She gestured toward several receipts piled on the bar. “You wanna maybe fill this order for me before I grow old and die right here where I’m standing?”
Her eyes slid toward the man I’d been talking to with interest. I wouldn’t have put it past her to find some way to embarrass me in front of him if she felt it would get my ass in gear, so I shot him an apologetic smile for the hundredth time tonight. “’Scuse me again.”
“No problem. I don’t want to interfere with your work.”
As I hustled through pulling a few beers out of the tap, I thought about how much I’d love for him to interfere with my work. I imagined bringing him back to my room and stripping him out of those designer duds. He looked like a Boston businessman, someone whose suit wardrobe vastly outweighed his casual wear collection. And when he’d decided to jet out to the Cape for a long weekend, some stylist in the city had probably hand selected the pristine “yacht chic” getup he was sporting right down to the brand-new boat shoes I’d noticed when he’d first walked in.
It wasn’t anything I hadn’t seen a million times over, but usually this kind of guy went to Nantucket or the Vineyard. Hell, even P-town. But I wondered what the hell had attracted him to sleepy McBride instead. If he was looking for a man to hook up with, I was about his only option besides Hank Isaacson, who was on the golden side of oldies and didn’t believe in manscaping. I only knew that because I’d seen him in a Speedo on the beach more times than I could count. And if his groin had half as much hair as his back did, I wasn’t sure Mr. Armani would be interested.
Besides, I’d mentally already called dibs the minute he’d entered the bar.
After I finished filling Karlie’s order and cashing out a few of the regulars, I wandered back down toward the giant magnet of a man at the end of the bar. “So, if you’re interested in a day at the beach tomorrow, I know the perfect spot,” I said, giving him my best smile.
Technically I was supposed to be meeting with my three uncles in the morning to talk about the future of my grandparents’ inn, but I’d take any excuse to blow it off. We’d been going around and around on the issue for months and weren’t any closer to an agreement. They wanted to sell, I wanted to renovate and reinvigorate it the way we’d originally planned. I wasn’t going to make any headway in convincing them until I could finish drawing up a formal business plan and fix up one of the rooms as proof of concept. Until then, I wasn’t interested in rehashing the old arguments.
Unfortunately, my potential excuse for ditching the meeting didn’t look like it was going to pan out. The sexy stranger’s smile faltered. “I, uh, can’t.” He cupped his hand around the back of his neck, and I noticed a slight flush at the base of his throat. “I have a, uh, commitment in the morning.”
At least there was a note of regret in his voice which meant he wasn’t necessarily uninterested. I decided to up the ante a little as I reached for his empty drink glass, “accidentally” brushing the tip of my finger down the side of his pinky in the process. It may have been my imagination, but I thought I sensed him shudder at the touch. If I could get him alone, I could repeat the touch to see if my hypothesis was correct. “Refill, handsome?”
His mouth was open in a little o of surprise before he seemed to catch himself. “Uh, no. No, thanks. I’ve already had more than I should have. Actually…” He looked around at the rapidly emptying bar. “I should probably go…”
That same hesitation from before was there, as if he were waging some sort of internal battle between what he wanted to do and what he should do.
I knew which side I wanted to win. I grabbed a glass and filled it with ice. “Let me get you water first. You don’t want to go to bed without hydrating.”
“Yeah. Okay.” He relaxed in his seat. When I handed him the cool glass, he nodded a thanks and took a deep gulp. I watched the way his throat convulsed as he swallowed, the dip and bob of his Adam’s apple. I wanted to trace my fingers around it and then follow with my tongue. I busied myself collecting empty glasses the couple sitting next to him had left behind, needing something to do with my hands so that I wouldn’t be tempted to reach across the bar and grab the man.
He took another swallow, licking a stray drop of water from his bottom lip in a way that made it impossible not to stare. I let myself ogle him, not caring if he noticed.
Clearly he noticed me noticing. He shifted in his chair and cleared his throat. “You trying to rush me out of here to get home to your girlfriend?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he seemed to regret them. “Sorry. Inappropriate.”
“An ass like this would be wasted on a girlfriend,” I said, making sure to show off my assets as I turned away from him to run the register’s close-out report. I’d caught him staring at my ass so many times tonight, I knew it would get his attention. “Would have to be a boyfriend.”
He chuckled and murmured into his glass as he took a sip of water. “Good to know.”
Karlie began wheeling the big ungainly yellow mop bucket out of the back. As soon as my customer noticed her pregnant belly, he scrambled off his stool to help. “Here, let me,” he said, maneuvering it into the dining section of the bar.
Karlie shot me a look with a smirk and raised eyebrow. “A city gentleman. And he doesn’t even have a Boston accent. How highbrow.”
“Not from Boston,” he said with an odd glance toward me. “I grew up in Connecticut. Little town called Coventry. It’s about thirty minutes east of Hartford.”
Just as I opened my mouth to ask him where he lived now, if not Boston, Karlie tossed her balled-up denim apron at the nearest table. “Your night for mopping anyway, big guy. I have a hot date with my bed and whatever flavor ice cream’s on sale at the Quickie Mart.”
I saluted her and started toward the mop bucket, but the guy beat me to it. He’d already tied Karlie’s apron around his waist and was squeezing the water out of the mop when I reached him. “What are you doing?” I asked as I grabbed for the mop.
He looked up, slightly startled, but didn’t let go of the handle. “I thought I’d help.”
“Why?”
His expression turned a little sheepish. “I was enjoying hearing you talk about McBride and your plans.”
“Oh.” I didn’t quite know what to say to that.
He hesitated, and the same blush from before colored his cheeks. “And I wasn’t quite ready to say good night.”
“Oh.” This time my answer came out more like a breath than a sound. I became acutely aware in that moment how close we stood to one another. How if I slid my hand a few inches down the mop handle, my fingers would brush against his.
I shifted toward him, curious how he would react. He sucked in a breath, but he didn’t make any move toward me. Nor did he move away. I let my fingers trail down the wooden handle until they reached his. He shuddered slightly at the connection. So reactive, even at the simplest of touches. His eyes searched mine, and he looked overly stressed for such a hot moment.
That he was attracted to me was obvious. His pupils were already wide and black, his eyes half-lidded. His breathing came light and fast, and I could feel him straining toward me. But still, something held him back.