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He whirled to stare at me. “Why do you want it? Be real with me. Do you want to have your brothers lording it over you all day long and keeping your leash nice and tight?”
I blinked. Had Macy at Brewed Awakening dropped some kind of acid into my latte? Had my sandwich contained some sort of hallucinogenic lettuce or something?
Christian Masterson was not like this. I barely knew the man beyond a half dozen bakery conversations and even I knew that.
“How much alcohol was in that flask?”
His steely eyes went to slits as he stepped toward me. “You didn’t see that flask.”
I backed up, ramming my thigh into the table, but he just kept coming, pressing into me as if he didn’t know this was highly inappropriate interview behavior. “You did not see that flask, Honey.”
I found myself nodding as if I wasn’t in control of motor functions. “I didn’t see it,” I agreed.
His features relaxed a fraction—until I kept talking.
“But why do you have it? Why do you need it? Why did you have your head in your hands?”
He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t know when to shut up for your own good.”
“Definitely not.” I angled my head and wet my dust dry lips, all too aware how his gaze dropped to my mouth and lingered there. “Are you going to make me?”
Yeah, whatever weirdness had descended, I wasn’t helping matters. But the guy was hot.
Granted, I hadn’t fully been aware of that fact until today. He’d always been so snarly in general and non-reactive toward me in particular that I’d never paid much attention to him. He was also a colleague of my brothers.
The ones who would keep my leash nice and tight if I worked here—unless I made sure they realized that I wasn’t under their control.
Wasn’t under anyone’s control.
The good girl was on the verge of going wild.
“Honey.” I’d never heard my name as a warning before. I kind of liked it.
No, I loved it.
“That doesn’t sound like a no.”
“It’s not a yes either.” He glanced away from my face as if he was debating his options.
Go or stay. Pony up or run.
“You’re used to being good too, aren’t you?” My voice was barely above a whisper again. I was scandalizing myself and I hadn’t even done anything—yet.
His granite jaw worked as he stared off in a distance I couldn’t see. His scruff was growing in, golden blond, a contrast from the golden brown militarily-short hair on his head. A scar bisected his left eyebrow, and a muscle jumped in his temple, a rare tell that he wasn’t as unaffected by this exchange as his flat expression suggested.
That and the holy shit huge bulge in his uniform pants when he shifted against me, once, twice, three times.
I gasped every time. I was such a pathetic vixen.
“I watch you, you know.”
I blinked. “You do? When? How?”
Yep, here I was, playing it cool yet again. Except not.
“You feed the ducks.”
I grabbed my purse as if I was hiding a sex toy, not just making sure my rice and oats baggie wasn’t hanging out of my bag. “Yeah, sometimes.”
