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“No gold,” he grumbled.
“Rose gold,” I corrected.
He sighed. “You sound like my sister when she shows me the same gray five times and tells me they’re different.”
I chuckled but reached for the silver and got to work drawing lines. “No, rose gold is a color.”
Once again, his mouth almost lifted up in corners. “Show me where it falls in the rainbow, and then I’ll believe you.”
“You know.” I pointed the capless marker at him. “I think you pretend to be grumpier than you are. I keep seeing a smile trying to come out to play.”
The chair scraped along the floor as he pushed closer to me and angled in. The air filled with the rugged scent of leather spun with a hint of something rich like bourbon, making me want to arch in and get a better whiff.
“Explain this masterpiece to me.”
My quick sketch of the blocks around the bar and then down to the harbor wasn’t impressive in any way. A ten-year-old probably could have done it better. But it was the information that mattered, not my artistic ability. “Are you teasing me, grumpy?”
He rested a hand on my chairback and dipped his chin. “Hell, yeah, I am, Blondie.” Gently, he tugged on the end of my ponytail.
The move made my breath hitch. Every cell in my body tightened as I craved his touch. My skin tingled as he moved in so close I thought he might press his full lips against the exposed skin of my shoulder. I held my breath, willing him to do just that.
“Where are the best places?”
That question jarred me back to the moment. To my crappy picture. “Umm.” I cleared my throat. “Let’s start with the important stuff.” I pointed out one location after another. “Best sandwiches, best gym, best dry cleaner, best vanilla latte, best pizza, best banana pancakes?—”
“Banana what?”
“Pancakes. Tell me you’ve had them before.” I whipped my head to the side to eye him, my ponytail draping over one shoulder.
He had shifted so close his breath danced against my cheek as I tilted my head. His gaze lowered from my eyes to my lips and hovered for one second before returning to the napkin. “I’ve never had them before.” He traced the pancakes I’d drawn. “Can’t say this curvy lump makes me wanna try them either.”
I scoffed. “Okay, Mr. Artist. You draw something.”
His hand was on my arm before I could blink, sending a shiver racing up my spine. Warm, strong fingers circled my wrist and pulled it toward him. He rolled my charm bracelet down to my hand and picked up a Sharpie. Then he studied my face once again as he brushed his thumb back and forth over the skin just above my wrist.
I forgot to breathe. My heart hammered, and my body thrummed along with each beat. It took me a second to realize he was asking for permission. Slowly, I nodded, and he pushed the blue cap off with his thumb.
The cool tip pressed against my forearm, and he drew a V-like shape. The pen moved back and forth quickly, in swoopy motions, like it took no effort on his part, though I couldn’t tell what he was drawing. After a moment, he released my wrist, but he didn’t step away. No, as I examined it, he stayed close, the heat of him soaking into me.
“Birds?” There on my wrist, he’d drawn two doves wrapped together in the shape of a heart. This man was an artist who carried markers with him. That alone was strange, but the fact that he’d drawn birds? What a thing to randomly draw on the arm of an avian veterinarian. Wide-eyed, I took him in.
His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Lovebirds.” He was so close his breath ghosted over my skin. I froze, wanting him to move just the inch closer. To close the gap and press his full lips against mine. But he hovered where he was, letting his hot breath dance against my mouth.
“You drank out of my beer. That means we’ve pretty much already kissed, except without any of the good part.”
In a trance, I nodded and tipped my chin, moving a breath closer.
“And I love the good part.” His voice was a whisper. And an instant later, his lips were pressed to mine.
The touch was electric. The shock that rushed through me sent my heart racing. Desire and need coursed through my system as his warm, full lips molded to my own. With a groan, he cupped my face with one hand and pulled me closer.
When the hard, flat plane of his chest pressed into me, I sighed, opening for him. He took the invitation and swept his tongue into my mouth, tangling it with mine, owning me. I pressed harder into him, needing more, but as I did, he pulled back slightly.
My stomach sank at what I worried was rejection, but when I got a good look at his face, all I saw was the same need that hit me the moment he touched me.
“I’m not going to fuck you to help you get over your ex.” His pupils were so dilated they eclipsed his dark irises as he scanned my face. He leaned into my ear and whispered, “But if you come home with me, I guarantee you won’t remember his name in the morning.”
When the doorslammed shut behind us, my lips were already on hers. A small voice in my head told me to slow down, but it was drowned out by the pounding need to claim her. My place was around the corner from the bar, and yet keeping my hands to myself for the eight-minute walk had been the most difficult chore of my lifetime. She had said things—words—and I’d tried to listen. But all I could think about was the way her lips had felt on mine. So I was bad company. Worse than normal.
