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Avery tucks her camera into her bag, and I think I’m off the hook. “Micah,” she calls to the man who holds the entire fate of my grand opening in his hands—the sprinkler tech. “I need a ride.”
“Sure thing,” he says, firing a smile back at her. I swear there’s something between them, but Avery laughed right in my face when I asked her about it yesterday. Said they’d been friends and only friends since college—now roommates. I also learned that the two share a place with Declan Maxwell. That bit of news shouldn’t make me feel so damn jealous. So why does it? The man has his own floor, I’m told.
“I can give you a ride,” I cut in, suddenly realizing they’re about to leave me alone with Declan. After what nearly transpired yesterday, I don’t trust myself to be within five feet of the man, much less all alone. For once in my life, I was grateful to see a spider.
Automatically, I glance behind me toward the dark hallway.
No spider.
“Micah owes me,” Avery says with a carefree shrug. “Besides, you have a lot to do here. The Book Cellar isn’t going to open itself, you know.”
Micah wipes off his hands on a shop rag. The man is pretty damn easy on the eyes, but he’s nothing compared to the sexy volunteer firefighter perched on a ladder, twisting a screwdriver into the ceiling. My panties are soaked again. At this rate, I’ll need to do laundry or I’ll be forced to run around without any on at all.
“I’ll be back in an hour,” Micah says to both Declan and me.
An hour. A whole hour. My heartrate triples on a single sharp inhale. This isn’t good. This isn’t good at all.
I eye the signature cocktails lined up on the bar and consider chugging one. The Adventures of Huckleberry Gin is a tempting choice.
“Relax, sweetheart,” Declan says, dismounting the ladder now that we’re alone. He struts my way, like he knows he’s hot shit. And well, he’s not entirely wrong. I’ve never been one for a cocky asshole, but with Declan it’s more confident, sure-of-himself man. He knows who he is and owns it. “I only bite if you ask nicely.”
My nipples practically ache for him as he steps up beside me, the physical gap not enough to ward off the scorching swirl of heat radiating from both our bodies. The sex would be insane. “I won’t.”
Declan rests both elbows on the counter, flashing that panty-melting grin at me. “Nah, you wouldn’t ask nicely.” He bumps me with his enormous bicep, sending an instant zing of electricity up through my shoulder and straight down to my core. “I think you’d beg.”
“In your dreams,” I grumble, hating how much my body’s reacting not only to his proximity but to the visual he’s creating in my already overactive imagination. As if I needed any help in that department.
“Oh, you do.”
It takes every ounce of focus I have to end this little game we’re playing—one I’m enjoying far too much. “You here to work or what?”
“Thought you might need help cleaning up.”
“Cleaning up what?”
“These drinks,” he says with a nod at the lineup. He reaches for one and sniffs. “This a screwdriver?”
“It’s a Turn of the Screwdriver,” I answer proudly. I thought that one up all on my own. Of course, I’m probably the only literature nerd I know who’d even get the reference.
“Clever.”
I roll my eyes at him, tugging the drink out of his hands and taking a sip for myself. It’s tasty and slightly stronger than I intended for a prop drink. Whoopsie. “You don’t even know what that’s from.”
“Henry James,” Declan answers without missing a beat.
I gasp in surprise. “Who told you?”
Declan leans closer, our arms flush against one another now. I should shuffle to the side, away from him. Move to the other side of the counter to put a barrier between us. Hell, I should run out of the building and down the block. Instead, I foolishly lean closer to hear his answer.
“Are you surprised that I read books, sweetheart?”
“You haven’t read that one.”
Declan’s dark eyes sparkle as they bore into mine. “You mean the story about a young governess tortured by what may or may not be ghosts?” He takes a single sip of my screwdriver and licks his lips. “Yeah, I’ve read it.”
Too many sensations flood my system—shock, admiration, lust, an insatiable desire to let him take me right here on the bar counter. I didn’t think it was possible, but Declan Maxwell just got even hotter.
I don’t know who moves first, only that my hand reaches for his stubble-covered cheek the same moment his thumb strokes my jaw. The kiss is inevitable, as is its axis-altering sensation. Our lips connect and we sink into a kiss that fucking makes time stand still. Our bodies mold together in a ravenous swirl of heat as I part my lips and invite his tongue in for a tango.
