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So he coaxed her to fall back into step with him and quietly said, “We do have work to focus on if we’re going to get this revamped show off the ground. But both Christian and I are interested in you in more than a professional capacity. Nor would he have mentioned to me how your evening ended if he was just looking to scratch an itch.”
“And what are you looking to do?”
Rory chuckled, though it was a bit strained. Like his cock against the zipper of his inky jeans. “Thought I’d already made that abundantly clear.”
“So I’m not misreading signals.”
He told her, “I saw how you reacted to me when we met. I felt the jolt, too. I continue to feel it. And goddamn, Bayli … You felt so fucking good when you fell into my arms at the library.”
A strangled sound lodged in her throat. “I’m supposed to concentrate now on … anything?”
“We’re almost done here. I need duck.” He greeted the butcher he normally called on for his personal meats, poultries, and fish, giving him a hearty handshake. “Meet Miss Bayli Styles. Bayli, this is Josgue, from Santiago, Chile.”
“It’s a pleasure, Josgue,” she said, nailing the correct enunciation, not “Jose” but “Ho-sway.”
The older gentleman whistled under his breath and told Rory, “She’s much too pretty for you, my friend.”
“Agreed. But I dragged her along for shopping and she’s humored me every step of the way.”
Bayli laughed. “Who’s humored who? You haven’t made a single mention of all the veggies I refuse to eat. Carrots, Rory? Really? You’ll be happy to serve carrots with your duck breast this evening?”
“Wait’ll we spruce ’em up,” he said.
Her smile brightened.
And Rory had the sudden overwhelming urge to kiss her. So he did.
Right there at the 79th Street Greenmarket. In front of God, fans, and Josgue the butcher.
Rory’s mouth sealed to hers. She was so caught off-guard that when she gasped Rory’s tongue swept inside to tangle with hers. It was a hot, intense, possessive kiss. A quick kiss. But when he pulled away he could see she was as stunned as he was by the electric current that had arced between them. Zapped all the interesting places that lit him up—her as well. He could see it in her eyes.
She was even breathless.
Okay, so was he.
There was a round of applause for the impromptu display of public affection. In the back of his mind, Rory knew he’d regret losing his head over this woman and spontaneously demonstrating precisely how easily she enticed him. At the moment, however … he just didn’t give a rat’s ass. He’d wanted to kiss her. And there wasn’t a damn thing under the sun that could have held him back.
So he grinned at her. In return, she looked … dazed. Swept away.
In that instant, he decided he wouldn’t regret showing her just how taken by her he was. And to hell with the audience that had gathered.
He told his butcher, “Duck breast. Best you’ve got.”
“Of course, Chef St. James. Only the best for you.”
Rory’s gaze slid to Bayli, still fluttering her lashes and looking as though she were trying to remember her name, recall where they were, why they were here.
While Josgue packaged up the breast, Bayli appeared to fight for a solid breath and her golden skin held a tinge of pink that made her even lovelier. Made Rory want to call upon every trick in the book to keep her brimming with excitement. To keep that shimmer of exhilaration in her tawny eyes and the vibrations visibly humming through her body.
Rory exchanged cash for the duck and said good-bye to his butcher. Bayli finally came around.
She linked her arm through Rory’s and said, “Flats are definitely in order if you plan to kiss me like that again. I might topple over.”
“I’m just warming up.”
“Oh, my.” She let out a long breath. “My knees are pretty much knocking together.”
“I was hoping to do better than that.”
