by M. Leighton
I feel blood rush to my cheeks and heat gush into my belly. Just like that, we’re almost back where we started.
We stare at each other for several seconds and then Nash sighs. “I guess I should apologize again. I really don’t act like this with most females. I swear.”
Casually, he takes my hand again and leads me to the elevator.
“Not only am I glad to hear that, but I believe you,” I assure him. And I do. Believe him, that is. He’s a good guy. I can tell.
“You do?” he asks. By his expression, it seems like he actually cares what I think.
Huh! Go figure!
“Yeah, I do. I know the kind of guy you are.”
“And what kind is that?” He ushers me onto the elevator.
“Smart, successful, driven, honorable.”
He laughs. “Wow! Although flattering, that makes it sound like I should either be carrying a sword or meeting someone at dawn for a duel.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, you’re all sorts of other things, but mostly you’re a good guy. I can tell.”
“And that’s a good thing?” he asks, his expression dubious.
I smile. “To me, that’s a very good thing.”
He returns my smile and I have to look away. I feel like I’ve said too much. And I shouldn’t have qualified my statement like I did.
Idiot.
“Well, as long as you think so…”
We fall into silence on the way to the parking garage. I can’t think past the flurry of my emotions and the feel of his thumb stroking the back of my hand. I know we shouldn’t be holding hands as though we’re on a date, but I can’t bring myself to pull my fingers free. This will be over all too soon; I’m going to enjoy every last second of it while I can. Tomorrow, reality returns. And, with it, Marissa.
Nash sticks with polite chit chat on the way back, which is fine. I don’t have to think too much to participate. I can just…be. And bask. And fantasize.
I can easily imagine what it would be like to be heading home from a date with Nash. A real date. If he were mine. To have such as dashing, successful man at my side, one who turns me to mush with a look and sets me on fire with a touch. Nash is like the best of both worlds. But unfortunately, he belongs to a world I don’t fit into.
But Marissa does.
“So how do you like working for my brother?”
Cash.
Just the thought of him, of his name, causes my stomach to twitch with excitement. The look he gave me as he bent his head to take the lime slice from between my lips was nothing short of predatory. Spending virtually any amount of time with a guy like that would be the ride of a lifetime. But then he’d leave me brokenhearted.
They always do.
“I gather by your silence that it didn’t go well. Do I need to extend my apologies on my brother’s behalf, too?”
I’m ashamed of myself for thinking of Cash when his equally gorgeous, equally hot twin is sitting in the seat beside me. And he was just kissing me in ways that Cash didn’t, yet I still think of Cash and get all gooey.
Ohmigod, you are a head case! A whore and a head case!
“Olivia?”
I jerk back to the present. “Oh God, no! It went fine. I’m so sorry. I was thinking about work actually. I have a shift on Wednesday.”
“So you’re enjoying it? And he was…all right to work with?”
There’s something about his tone…
“Why do you ask? Did you expect that he might not be?”
Nash shrugs. “No. Not really.”
“Not really?”
“Well…”
“Well what?”
“Cash is sort of a…a…”
“If it’s got someone as eloquent as you at a loss for words, I can only imagine what it says about him.”
“No, it’s not like that. It’s just that I figured Cash would like you.”
“Well, I’m glad he did. It’s going to save me a lot of time and gas money.”
Nash tosses me a look of exasperation. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
“What did you mean then?”
“Olivia, you’re beautiful, smart, funny. Any man would want you. And my brother is no different. He’s just a little more…aggressive about what he wants. I didn’t want him to run you off.”
I think back to my banter with Cash about sexual harassment. I don’t doubt he pushes the boundaries, but never once did I get the impression he might force himself on me or make unwanted advances. I just hope to God he doesn’t know that his advances aren’t unwanted. I just wish they were.
“Well, you don’t need to worry about Cash. He was a perfect gentleman and I have no reason to believe that might change. I work for him. He’ll respect that.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Nash look at me like I’m crazy. I ignore him.
Our conversation is cut short when we pull into the lot outside the apartment I share with Marissa. I feel a sigh lurking in my chest. I know Nash won’t come in. Because I won’t ask him. And that’s for the best.
It just happens to suck.
As I suspect, he puts the car in park, but leaves the motor running.
It’s for the best. It’s for the best.
“Thank you,” I say, meeting his dark, fathomless eyes. They look like points of onyx in the glow of the dashboard lights. “I had a really good time.”
His laugh is a disbelieving bark. “No you didn’t.”
I smile. “Okay, I had mostly a really good time. Thank you for bringing me. And I really hope—”
“Ah ah ah,” he begins, cutting me off. “Not another word. None of what happened was your fault. I should’ve expected nothing less from a bunch of vapid trophy wives. Not your fault at all.”
I can’t help but think it’s funny he uses two of the same adjectives I used for them earlier. Great minds…
“Well, the night would’ve turned out much differently if Marissa had been able to go with you. She’d have known exactly what to wear and…” I trail off, for the first time realizing that I’ve been sabotaged. There is no doubt in my mind that Marissa knew exactly what would happen if I turned up dressed like I am.
“And what?” Nash prompts.
I look over at him. He deserves so much better. So much more. I just wish I could give it to him. But I’d be career suicide for a guy like him.
“Oh, uh, just that she’s much better suited to that kind of thing, that kind of crowd. I’m just a country girl.”
Nash leans forward and cups my cheek with his hand. He cocks his head slightly as he considers me. “Don’t do that. Don’t ever make it out like you’re less. Because you’d be gravely mistaken.”
He looks straight into my eyes, as though he wants me to see the truth of his words, as if he wants me to see his sincerity. And I do. It’s there. It just doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t change that he’s with Marissa.
He’s not that kind of guy. And I’m not that kind of girl.
“I appreciate that, Nash.” I know I need to go. No matter how much I want him to kiss me again, no matter how much I want him to come to my room with me and finish what we started, I know I can’t. I shouldn’t. I won’t. And neither will he.
But if he did…
I speak right over top of that thought. There’s no point in going there, because he won’t.
“Goodnight, Nash.”
His lips twist into a wry smile. I wonder what he was expecting. “Good night, beautiful Olivia.”
Walking away from the car, away from Nash when there might be some small chance he would come with me, is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
It’s not until the next morning I even remember Nash told me his father was in prison for murder. That’s pretty bad when my hormones can block out a homicide.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN- Cash
I’ve never really found it hard to stay away from a chick before. Hell, I’ve never had reason to try. But this time I do. There�
��s something different about Olivia. I want her in my bed. Like, now. But she’s…I don’t know. I get the feeling she requires a gentler, more careful touch. She’s a challenge.
And damn, if I don’t love a challenge!
I watch her as she pours a drink with Taryn looking over her shoulder. I could pull Taryn to the side and demand that she ease up on Olivia, but I won’t. Not only do I think it’s good for Olivia—it brings out that feisty side of her—but I think she’d rather handle it herself. And I admire that. A lot. The more I’m around her, the more obvious it becomes that there’s a lot more to her than a shy smile and a pretty face.
And, of course, a body that I can’t wait to get inside.
And I will.
And she’ll enjoy every second of it. I’ll make sure of it.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN- Olivia
It seems like every time I look up, I see Cash. Sometimes he’s talking to clients, doing his owner slash manager thing. But other times, often it seems, he’s watching me. It makes me nervous, but not in a performance anxiety kind of way. I’m confident in my ability to make a good drink, even with a drill sergeant squawking in my ear. What I’m not confident in is my ability to resist what Cash isn’t even trying to hide.
He’s interested in me. And not just as an employee. Maybe very little as an employee, in fact. Every time my eyes meet his, I feel like he’s undressing me. And, God help me, I love it. Those sexy, velvety eyes are like a touch. I can almost feel them, like hands on my body and lips on my mouth.
Admittedly, I have a thing for bad boys, but Cash is…I don’t know. He’s different. I daresay he’s even more dangerous than my usual disastrous finds.
I look up and my eyes collide with his again. He winks at me and my stomach flips over.
“That’s not how we make margaritas here,” Taryn snaps in my ear. “Who uses orange juice?”
I exhale so loudly it sounds like a growl. I could explain how a splash of orange juice adds a little something extra to the flavor of the tequila, but I don’t. I’ve had enough of Taryn’s bitchiness. “Fine,” I say, setting down the tequila bottle a little more forcefully than I intended. “Then show me how you make margaritas here.” I stand back and cross my arms over my chest.
The look Taryn throws me is both angry and satisfied. Obviously, she wanted me to crack. Well, she’s about to get more than she bargained for.
“Well, get on it. Show me. People are waiting,” I say in my calmest voice, tipping my head to indicate the cluster of people surrounding us on the other side of the bar.
Her pale blue eyes flash with anger and her ruby red lips tighten. She’s ready for a fight. And so am I.
“You’d better leave that attitude at the door, honey, or tonight’s likely to be your last.”
I hear the hushed voices go up all around us—ooohs and aaahs and whispers of a cat fight. I ignore them and focus on Taryn.
“Is that right? You think you’ve got the pull to get rid of me just because you’re a compulsive control freak with an obsessive need for attention?”
Taryn’s laugh is bitter, but she doesn’t bother to deny it. I think she knows I’m right.
It hadn’t taken me long to peg her for what she is—an insecure girl with daddy issues. After my body-shot audition, she had gone above and beyond to draw every eye away from me and down the bar to her. She’d changed the music to an upbeat song by Jessie James and proceeded to dance along the bar, lip-synching Wanted to every male within viewing distance.
And, of course, they loved it. I mean, she’s gorgeous, even with long blond dreads, and she’s sexy in a very feline kind of way. What guy with a functioning penis wouldn’t love a girl like that up on display, teasing him mercilessly?
But I knew it was more for my benefit than anything else. As she was climbing down off the bar, she gave me a smug little smile. She was showing me up, showing me that she could show me up. What she doesn’t understand is that I don’t want all the attention. She’s welcome to it.
Thinking of it this way cools my temper considerably. I decide to give her what she wants—the love of all the men.
“What do you say to a little contest? Loser has to do a bar dance.”
I’m a little surprised at her hesitation, but then when I see her eyes flicker to my right, I understand what her problem is. Cash is mingling with a group of gushing girls not far from where we are.
Then I get it. I really get it.
Holy shit! She’s got a thing for Cash!
My first thought is that I don’t blame her. I think everything with estrogen likes Cash. My second thought is wonderment that they haven’t already slept together. That’s not very bad-boy like of him.
Unless they have and she’s just not over it. That would be much more bad-boy like.
For some reason, jealousy gnaws at my insides.
“You’re on,” she says with a nod.
“Best margarita wins. Both are on me,” I say then turn to the handful of guys watching and listening to us. “Who wants to judge?”
Of course, they all start clamoring to be chosen. But it’s not an issue when Cash steps in.
“I’ll be the judge,” he offers, his eyes daring me in the low light of the bar. “I think it’s only fair.”
“Of course,” I say, feeling a bit breathless when he’s so close and I’m in his sights. I look to Taryn. Her look has gone from hostile to downright murderous. It occurs to me that what began as a solid plan could very well back fire. “That okay with you?”
“Fine by me,” she says, turning a brilliant smile on Cash. “I know what he likes.”
The guys around the bar start hollering and whistling at that, nudging and teasing Cash. Cash just smiles at Taryn. And it bugs me. I can’t tell whether there’s something between them or not. Or if it’s just a tolerant employer-type smile.
I hope if there ever was anything between them that it’s over.
It chaps my butt to think of him flirting like he does with me, watching me, teasing me, all the while sleeping with Taryn. It shouldn’t matter. He’s a playboy and that’s what playboys do.
But it does.
Dammit!
“Come on, boys. Let’s give ‘em a little help,” Cash says. The people around him start cheering enthusiastically. Cash smiles at them and then turns to face me, leaning forward a little on the bar. His eyes meet mine and one brow rises in that holy mother of hell-sexy way, then he mutters, “You’ve got one chance to make my mouth water.”
I suck in a breath. And chills break out down my arms.
Damn, he’s good!
I’m so glad for the room full of people. Otherwise, I might embarrass myself by stripping off all my clothes and climbing across the bar to wind all my body parts around him.
Caution is nowhere in my head when I taunt him in return. “Oh, I can do better than that.”
His lips curve into a nerve-racking smile. “I don’t doubt that one bit.”
Dragging my eyes and my attention away from him, I put all my concentration into making a good drink. It’s much more difficult than it should be. My eyes keep trying to stray to Cash.
As I’m rubbing the rim of the glass in salt, I forget and look up. Cash is singing along to a song about whistling and when the part comes for him to whistle, he puckers up his perfect mouth and does it right along with the beat.
I can’t help but stare. And, as if he doesn’t already have me flustered enough, when he stops whistling, my eyes climb back to his and he winks at me.
It’s the exact moment I know I’m in trouble. Big, big trouble.
Taryn pushes me to the side to slide a glass across the bar in front of Cash. It pulls me from my thrall. I pour my margarita, garnish it with a wedge of lime and a wedge of orange and offer it up as well.
He sips first Taryn’s drink then mine and then each one again, smacking his lips and savoring the flavors. I wonder if he’ll really pick the best drink, or if he’ll simply pick the one opposite the gi
rl he’d rather see dance on the bar.
I realize there isn’t an outcome I’ll be happy with. If he chooses my drink as the best, I’ll wonder if it’s because he wants to see Taryn dance. Not that it should matter to me what he wants to see Taryn do.
But it does.
Dammit.
But then, if he chooses her drink, not only will her drink be supposedly better, but I’ll have to dance on the bar, which I really don’t want to do.
He nods and picks up my drink to finish it off. “We have a winner!” he says, pointing to me.
I feel relieved and victorious, but also strangely conflicted. Rather than look him in the eye, I remove the empty glass when Cash sets it down on the bar. My eyes move past Taryn who is smiling coyly at someone, I assume Cash.
“Good news, boys,” she yells happily. “I’m still gonna be making margaritas my way, and you’ll be getting some entertainment tonight. I call that a win-win.”
With a whoop, Taryn reaches back to flip on different music, choosing a very suggestive song that I have no doubts she’ll make good use of. When I see her climb up on the bar, I move to the opposite end to get drinks for the handful of people that aren’t watching her and cheering her on.
I do everything I can not to watch her or Cash. I don’t want to see his reaction. But when the cheers get louder, my eyes are drawn down the bar despite my resolve.
Taryn apparently jumped off the bar into Cash’s arms. He’s cradling her and she has her arms wrapped around his neck, very tightly it appears. She’s smiling like the cat who ate the canary—or maybe the cat who wants to eat the canary—and Cash is laughing.
Just as I’m looking back to the draft I’m pouring, I see Taryn pull Cash’s head down to hers and kiss him. And it’s not just a little peck. She looks like she’s trying to swallow his face. And he’s not resisting.
Cold liquid gushing over my fingers pulls me back to the task at hand. The pilsner is overflowing and beer is running down my wrist and into the spill tray. I jerk back and set the glass down, angrily flinging beer from my fingertips. I’m inordinately mad at myself for letting Taryn and Cash rile me up, and even more so for letting it affect me so blatantly.
