on the Cave with a buddy of mine a few years back and I have been coming back since. The Ritz is okay for business, but during my free time, I just need a good drink and maybe a rowdy game.” He nodded toward the only new thing in the bar—a big-screen TV.
“You and every man in America.” An hour ago I wouldn’t have been able to picture him in a place like this, but his body language telegraphed that he was completely at ease.
“So what do you do in your free time? You mentioned a roommate?”
I smiled softly. “Yeah...Ethan and I are best friends.”
A tic appeared at his temple. “Is Ethan your boyfriend?”
The idea made me snort with laughter. “Hardly. I’m missing the one thing he requires in his ideal mate.”
He frowned. “What’s that?”
“A penis,” I said.
Brow clearing, he grinned. “I guess that’s not something you can buy at Target.”
