by Amber Bardan
No, Blake was not leaving.
Blake sidled up next to a thin blonde across the room.
“What the hell just happened?”
“DUFF,” a voice rang out next to her.
Charlie turned to the woman leaning against the bar beside her.
“Excuse me?”
The woman, perhaps a decade older than her twenty-five, would’ve been attractive if her makeup weren’t sliding down her face. “You’re the DUFF that’s what happened.”
DUFF? She wracked her brain. As in up-the-DUFF? “He thinks I’m pregnant?”
The woman swayed a little, and stared at Charlie’s middle. “Well maybe, but it’s D.U.F.F—designated, ugly, fat friend.”
Designated, ugly, what now?
“Haven’t you seen the movie?”
“No.” Charlie blinked.
This woman, was clearly drunk and not in her right mind. She slurped from a glass. “It’s a thing guys do. The wingman separates the DUFF from the hot girl, so his friend can steal her away.”
It sunk in. DUFF was Man-code—kinda like Girl-code, but for assholes.
Total assholes.
Charlie glanced at Blake. The blonde laughed. Jerk. No wonder he’d seemed so respectful, he’d had zero interest in her.
She hadn’t exactly been infatuated either but still—mean. Her hand moved to her hair, half fallen out of its ponytail. She tugged out the holder. Maybe she should’ve dressed up a bit more. Reapplying a little mascara never hurt anyone.
She drank the remaining wine in a few gulps, but instead of increasing her tipsiness, everything went a little heavier.
Since when were her feelings so fragile? Maybe it was because she hadn’t dated in so long. There’d been no time for that.
But then the last person she’d been with had left her for someone else…
She stood to go, but her gaze caught again.
Him—the same devil who’d stolen her attention earlier, now watched her. Hooded, serious eyes met hers. This guy was not polite. It’s never polite to watch someone when they’re not looking.
Heat rolled up her spine.
He glanced away.
Until five minutes ago, a “nice” ordinary guy like Blake had been a safe, comfortable bet. Apparently not. Which meant all bet’s could now be called off.
She snatched the bill off the bar, and stuffed it into her bra.
We’ll see who’s a DUFF.
She shook her shoulders, then walked through the bar, right past Blake, and to Mr. Short-hair-brooding-eyes.
She came right at him.
Connor leaned back in his seat. Shit. You’d think five-years in the job, he’d have more discretion.
But what red-blooded man wouldn’t stare at her?
She weaved between tables, hips swaying, full-fucking-irresistible cleavage peeking out from her blouse.
He kept his eyes on his glass, even if his peripheral was having a feast.
“Hi.” Her voice was as lush as the rest of her.
He’d fucked up. She’d noticed him watching and now there’d be a confrontation. If he was compromised then he’d be forced to take matters to the next level.
He looked up.
Mother-fucker.
Jet-black hair flowed over her shoulders. He’d seen her tug that hair from its ponytail and fluff it. Cheeky, attention-seeking minx. It hadn’t been so bad from over there. He hadn’t been able to smell her as he did now. He hadn’t known she used vanilla scented shampoo then. His fists curled. But her hair wasn’t the problem, even if he kept imagining it curled around his fist. The problem was her wide, almond-shaped eyes the color of butter warming in a pan, melting his brain.
“What?”
She flinched, smile slipping, then reached to her front. He tried to stay still, damned hard work, because she reached between those magnificent tits and pulled out a bill. “I’ll give you ten dollars if you kiss me right now?”
He glanced at the money in her hand. Un-freaking-believable. ”Do I look like a gigolo to you, woman?”
“No, I imagine the scowl would be terrible for business.” She laughed, the husky sound of it had his muscles clenching. “But I saw you looking at me, and I really need you to kiss me, so if the money’s offensive, would you just do it for free?”
Kiss her for free?
It’d cost if he kissed her—no way out of that, but he’d be the one paying.
She held his gaze, then sighed and squeezed the bill back into her top. “Never mind, I must have misunderstood.”
Her big eyes went soft and sad.
Fuck, did she do that on purpose? Did anyone ever actually say no to her?
He scooted back his chair. Well, if was a kiss she wanted, he’d damned well show her how it’s done.
Her lips parted as he rose, and her head tipped back. She gulped. He was used to that. Little women like her realizing they’d bitten off more than they could chew. She probably hadn’t noticed when he’d been seated that he’d have over a foot on her.
Maybe he’d have gone slow, moved in gently, if she hadn’t demanded that last part—right now.
The cheek.
He took a step. She swallowed again. This time he let himself take in the sight of her curves—he let his gaze trail all over her.
He reached for her shoulder, but the next thing he knew he’d buried his hand in that hair he’d been fantasizing about since he clamped eyes on her.
Chapter Two
The world dipped as he tilted her back. She gasped, lips parting under a mouth that looked hard, kissed hard, yet was so soft on hers. He capitalized on the movement, sliding his tongue into her mouth.
She jolted from the touch, the intimacy, right there in a bar. He gripped her hair—such a possessive move. She didn’t even know his name.
Holy-moly.
A wash of heat passed over her. He tasted of cola and man. Whatever reservations her head had, her body had none, the muscles in her legs melting, yet the ones in her arms, which weaved around his neck, straining to get closer. He worked his tongue in her mouth, taking possession, allowing no protest.
But why would she protest?
She’d asked for this. She’d asked this strange man to kiss her publicly. His scent, the subtle hit of aftershave, filled her breathes. He made a rumbling sound, then hauled her closer so her spine bent, so her curves squished against his hardness. The sound he made reverberated into her blood, and streaked arousal to her core.
The heat turned explosive, making her limbs tingle, her breasts heavy, nipples hard.
He didn’t hold back.
She broke the kiss, and jerked away. “Thank you.”
Her heart pounded.
He said nothing, but his thumb flicked under his bottom lip, not exactly wiping. His gaze narrowed on her—angry. Why would he be angry?
Suddenly the sounds around her penetrated over the sound of her heartbeat. Wolf-whistles and cheers.
The heat in her cheeks rose.
She’d intended to prove a point—make a statement, to the douche-canoe at the back of the room who’d passed her over for someone possibly more conventionally attractive. And also she’d wanted to prove something to herself.
She could get a kiss from the hottest guy in the bar.
He glanced around and the noise dissipated back into regular chatter.
Who’d have thought the hottest, most honest kiss of her life would come from a stranger who’s name she didn’t even know?
Not that he looked happy about it.
“Well, enjoy the rest of your evening.” For lack of something better to do she waved, then turned for the door. She caught a glimpse of Blake at the back of the room, eyes wide with surprise. The satisfaction she expected never arrived. It seemed stupid now to have wanted to prove a point to that jerk.
She strode for the door, and burst out into the street. Chill, damp Seattle wind hit her face. At least it was spitting and not a downpour. Too bad she didn’t bring that high
-neck sweater.
She spotted a cab across the street, and stepped out onto the road.
A heavy force struck her side.
She fell into the gutter. Pain exploded through her elbow into her shoulder. Damp cold saturated her backside.
Her head spun, but she looked up.
Revving roared beside her, the cause of which was half obscured by a looming hulkish shape.
No. She’d hit her head on the way down, because it wasn’t—couldn’t be.
It looked a shit-load like the guy she’d kissed in the bar was holding up a car.
Holding-up-a-fucking-car.
She stared…or just the front of a car.
Hard to tell in the spitting rain, at night, when some lunatic was driving around with their headlights off.
He lowered the front of the car until the wheels returned to the ground then turned to her. “Are you okay?”
She rubbed her head despite the throb moving her arm caused.
Tiers screeched. The car took off.
He spun around, starting after it, before stopping and glancing back at her.
Conan-the-freaking-barbarian.
He stalked towards her. “Are you injured?”
“No.” Just bruised and liberated of dignity.
He grabbed her uninjured arm and hauled her out of the gutter. She regained her footing, the chill turning the cold on her very wet ass, freezing.
Wonderful.
He muttered something under his breath, and led her down the footpath.
“Wait, where are we going?”
He muttered again, before answering. “I’m taking you home before you end up in more trouble.”
Trouble?
She wasn’t the crazy person tearing around at night without headlights. Maybe he meant the kiss? That kinda, definitely could be trouble. They reached a car parked around the corner. He jammed a key into the lock, turned, then opened the door for her.
His car was old, a classic, not that she’d know what kind without asking, but clean and obviously refurbished going by the gleaming white interior.
Was she really going to let this strange guy just drive her home…but then he had saved her life.
“Um, I have a wet…” She paused, and cleared her throat. “I sat in a puddle.”
His gaze raked over her, and although her soaking wet backside didn’t face him, his attention lingered at her hips as though he could see it. “Woman, I don’t carry spare skirts in my trunk, but I’m taking you home where you can get dry, and that’s the best I got.”
Woman…
Conan the Barbarian suited him perfectly.
She rubbed her goose bump riddled arm. Shivers rolling over her skin.
His scowl evened to more of a frown. “The seats are leather. You’ll be fine. Get in before you get frostbite on your ass.”
She went inside, experiencing the delightful sensation of sodden cotton underwear squishing against chilled flesh.
He shut the door, then climbed in and started the car.
“Wow.” She grabbed the sides of the seat. The motor roared, vibrating her thighs. “That’s some engine.”
He shot her a look, just one, and if she didn’t know better, she’d have sworn she saw a hint of a smile.
They drove in complete silence with the exception of Charlie telling him her address. He pulled up in front of her townhome.
“Well thanks for the—”
He got out of the car.
“Ride…” She whispered to herself.
The door next to her opened. She glanced up and got out of the car. He followed her to her front door. For someone so surly, he sure was doing the whole gentlemen bit too well.
“Thanks for the ride home.” She turned her back to the front door. “And for not letting me get run over.”
He stared at her with narrowed violet eyes.
“My name’s Charlie.”
He kept on staring. Her pulse skipped. Damn, he was big. Bigger when she was between him and the door.
“For Charlize. Because, I’m a girl.”
His lips curled to the side, the first hint he experienced real amusement. “Yes, you are.”
Her middle flared with heat again. Yes, she was a freaking girl. A fact her subconscious had obviously needed to remind him of. The stubble coating his jaw was the same length as the hair on his head, and she couldn’t help wanting to touch it. Wanting it to scrape her palm.
“Stay out of trouble, Charlie.” He stepped back, freeing her of the thrall of his closeness but didn’t leave.
Trouble? If trouble was making out with a man like him, she’d take all the trouble she could get.
She let her gaze flirt over him. No man had never worn a pair of blue jeans quite so well. They clung to his broad hips and thick thighs. His black t-shirt was just tight enough for his pecks to make an impression.
“I can’t make any promises.”
She turned and unlocked her front door, opening it and stepping inside, before facing him again without closing the door. Her heart gave a little flip. If he wanted to visit she wouldn’t stop him.
Possibly, she’d let him right on in.
But he just stood, unmoving and brooding, until awkwardness forced her to close the door—and bolt the lock.
Chapter Three
Freaking fantastic.
Charlie thumped her head once, then twice on the steering wheel. A picket line. Workers protesting impending mass job cuts.
How did they even find out?
The decision to close two more factories in favor of overseas manufacture, a decision she’d fought tooth and nail, had only been made on Thursday.
She hit the turn signal and veered left away from the crowd. She wouldn’t be able to park in her usual place. She’d have to find a space in the rear lot. Her father would die if he understood exactly what had been done to his legacy.
Dad had built a company based on loyalty, people and family. Her uncle claimed he’d be the one to drag Halifax into the twenty-first century.
She pulled into the parking lot, wheels kicking up a cloud of dust in the crushed-rock driveway, then eased into a free space and cut the ignition. She pushed a pair of glasses up her nose and pulled on her suit jacket, doing up the single button under her bust and made her way briskly to the pavement.
Chants jolted through the air. Dammit, she should’ve snuck in the back exit. Hopefully the crowd wouldn’t notice her. She reached the entrance and walked closely behind a couple of guys from the mailroom. Workers jeered, shaking signs. Two security guards struggled with the crowd. They’d need to up the security detail if this continued.
A few feet from the entrance someone called her name. The crowd roared but she kept her head up, her pace steady. She reached the doors and her muscles relaxed. A sharp force impacted the back of her skull. She jolted. Pain radiated into her brain and she clutched the back of her head, stumbling inside.
In the foyer she lowered her hand in front of her face. Sticky red blood streaked her palm.
“Are you alright?”
She glanced up at Jenny, the front desk receptionist. “I think so. Call Bob down here please.”
Holy crap. As the public face of Halifax, she’d been getting abusive messages for months. Now it seemed like things were really about to get nasty…
Charlie held the cold pack the first aid officer had demanded she keep applied “for no less then fifteen minutes” against the back of her skull.
“Two security guards, Bob? That’s all we have for dozens of protestors?”
Bob adjusted his tie. “You know how Frank has been about hiring new staff at the moment.”
Yeah, and one point on which she actually agreed with Frank. This damned economy. It was impossible to justify hiring anyone for the office when factory workers were losing jobs en masse.
“I wish I could just go out there and tell them it’s going to be alright…” She glanced out the window, watching two girls from accounting struggle t
o get into the building. “But we’re going to have to look into a security firm. We were lucky it was only me hurt today.”
“I’ll make some calls.” Bob stepped forward and placed his hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “Don’t give yourself such a hard time. There’s no magic wand.”
She placed her free hand over his wrinkled one and gave him a tight smile. Thank god for Bob. He’d been her dad’s best friend and was now one of the precious few board members who didn’t seem set on watching her go down in a blaze of flaming glory.
“Thanks Bob.” She released his hand and then took the elevator to the top floor. She collected herself in the bathroom and fixed her hair before heading to her office.
Melanie sat behind Charlie’s desk, swinging the chair from one side to the other. “Hey, doll.”
“Hey, yourself.” She took off her jacket and hung it on the rack beside her door. “Comfortable?”
Melanie stilled the chair and grinned. “Just trying things on for size, Madam President.”
“You know you could easily quit and be President someplace else?”
“I don’t think the world is ready for that.” Melanie tugged at the pearl necklace perfectly accessorizing her white power dress—feminine and badass.
Charlie laughed and took the seat on the other side. “Probably not. First President then total world domination.”
How the hell did Melanie manage to get in early, and also look like she’d just stepped out of a Chanel advertisement?
She’d gone to a little extra effort today herself, and arrived nearly half an hour later than usual as a result. Did people actually blow out their hair before work every-single-damn-day?
“You’re looking foxy today.” Melanie leaned her forearms on the desk. “Is there a meeting I don’t know about?”
“Nope.” She ran her palms over the fitted black knit blouse, she’d paired with yet another pencil skirt. “You’re the DUFF that’s what happened.” She cringed on the inside. No neither the bosom enhancing shirt or her hair were going to erase Friday night from her mind, but dressing up was a little confidence boosting act of defiance. Reminded her the only opinion that really mattered when it came to her looks—was her own. And today she let herself feel good. “Just felt like mixing things up a bit.”
