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His enigmatic arrogance set off my anger in a flash. I sipped my whiskey, using the mundane task to delay my reaction so that I could strategize the best move going forward.
“You’re awfully confident,” I mused, my voice revealing just a hair of irritation.
“I’m just a man that knows what he wants,” he countered. His smile was warm and enticing, and I didn’t want to face the fact that even in my fury, I was drawn to him. And not in a platonic way.
I really didn’t want to admit that.
I shifted in my seat, trying to ignore the way my body was pulsing with heat. I flexed my stomach muscles, noticing that my core was squeezing with desire. With a hard swallow, I took stock of the rest of my body, furiously realizing that I was soaking wet, too.
I glared at him, blaming him entirely for this whole fucked up situation.
“You couldn’t handle a woman like me, big boy,” I challenged him.
“Let me be the judge of what I can handle, little girl.”
An answer for everything, this one. I sort of loathed it and enjoyed it at the same time. I sat back, taking a long draw of whiskey and enjoying the smooth, spicy burn as it slid down my throat. He watched me with increasingly seductive interest.
It felt good to be desired.
None of this changed the fact that it was infuriating that my body was reacting to him even a little bit. He was nothing more than an arrogant rich guy who hadn’t been properly put in his place by any woman in his life. He was probably used to meek, shy girls that knelt and opened their mouths to suck his cock whenever he said the word.
I would never be that kind of woman.
I downed my drink and slid my gaze to his.
“She’ll have another,” Shane called out, and Angus nodded. He was just rounding the corner with our dinner. My mouth watered at the sight of the plate, noticing that steam was still rising off it. In no time at all, I had a meal and a fresh drink sitting in front of me.
The deep-fried, beer battered cod was golden and crunchy. Beside it was a bed of crispy, golden potato wedges seasoned with salt, pepper, and whatever other spices our chef had come up with to make it the perfect dish. I drizzled the plate with malt vinegar and dug in, humming with contentment when the refreshing flavor of the light, flaky cod bloomed over my tongue.
I picked up a piece of bread and slathered it with butter. I took a big bite, sighing happily at the slightly sweet, nutty taste. It was a little bitter, but it tasted like home. It had been my mother’s recipe, one of the many things we did in establishing this place to pay homage to our ancestral heritage.
“This is fantastic. You were right,” Shane murmured beside me. I popped a potato wedge in my mouth, smirking.
Of course I was. It was my pub, after all.
I ate with a certain modicum of politeness, simply because I was out in public. I finished every bite of that meal without feeling even the slightest bit of shame. I worked hard, and I deserved to enjoy the fruits of my labor, even if that meant something as simple as a freshly cooked meal in one of my own establishments.
I was worth it.
“The chef we hired is straight out of Dublin. He honed his skills there and we allow him to shine in our kitchen,” I explained bluntly.
“That was a wise choice,” he murmured, his eyes dancing.
I took a large swig of whiskey, enjoying the taste of the fine flavors melding together in a beautifully delicious harmony. When I noticed that his interested gaze had settled on me, I downed the rest of it in a show of unabashed satisfaction. His lips turned up at the corners, exposing his restrained amusement.
His eyes didn’t leave me as I waved Angus down and ordered a third. The tenuous string between us tightened as I openly challenged him. By the time I had a new drink in my hands, the threads were stretched so tight that it was simply a matter of time before one of us snapped.
I didn’t yet know if it was going to be me or him.
I smiled coolly. He did the same, his expression nonchalant and confident. There wasn’t even a hint of disappointment in those glittering irises, which threw me for a loop. Maybe this man was different from all the others, after all.
My clit throbbed, its gentle, steady beat like a drum.
My face heated and I sat back, sipping my drink in order to cover up how flustered this whole exchange was making me right now.
“I enjoyed this,” he said, his voice threateningly husky. He dabbed at his lips with a napkin and threw back the rest of his whiskey in one big swallow. I took a deep breath as he stood up, the scent of his now familiar cologne catching my attention. I looked up, his proximity imposing and annoyingly exciting.
I considered just how much bigger he was than me for the first time. He stood a few inches over six foot by my estimation. His broad physique filled out his grey Tom Ford suit well. He obviously spent time taking care of himself, whether that meant he lived at the gym or he took very expensive custom designer steroid cocktails, I couldn’t be sure. Physical strength was one thing, though.
