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“Ms. Jones,” he croons, and I nearly collapse at the smolder of Officer Bronson standing before me, gleaming down with that wicked smile.
Damn, he’s attractive. His face structure alone is impossible to keep your attention off of. He even has a cleft in his chin, which makes him look masculine and refined. His arms are on display, and they’re thick and veiny, the kind that can lift things—heavy things. I stop myself from envisioning all the things he could lift. Namely me, up against a wall, as he does salacious things with his mouth.
I thought it was the uniform that made this man hot, but in jeans and a tee, he still looks drop-dead sexy, which just confirms that he’s indeed … beautiful.
Maybe it’s the boots. I always have had a thing for a man in construction boots.
four
“YOU,” I SAY ANDswallow.
“Me,” he responds.
I squeeze my eyes in embarrassment and shake my head. “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
As I open my eyes, I lean back against the bar, feeling the curved wood dig into my lower back, and take a deep breath. My reaction to him is silly. He’s just a guy. A man. A person. Albeit the same person who unlocked me from a jail cell not even twenty-four hours ago, but a human nonetheless.
“Same. Never seen you here before.”
“Here? No. Not my scene.” I close my eyes yet again, and bite my lip in embarrassment. “Not that there is anything wrong with this place. It’s cute. And fun. I just haven’t been here in a really,reallylong time.”
He laughs. “No offense taken. I can see how it’s not everyone’s style. I like it because it’s no frills. You can just come out, listen to good music, dance, and play darts.”
“Makes sense. I shouldn’t rag on your place. We used to go to this place called Dempsey’s in Newbury—small bar, filled with locals—and we ran that place like we owned it.”
His tilted nod is one of remembrance. “That place closed down a couple of years ago. I went there a time or two. Definitely didn’t see you there.”
“When you have your first baby at twenty-three, your bar nights become nonexistent.”
“You were a baby, having babies.”
“Didn’t feel like that at the time. Now, I feel ancient. A lot of the girls I went to high school with have newborns, not an eleven- and a five-year-old.” I wave the air between us. “Sorry. I tend to talk about my kids a lot. I’m sure it’s not something a guy in his twenties comes to the bar to talk about.”
He smiles. “You’re fine. I like talking about kids. I have eleven nieces and nephews, so I can chime in. You said you have an eleven-year-old? Wait until thirteen. My sister is ready to pull her hair out when it comes to her daughter, Mia.”
“Thanks,” I grumble, having heard that advice before.
“And for the record, I’m thirty, and from what I hear, that means I’m capable of less superficial conversation and something deeper and more worldly.”
Someone bumps into me, and I’m launched into William, my hand hitting him in the chest. He doesn’t flinch, but as soon as I do so, I immediately apologize, “I’m so sorry. Your injury!”
A slow smile builds on his lips. “Reading up about me?”
I narrow my eyes at his cocky assumption. “You were in theValor County Gazettethis morning. I wasn’t looking you up or anything.”
He lifts his chin. “Really?”
“It was in the paper.”
“What’s my name?”
“William Bronson.”
He smiles again, and his eyes twinkle with that damn crinkle.
“It was in the paper!”
He crosses his arms and leans back on his heels. “Call me Will.”
