Page 7 of Legs

After the flyer and the potential it held, I grinned. The first true smile I’d unleashed in months. I slid my gaze to the dirty princess and took in her fidgety hands.

Her deep brown eyes flitted over the room, landing repeatedly on the door. Ready to escape? I was revved up, her reappearance in my field of vision too perfect to back off. I’d enjoyed women the past couple of years, would lose myself in their soft skin and heady moans, but the release was always short-lived.

With my mind still processing my plan, the night now felt more like a celebration than escape. Who better to toast with than the contradiction before me?

“Drink’s on offer. Under one condition.”

She hesitated, working her fingers over one another, still glancing at the exit. Then she clenched her hands, dropped her arms to her sides, and met my eyes. “What condition?”

I leaned toward her, so close I could see each freckle dotting the ridges of her lips. “I hear you say pussy again.”

Her eyes snapped wide, her posture even straighter than before. “Sorry. I should go. This was a bad idea.”

As she turned, I grabbed her elbow. “I’m joking.” Sort of. “It was worth saying that to see the look on your face. Promise, I don’t bite.” Unless she asked me to.

At least the comment drew her attention to my mouth. I gestured toward Cameron. “We even have a chaperone. One drink. And I might need an explanation for your outburst earlier.”

She shifted on her heels and swung her attention to Cameron. Something passed between them, as though they knew each other. When he nodded, a slight tilt of his head, she seemed to relax. “Okay. One drink.”

The night was looking up. She settled onto the stool beside me, her spine still ramrod straight. She tucked her elbows to her sides.

“What’s your poison?” I asked.

“Apparently dangerous men I don’t know, but I’ll have a glass of the Lynmar Pinot.”

I could do dangerous. “If I’m your poison after two minutes, imagine how you’ll feel in a few hours.” That earned me a long swallow from her. “She’ll have the Foursight,” I added to Cameron. It was sweet how confident she was ordering that wine, but her lips would taste so much better after a sip from my glass.

She shot me a look, her freckles sharp against her reddening cheeks. “Pretty sure I can order for myself, and I’d like the Lynmar.”

“You don’t want the Lynmar. 2011 was a shit year. Trust me.” No need to bore her about the early rains that season and the lack of fruit. Better to get her a glass and steer the conversation back to pussy. Hers, specifically.

“Actually I do want the Lynmar.”

Cameron moved to grab the bottle, but I held up my hand. He halted.

To her, I said, “I’ve been sipping the Foursight since I got here. You telling me you don’t want a taste?”

Her attention dropped to my lips again, and she grazed her teeth over hers. Fire sparked in her brown eyes. “I may want a taste of that wine. Later. For now I want the Lynmar.”

“It’s inferior.”

“It’s splendid.”

“The season was crap.”

“The season was hard, not crap.”

“The Foursight is a sure thing,” I said. She must have seen the heat in my gaze.

“I like the underdog,” she countered, a sultry note to her voice. “Finding a diamond in the rough. The vines that survived 2011 were stronger, and a few vintages shone. Like the Lynmar. Hints of spice. Creamy mouthfeel.” A quiet hum passed her lips.

Okay. The girl knew her wine, and my attraction to her spiked. With the haunts I’d been frequenting, and my bartending gig at Rudy’s Tavern, I hadn’t been around a woman like her in ages. No visible ink, her outfit more conservative than racy. Her straight brown hair would look sexy as hell tangled in my fist. “You sure you don’t want to skip to the mouthfeel part?”

She smiled freely, the first hint of her letting loose. “I’m still not sure how bitter the aftertaste will be.”

My answering grin was just as carefree. “I know how to make it sweet, Sunshine.”

She barely reacted, but her nostrils flared. “Then get me a glass of the Lynmar.”