the vest onto the back of the chair to her left and went around the table to sit on her right, arguing mentally that if he sat across from her, his back would be to the door, and he didn’t want to be in a vulnerable position.
Yeah, right.
She nudged his arm with a menu. He turned.
And zeroed in on the amulet nestled at the bottom of her neckline, sparkling with every breath she took.
Gulp.Talk about smooth, creamy skin. Talk about cleavage. He’d be less vulnerable with his back facing the door if he was a bail jumper hiding from a bounty hunter. But he couldn’t move. He knew he was staring. Knew he had to drag his eyes away and look up to her face.
“Do you have any recommendations?” She leaned forward, her cleavage shifting with the movement.
“Scrambled brains. Uh, eggs! Scrambled eggs. With salsa.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Maybe I’ll check the menu anyway.”
Doofus! Listen to yourself!He tried to backpedal. “That was a joke. I put salsa on my eggs for breakfast.”
Her eyes widened. “Will we have breakfast too?”
He could feel the tips of his ears turning red. How could she tie him up in knots with a simple question?
“Their chimichangas are very good,” he said, trying to change the subject.
“We have a special on frozen margaritas.”
They looked up. A waitress had materialized, placing a small basket of nachos and a bowl of salsa on their table. “Two for one if you order two entrees.”
Crystal smiled. “I love margaritas.” She looked expectantly at him.
He had been all set to order Dos Equis. But hell, he could get them anytime. Thor’s Hammer was known for its selection of beers on tap, not for mixed drinks. He nodded. “Make that two.”
“Coming right up.” The waitress disappeared.
“So, tell me, Soren Thorvald,” Crystal said, dipping a nacho into the salsa, “what kind of a bar do you run?”
Okay, now he was on solid ground. He thought he actually came out sounding coherent as he explained,
“It’s a pub, actually. Twelve stools at the bar, four booths, couple of tables. Small dance floor, sometimes we have live jazz. Pool table. Hamburgers, chili, fries. Easy-to-make, easy-to-eat food. Nine different beers on tap—”
She had been bringing the nacho to her mouth. A chunk of salsa slipped off and landed on the exposed curve of her right breast. Without thinking, Soren leaned over and swept it off with his index finger. Then jerked back, his face as hot as the beer mugs that came out of his industrial-strength dishwasher.
He glanced around. No one seemed to have noticed. Thank God. He grabbed his water glass and drank down half of its contents.
Then he snuck a look at Crystal. She sat there, mouth open, nacho poised in midair, probably pissed and unsure how to react. Until he looked into her eyes. They were meltingly soft, like warm chocolate ready to drizzle on ice cream.
“Not fair,” she murmured. “You’ll have to let me return the favor. Later.”
Soren knew his face must have paled, because he felt all the blood rush to his cock. This was so not him. He had to think before he acted. Then remind himself not to act. At least, not around Crystal.
“Here we go,” chirped the waitress, setting down two humongous stemmed bowls with salted rims. “Are you ready to order?”
“Not quite,” Crystal said as Soren sat there with his tongue too numb to speak.
Later, Soren would realize that he couldn’t recall a single thing he’d eaten, a single thing he’d said. But he remembered the movement of Crystal’s mouth as she forked a piece of enchilada into it, as she bit into a jalapeno, as she sipped her gigantic margarita through a straw. As she licked her lips after licking the salt off the rim of her glass with a glistening red tongue. As she smiled at him.
He awoke from his entrancement when she asked, “Do you have anything special planned for dessert?”
All he could think of was, he wanted Crystal for dessert. To touch her, to taste
Yeah, right.
She nudged his arm with a menu. He turned.
And zeroed in on the amulet nestled at the bottom of her neckline, sparkling with every breath she took.
Gulp.Talk about smooth, creamy skin. Talk about cleavage. He’d be less vulnerable with his back facing the door if he was a bail jumper hiding from a bounty hunter. But he couldn’t move. He knew he was staring. Knew he had to drag his eyes away and look up to her face.
“Do you have any recommendations?” She leaned forward, her cleavage shifting with the movement.
“Scrambled brains. Uh, eggs! Scrambled eggs. With salsa.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Maybe I’ll check the menu anyway.”
Doofus! Listen to yourself!He tried to backpedal. “That was a joke. I put salsa on my eggs for breakfast.”
Her eyes widened. “Will we have breakfast too?”
He could feel the tips of his ears turning red. How could she tie him up in knots with a simple question?
“Their chimichangas are very good,” he said, trying to change the subject.
“We have a special on frozen margaritas.”
They looked up. A waitress had materialized, placing a small basket of nachos and a bowl of salsa on their table. “Two for one if you order two entrees.”
Crystal smiled. “I love margaritas.” She looked expectantly at him.
He had been all set to order Dos Equis. But hell, he could get them anytime. Thor’s Hammer was known for its selection of beers on tap, not for mixed drinks. He nodded. “Make that two.”
“Coming right up.” The waitress disappeared.
“So, tell me, Soren Thorvald,” Crystal said, dipping a nacho into the salsa, “what kind of a bar do you run?”
Okay, now he was on solid ground. He thought he actually came out sounding coherent as he explained,
“It’s a pub, actually. Twelve stools at the bar, four booths, couple of tables. Small dance floor, sometimes we have live jazz. Pool table. Hamburgers, chili, fries. Easy-to-make, easy-to-eat food. Nine different beers on tap—”
She had been bringing the nacho to her mouth. A chunk of salsa slipped off and landed on the exposed curve of her right breast. Without thinking, Soren leaned over and swept it off with his index finger. Then jerked back, his face as hot as the beer mugs that came out of his industrial-strength dishwasher.
He glanced around. No one seemed to have noticed. Thank God. He grabbed his water glass and drank down half of its contents.
Then he snuck a look at Crystal. She sat there, mouth open, nacho poised in midair, probably pissed and unsure how to react. Until he looked into her eyes. They were meltingly soft, like warm chocolate ready to drizzle on ice cream.
“Not fair,” she murmured. “You’ll have to let me return the favor. Later.”
Soren knew his face must have paled, because he felt all the blood rush to his cock. This was so not him. He had to think before he acted. Then remind himself not to act. At least, not around Crystal.
“Here we go,” chirped the waitress, setting down two humongous stemmed bowls with salted rims. “Are you ready to order?”
“Not quite,” Crystal said as Soren sat there with his tongue too numb to speak.
Later, Soren would realize that he couldn’t recall a single thing he’d eaten, a single thing he’d said. But he remembered the movement of Crystal’s mouth as she forked a piece of enchilada into it, as she bit into a jalapeno, as she sipped her gigantic margarita through a straw. As she licked her lips after licking the salt off the rim of her glass with a glistening red tongue. As she smiled at him.
He awoke from his entrancement when she asked, “Do you have anything special planned for dessert?”
All he could think of was, he wanted Crystal for dessert. To touch her, to taste
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