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I showed him quickly how it worked and then he said, “It’s grand. I’ve got it—go on, get back to it.”
For the next couple of hours I operated in a haze, totally bemused to find myself working around this six-foot-three gorgeous Irish man who was now also taking orders and serving drinks as if he’d been here for years.
When the last customers finally left and I had closed and locked the door behind them, I watched Johnny carry some glasses from a table, bringing them behind the bar, efficiently putting them into the washer and switching the washer on.
He flipped a tea towel over his shoulder and looked around, hands on slim hips. He’d taken off his top layer along the way, so now he was wearing a white T-shirt that was so thin I could see nothing but ripped musculature. Flat nipples. A tantalizing sliver of flat belly and that delicious line of dark hair that led down underneath the top button of his low-slung jeans.
Man oh man. Some evil God had sent this vision of sex to tempt me away from my resolutions and back to a place of hormone-controlled decadence. Moisture pooled between my legs and my breasts felt tight.
Still in a kind of daze, I walked over to the bar and perched on a stool. We looked at each other and something sizzled. It might have been me.
I shook my head. “Wow. I don’t...” My mouth closed. Obviously I had to thank him. He’d saved my ass, probably literally. Even now I shuddered to think of those frat guys and what might have happened.
And then it hit me. I didn’t even know his full name. I stuck out my hand across the bar and smiled ruefully. “I’m Ashling Sullivan. Nice to meet you.”
He wiped his hands on the towel and I noticed that they were very masculine with long fingers. Short nails.
He took my hand and held it tight. “Johnny Ryan.”
Between my legs didn’t just pulse this time; it spasmed. Inner walls tigh
tening as if already imagining what his thick length might feel like thrusting in and out. He didn’t let my hand go and I could feel those calluses again. My nipples hardened against the sheer material of my bra.
From somewhere that wasn’t keeling over with lust I said, “Thank you. Really. You didn’t have to do that.”
He shrugged easily. “I didn’t have any plans to break. It was no bother.”
I tugged my hand free, aware of that delicious, slightly earth-tilting feeling of mutual desire. Because he wanted me as much as I wanted him. It wasn’t an arrogant assertion. It was just...there. I could smell it, and Jesus, I wanted to taste it. To taste him. He was looking at my mouth, and it made me want to put out my tongue to moisten it.
In a bid to stop myself crawling over the bar to get to him, I blurted out, “You obviously know your way around bars.”
He shrugged one broad shoulder, and something in his expression tightened. He avoided my eye. “Coming from Ireland, it’s kind of an occupational hazard. And I’ve worked in a few here.”
But then he dragged his gaze back to mine and said, “Actually, I came back in tonight for a reason.”
My heart thumped hard. “You did?” Mentally I was already apologizing to Jenna and I sent her telepathic permission to do a surfer dude.
“Yeah...” He ran a hand through his short hair, leaving it deliciously tousled and messy. Everything in me was poised, waiting for him to say he’d come back because he’d wanted to see me.
Already I was imagining lowering the blinds, taking him into the office, sitting on the side of the table, spreading my legs, his hands on my hips, roughly pulling me toward him—
He looked at me. “Yeah...the thing is that I’m actually looking for my little sister, Caitlin Ryan. Do you know her?”
The sting of exposure and humiliation was like a slap across the face. What the hell was wrong with me? I was all but ready to jump over this bar and strip off my clothes and beg this complete stranger to do me right now? As if I hadn’t just left my dignity in tatters back in LA?
I put the brakes on. Screeching. Thank God I hadn’t made a complete ass of myself and shown him how susceptible I was. I slid off the stool, brisk. “Yeah, sure I know Caitlin. She’s going out with my brother. She lives upstairs with him.”
I came around behind the bar and started to tidy up, not looking at him. But when he spoke and he sounded almost...hesitant, I had to look.
“Is she—are they...here? Now?”
I steeled myself against those huge eyes and the desire to know why he looked and sounded tortured all of a sudden.
“No, they’re on holiday for two weeks in Mexico. That’s why I’m here, covering for Liam.”
I frowned at him and folded my arms. “She never mentioned having a brother in New York.”
Something in his expression was bitter for a second. “Yeah, well, she does. I’ve been living here for a few years.”
