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But now, with a second and third glance, everything about her was intriguing. Worth another look, which I took. Those jeans couldn’t hide rounded hips or a perfect ass and while her top was simple, the swell of pert breasts was enough to make me need to wipe drool with the napkin I held.
When she realized she was staring–even though I was staring right back–she blushed and looked away, shifted her gaze to the worn wood flooring and her work boot-covered feet.
On top of all that about her, she was shy. Definitely not trying to catch my interest. My smile grew at her… naturalness. Was that even a fucking word? I had no idea but that was this woman.
Young. Pretty.
Great. She was exactly what my father used to like and that made me feel like shit for even looking her way. The last thing I wanted was to be anything like him.
“Yes, I’m still here. Yes.” She spun back to the table, her ponytail whipping around her neck, clearly flustered. I knew I was reasonably good looking and fit, but my size was intimidating.
I was, at thirty-seven, still very single. After all these years, that meant I wasn’t much of a catch to anyone who wasn’t a money-hungry bitch. I steered well clear of those.
Who was this woman and why was I curious about her? Why was I suddenly interested in learning more about her?
I pulled out another napkin.
“That was my math, too,” she continued. “Yes. I’m glad the discrepancy was found.”
The barista held up a glass of iced coffee to catch her attention, then to me with the cinnamon roll big and gooey enough to fill the plate it sat on.
“Look, I have to go,” she said. “The meeting’s this afternoon. Yes, I’ll have all the data ready.”
She ended the call, set her cell on the table beside her papers and went to the counter.
“Problems?” the barista–Eve–asked her.
Bridge shrugged as I stepped up behind her to get my cinnamon roll. “Nothing more than usual. Just a big meeting later and problems to solve.”
“They’re lucky to have you and that big brain of yours,” Eve said sweetly. It was clear they knew each other. Close in age, too. Probably grew up together.
Bridge smiled and paid for her drink. “You’re sweeter than your baked goods for saying that. And this brain’s gotten me into nothing but trouble.”
She tapped her temple as she spoke and spun on her heel and turned right into me. The glass of iced coffee hit my chest and splashed all over it.
I took a step back instinctively. She gasped.
“Shit, I’m so sorry!” she said, setting the now empty glass on the counter, then grabbed the napkins out of my grip.
She started to pat at my shirt to sop up the chilly coffee. I wore jeans with a dress shirt, my sleeves rolled up because even in Montana, it was a warm summer day. Now the white cotton had a huge swath of brown and it was dripping down my stomach. It was cold against my skin, but I barely felt it since Bridge’s little hand was pressing over and over against my abs. Left, right, then moved lower.
And lower.
“I can’t believe I did that.” Her gaze didn’t lift to mine as she tried to tackle the spill. “I’ll pay for your dry cleaning and I–
I grabbed her wrist as she worked her way south toward the button on my jeans. A few inches lower and she’d be patting my dick. While I was all for her becoming acquainted with it, I didn’t want that to happen here.
It seemed I needed more than an iced coffee bath to cool off from this woman’s touch because I was getting hard.
I kept my hold gentle but needed to ensure she didn’t work her way any lower. She was already freaked out enough. I might want to get better acquainted, but I liked the woman who touched my dick–or rode it–to know at least my name.
“Shh, it’s okay,” I murmured.
All I saw was the top of her head as she shook it. Her hair wasn’t just brown but had hints of red and copper in it. I wondered how silky soft it would feel, how it would fall over her shoulders if I tugged out the tie.
“It’s not. Your shirt’s ruined,” she practically moaned.
“Baby, look at me.”
