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“Don’t call me Razor. I haven’t told you how old I am.”
“Why not? Everyone calls you that.”
“Because I want you to call me Tabon.”
He pulled off the road when he saw the sign for Marchants. The brewery had a café that was one of his favorite places to eat.
“Maybe I should call you Mr. Sharp. Or, how about Sir? Is that what you’re into?”
“That’s enough,” he muttered.
“Sorry, Sir.” She looked down, but with a smirk he wanted to wipe off her face.
“Knock it off.”
“Oh, wait. Maybe you want me to call you Master instead.”
“You aren’t funny,” he said, but he felt the heat rising in his cheeks.
“Wait a minute,” she said, studying him. “Is that really what you’re into?”
Razor was so tempted to spin her around and let her know exactly what he was into, and if she didn’t shut up, that’s precisely what he’d do.
“Don’t play with sharp objects, little girl. You’re likely to get cut.”
“You remind me of my father sometimes.”
Those words hurt far worse than if she’d slapped his face. Instead of reacting, which was what she was after, he pretended to ignore her.
He held the door open, and she shimmied her tight little ass inside. While what she’d suggested wasn’t at all what he was into, her bringing up sex of any kind was too much for him.
She seemed puzzled, though, that her comment about her father hadn’t elicited the response she’d been going for. Sure, it reminded him that he’d kill the bastard if he laid a hand on either of his daughters, but if she was suggesting they were similar in age, that hadn’t bothered him.
Age didn’t make a damn bit of difference to him. Older, younger, didn’t matter. If two people were attracted to each other, wanted each other, that was all that was important. And right now, he wanted her about a thousand times more than the ice-cold beer he was about to order.
He set a beer menu in front of Ava. “What do you like?”
“I’ll have the Mirror Pond Pale Ale, please,” she said directly to the bartender.
“Can I see some ID?”
When she pulled it out of her purse and handed it to him, the bartender gave Razor a once over.
“What the fuck?” he said under his breath. Did he really look that much older than her?
Razor looked at the smug look on Ava’s face and decided he needed to do something about it.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he said.
She smirked and motioned toward the man now pouring their glasses of beer. “Clearly, he thinks you’re too old for me.”
“Do you think I’m too old for you?”
Her cheeks flushed and she looked away from him.
“You’d be right,” he told her.
Since they were near the end of the bar, it was easy for him to twist her around so her back was to the wall in the hallway. He held her face with one hand while he circled her waist with his other arm. His lips came crashing down on hers with all the heat and passion he’d kept bottled up since he saw her in that bikini a year ago, and had come raging to the surface when he saw her walking down the aisle at their friends’ wedding.
