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All these dirty thoughts of her running through my head make one thing pretty damn clear: I could totally ruin her before she heads back to Alabama in a few days. Hell, even if she does find a job here, I’m not the man for her. I’m too old and she’s too chaste. Not to mention, she’s definitely not the kind of woman to fuck and toss away. She’s a keeper. I just wish I had the privilege of making her mine.
21
Tessa
I stand between Barclay’s bent legs as he sits on the edge of his barstool. His dark eyes are velvety night, sensuous and full of promises I can’t even fathom, but I feel them. He has the key to an unknown part of me, and I need him to unlock it before I combust into a million pieces.
I want to touch him, place my hands on his muscular thighs, feel their strength under my fingertips, but should I? Is that too forward? I have no idea what a man with his experience expects from a woman. Just as I prepare to move my fingers, my phone sings “Sweet Home Alabama” and vibrates on the wooden bar top. Cringing, I grab my phone and silence the ringer.
It’s Maggie. She’s calling right on schedule, and I can’t wait to tell her what happened and who’s with me now. It’s like she peered into a crystal ball and knew the future.
I hold up my index finger and point to the phone in my hand. “I need to get this. It’s my best friend.” Barclay nods, but remains impassive. I don’t think he likes the interruption, and neither do I, but she’ll keep calling if I don’t answer it.
“Maggie,” I say, my voice turning into a whisper. “The crisis has been averted.”
“What do you mean? The toad has hopped away?” she asks.
“Yes. I applied the spiked heel defense. I couldn’t wait for your call. He tried to get me to sleep with him.” The thought of Trevor’s words and breath make me shudder in disgust.
“I should’ve punched him,” Barclay practically roars while standing up from his barstool. I guess I wasn’t quiet enough. Gone is the reflective man who confessed his attraction toward me. It’s like he’s turned into a hot version of the Incredible Hulk, dressed in all black with perfect hair and a tense jawline. “I told you to stay away from him, that he was bad news.”
“I handled him just fine,” I say, fumbling with my words. I feel breathless and so turned on by Barclay’s show of male possessiveness.
“Like hell,” Barclay replies, still grasping my left hand.
“Wait,” Maggie yells into the phone, shaking me out of the testosterone haze. “Is that Barclay you’re talking to?”
“Mmmhmmm,” I answer with a hum of happiness, because the beautiful man I never thought I’d see again towers over me, and I want to fold into him so bad and never let go. Only yesterday, I’d cried, heartbroken, thinking being with him was an improbable dream. Now, he holds my hand, and without knowing it, my heart. I feel free, vulnerable, and confused. He’s almost too much to handle.
“I told you he’d come back around,” Maggie says, full of glee. I can almost hear her jumping up and down. “Okay, get off the phone and quit disagreeing with him. Have sex first, then fight, and then have angry sex. It’s amazing.”
“Bye, Maggie.” I end the call and toss my phone in my bag. My mind’s already flooded with dirty thoughts, so I don’t need to add hers.
I look up at Barclay, and he slightly raises his eyebrows as he peers down at me. I can’t tell whether he’s amused or upset.
Wait. Surely he didn’t overhear what Maggie said? A flush crosses over my face at the thought.
“Um, thanks for getting rid of Trevor … I mean, Mr. Spears.” A corner of his mouth tips up. He’s gloating at my admission that he was right. I did need his help in the end to make Trevor disappear for good.
Barclay hands me my champagne flute. His long fingers encircle the glass, and I can barely see the bubbling liquid inside it. The bartender must’ve refilled my prosecco after I tossed it on Trevor. Bless his heart.
“Be a good girl and drink this,” he says, his smoldering gaze fixed on me. What a beautiful, bossy man.
I bring the glass to my lips and down it in a couple long sips. Barclay’s perfect mouth eases into a lazy smile. He enjoys watching me submit to his demands. I don’t know why, but I want to obey them. He takes the empty glass from me and sets it down on the bar.
“Michael,” Barclay says, and the bartender turns our way. “Put all these drinks on my tab, including Trevor’s, and add forty percent for your trouble.”
