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A form of panic sluiced through my veins, an internal ticking that I knew was the countdown to our parting. I didn’t want it to end, but I knew it had to. I was only passing through. I had a life in Calliope, and very soon, in London. And this girl was here, in a harbor town where she helped run the family bar and went home every night to a motley crew of rescue animals.
And God, I couldn’t believe my mind had gone to a place where there was any chance of us seeing each other again when the truth was, I didn’t even really know her. I was merely attracted to her, that was the overwhelming pull I felt. Because I hadn’t been quite as attracted to any other woman…maybe ever. But that was physical, and in the end, a merely physical bond wasn’t what I wanted. In fact, I’d sworn it off. I wanted more. I wanted it all. And I wanted it with a woman who was looking for the same.
So…a cooking class it would be. A brief foray off the beaten path to a waterside bar on the docks where a beautiful woman made me laugh and feel alive and remember what I was looking for and what I was not. “You’re welcome.”
Our eyes held. Her mouth opened, then closed and I had the feeling she wasn’t quite ready to say goodnight either. “Well…” she sighed, breaking eye contact and looking away as she fidgeted with the hand towel laying on the counter next to her.
“I should…let you finish closing so you can go home to your brood.” I tilted my head. “Who takes care of them while you’re at work anyway?”
“A teenage girl who lives next door comes over and feeds them and walks them and gets them settled for the night. They usually don’t even move when I come home.” Her voice was a murmur, her gaze moving from my eyes to my mouth and back again sort of dreamily as though her mind was somewhere other than on her words.
“Not the greatest attack dogs then.”
Her laugh was mostly breath. “No, they’d lick you to death before anything else.”
Another flush of warmth moved under my skin at the phrase lick you to death which I was not thinking about in relation to hounds, but to her, and Christ, but I was turned on. Part of me worried that deciding to not engage in one-night stands had caused my libido to dry up. For the past year or so, I’d been fine with taking things into my own hands. But now? Just looking at this woman, just breathing in her intoxicating fragrance and watching her take a bite of food, had me ready to combust. “I’m moving to London,” I said.
She stared blankly. “Oh. Okay. Well that’s…far away.”
I felt my expression twist. “Yes. I just…you know, I’m not sure why I said that. I guess I’m tired.”
“I bet.” She drummed her finger on the counter distractedly as she turned her head away. “You should get some sleep…”
“Right…”
“Right…”
Our eyes met again and we both let out small laughs, color rising in her cheeks. I didn’t feel tired at all. Don’t do it, Buchanan. You have a life plan. International business mogul and heir to Buchanan Corporation. Marriage to a woman who will complement and support you within that world. A few Buchanans to carry on the name, and eventually the family business.
Random sex in a dive bar with a waitress you’ll never see again isn’t on the agenda.
Only, whatever inner voice was speaking wasn’t convincing me in the least. In fact, at the moment, I didn’t like that guy at all, or his “life plans,” and if he materialized somehow, I might push him off the dock and watch him sink below the water.
Rory pulled in a breath, sticking her hand out and giving a small nod as though she was having an inner conversation as well, and something had been definitively decided. “Goodnight, Gage.”
Ah, well, then, she’d made it easy. Good.
We both took off our aprons and set them on the counter, our hands brushing and causing her to startle and pull hers quickly away as though she’d been burned.
She let out another small laugh that faded quickly and turned toward the door. I followed her out into the bar, noticing that outside the window, the sky was just beginning to lighten from black to sterling. Soon the sun would be peeking over the horizon and this day would be nothing but a memory.
“Any good at darts?” I asked, and she swung around so that I came up short and we nearly collided.
“Are you kidding me? I’m the reigning local champion,” she said, her voice breathy.
“Are you now?” I raised a brow.
She set her hands on her hips. “Are you challenging me to a game, Ivy League?”
I stepped closer so that our shoes were touching. “Maybe I am, Cakes.”
Her grin was slow, and she did that same something where she sort of cocked her hip and raised her shoulder and God, whatever combo of slight movements she used along with that wide smile knocked me on my proverbial ass for the tenth time that night. That smile, it was a deadly weapon. “Challenge accepted,” she said.
We headed over to the dart board that was on the wall next to the pool table and Rory handed me several darts. “What games do you know?” she asked.
“Cricket’s the only one.”
“Works for me.” She shot me a wink and then tossed her dart, easily landing a triple.
