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Blair helped himself to a chicken wing and nodded. “Yep. It’s all done.”
“So we’re good?”
“We’re good. I gotta say, this idea of yours, for a Vegas-themed gala, should raise a lot of money to fund some of our local projects. The silent auction items are impressive, but have you seen the list of items to be bid on?”
She nodded. The list was extensive, and the locals had been more than generous.
“I’m glad I listened to you.”
“I didn’t do anything special,” she replied. “We did something similar for my family’s foundation a few years back, and it was a huge success.”
Blair tossed the remains of his wing onto a plate beside the basket. He turned around, facing the room behind her, and leaned back.
“So,” Blair said slowly. “Mac Draper? Really?”
Oh God. Not him too? She’d had a pretty blunt discussion with Jake about the idea of Mac and her together, and was surprised at how strongly Jake had advised her against getting involved with him. Especially considering Mac was one of his best friends.
A soft smile touched her mouth and she shrugged. “He’s…I don’t know. I find him interesting.”
“Interesting.” The word was spoken dryly and Blair frowned. “Man, if I knew what kind of secret ingredient that guy has stuffed up his sleeve, you bet I’d be all over it.”
Blair chuckled and slid a little closer to her. The bar was noisy—half-priced wing night always brought out a big crowd—and he leaned in. “I got tell ya though, Mackenzie Draper is a loose cannon. His temper is as bad as his father’s, and his reputation with the ladies rivals Cain Black’s…big time. He’s no saint, that’s for sure.”
“Well, Mr. Hubber,” she teased, “I suppose that stuff would matter if I were in
terested in anything permanent with Mac, but I’m not. You don’t need to worry about me, Blair. Whatever it is between us isn’t serious.”
“Really?” Blair said dryly. “And the fact that he looks like he wants to tear my arms off and shove them down my throat says what exactly?”
“It says that he’s dragging his knuckles across the floor like a Neanderthal.” She couldn’t quite hide her grin. “It’s kind of cute, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know if I’d call it cute,” Blair murmured. “Insane maybe. Fucked up for sure. But cute? Hell no.”
Lily glanced up at her friend. His warm brown hair brushed the top of his forehead, and his eyes glittered beneath the dim glow in the bar. Blair was a good-looking man, tall and broad shouldered, with long, athletic legs. He was smart, focused, took good care of himself…he was sweet, kindhearted—really the perfect catch for some lucky lady.
It just wasn’t Lily St. Clare.
“Here he comes.”
Wait. What?
The hair on the back of Lily’s neck coiled, as did the pulsing heat that sat low in her belly.
She inhaled sharply as that unique scent all his own fell over her like a second skin, and she looked up, catching Mac’s gaze in the mirror behind the bar.
His golden hair waved crazily around his head, just touching the tops of his shoulders, as if he’d been in the wind or out on a boat. His eyes were dark and intense, and her heart skipped a beat when he bent forward because she felt the heat of him right beside her.
“Fancy running into you here, Boston.”
She licked her lips and hoped like hell she didn’t sound like the fourteen-year-old girl she felt kicking around inside her.
“It’s wing night. Where else would I be?” she said lightly.
Still watching him through the mirror, she held her breath when his eyes dropped to her mouth.
“I can see that.”
He leaned forward even more, and honest to God, it felt as if they were the only two people in the entire place. Sal’s distinct and husky voice was gone. Blair, who stood on the other side of her, was gone. The crowd, the music, and the noise—all of it was gone.
