“Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
Chapter 4
Robin
Holy hell.
I turn to look at the washing machine containing all my pink and red clothing, and listen as the water gushes into the drum.
I’m nearly as wet as those clothes and I grit my teeth in a desperate attempt to stem the growing tension between my legs.
I fail, hard, as I turn to watch Hammer taking the last few steps out the front door of the laundromat and his ass is just…gah. Perfect.
Levi’s that fit like that should be outlawed, and I bring my fingers up and pinch the bridge of my nose until it hurts and stars flicker under my closed lids.
“Get a hold of yourself.” I whisper.
I have no idea who this guy really is but the effect he has on me is chemical. I remember in junior high, my science teacher, Mr. Riley, had us all gathered around a black slate-top table with a Bunsen burner under a glass container while he held another test tube filled with a clear blue liquid.
He droned on about the reaction of molecules, blah blah, and all I wanted to do was get out of there. Science wasn’t my thing. Even back then I knew I wanted to be an attorney, and biology and chemistry were not on my list of important subjects.
Anyway, as I stood there alternating between watching the white clock over the door of the classroom and looking at the steaming liquid on the burner, I daydreamed about standing in front of a judge, winning my first case. Righting some horrible wrong and the rush of righteousness I would feel.
Lost in my fantasy, my skin prickled, then I let out a yelp when there was a room shaking boom and the rest of my class shrieked and jumped all around me.
The two chemicals combined, creating a cloud of blue smoke and an explosion, that although harmless, left me curious about how two seemingly unrelated, innocuous liquids could create such a powerful dynamic.
I place my hands down on the tabletop next to my laundry basket. The steel is cool on my hot palms and I take a deep breath, trying to center myself and dissipate this gnawing in my gut that has Hammer’s face written all over it.
I mean, really? Pride and Prejudice?
I clench my teeth until my jaw pops, irrationally angry at this man who looks like a Hell’s Angel but uses words like Choleric and reads Jane Austen for Christ’s sake.
When the bells on the front door jingle, I my throat is tight.
Whatever this is, isn’t. I don’t have time for anything distracting in my life right now. And Hammer is definitely distracting.
In a year, I plan to be somewhere else. Entrenched in a law firm, trying to effect real change in the world. My vision of starting my own philanthropic, pro-bono firm, serving those that feel invisible, powerless, will be more than a full time job. And a relationship, especially with a leather vest wearing, motorcycle-riding testosterone machine is out of the question.
I glance up, trying to be indifferent, but my stomach does a cartwheel when he flashes me a half smile and holds up a bottle full of clear liquid as he saunters back my way.
This isn’t good. Shut this down before it has a chance to start.
“What’s that?” I hear myself say while the voice in my head is screaming danger, danger.
“Something I’ve been saving for a special occasion.”
He sets the bottle down on the table as he steps next to me. He’s too close. I’m never going to be able to shut him down if he keeps standing next to me and smelling so damned good.
“You just carry around bottles of $250 tequila?” The front of the bottle is engraved Grand Patron Platinum.
“I like to be prepared.”
I nod, trying to seem uninterested. “Just like a good Boy Scout should.”
“Something like that,” he smolders.
Yes, smolders. I’ve never heard a man smolder when he speaks.
This is bad and getting worse.
“Listen—” I start, but he puts a finger to my lips.
“One shot. Then I’ll listen.”
He pulls his finger away and I open my mouth but I’m not sure what it is I want to say. My eyes drift to where he is now holding the bottle in one hand and pulling on the glass ball stopper.
It makes a ‘pop’ sound and he pushes the now open bottle my way.
I swallow hard, knowing this has trouble written all over it, but against my better judgment, I slip my hand around the cool glass and watch him watching me. It’s one drink, what’s the harm?
“Straight from the bottle?” I ask, and he nods, sucking his lips tight to his teeth, those green eyes looking like they are about to catch fire.
“Straight from the bottle,” he repeats, lowering his chin as he watches me.
I blow out a long breath and nod at the liquid bad decision, before bringing it to my lips, upturning the bottle and taking a draw.
I throw my head back a little, letting the burning tequila slip over my tongue and I swallow, hoping I keep it down. It’s sweet and harsh at the same time and my skin immediately lights up. Heat envelops me and I set down the bottle, shaking my head on a grimace.
I hear Hammer chuckle, but my eyes are watering and I can’t speak.
When I recover enough for a breath, I cough hard, then shove the bottle across the steel table to him and choke out, “Your turn.”
He doesn’t answer, just takes the bottle and turns it up. His draw is longer than mine and I’m sure he’s more adept at drinking than I am.
I’m mesmerized at the way his throat moves as he swallows. His Adam’s apple is prominent, working under the scruff of his unshaved neck. The muscle in his square jaw hardens. He finishes his shot and when he licks his lips, my nipples tingle and I hate the betrayal.
I have no idea how much time passes as I stare. He only took one shot but it’s like time has slowed to a crawl as I devour his every movement and sound.
By the time he puts the bottle back down on the table, I know I’m in deep cow shit.
He slides it back my way. “One more.”
I should shake my head. I’m willing my muscles to do what’s right, willing my vocal cords to say no.
They refuse to comply.
Instead, my hand is back on the bottle, the cool glass once again on my lips as the burn of the liquid slides down my throat for the second time.
I’m spinning. Not just from the alcohol, but from the vibration growing between us. Hammer is right next to me. I feel the warmth of his skin and the sex scent that he should bottle and sell because he wound make a trillion dollars.
As I withdraw the bottle from my lips, he leans down, his hand brushes the hair back from my ear and the last thing I hear before all my defenses retreat is, “Good girl.”
Plop.
Chapter 5
Hammer
“Listen.” She starts again, trying to be so serious, but I see the way her nipples are punching through the fabric of her shirt. I see the strap of a white bra, a bit of lace showing through the thin white fabric and I wonder if her nipples are big and light pink. Or maybe darker, pulling into quarter-sized circles, and the thoughts have my hard on at full length, making me salivate like Pavlov’s fucking dogs.
“I’m listening,” I growl, keeping my face by her ear, then lowering my lips so they are a fraction of an inch from the base of her neck, letting out a long breath, and I feel her body tense next to me.