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I marched over there, giving the Mr. Youngbloods a smile as I passed, and swooped in to save Patrick from himself.
“They need you in the back.”
Patrick gazed at me, wide-eyed and confused. “Oh, sorry. I’ll go now?”
I nodded briskly. “Yes, that would be best. I’ll look after Mr.… Oh, I don’t know your name…”
I met the stunning man’s amused gaze and raised my eyebrows, putting a hand on one hip as Patrick scurried from the room.
Mr. Goatee Eyebrow Piercing smiled as he looked me over. “It’s Alastair Kenney.”
Ooh. That sounded British and upper class. I had no idea if it was, but I liked it.
I held out my hand. “Mr. Kenney, would you like to join a game?”
“You’ve put on makeup,” he said, gaze fixed on my lips.
“Yes, I was late to my shift, so hadn’t put it on yet when we met…outside. Do you like it?” I pursed my lips.
“I do. Although I don’t think it’s necessary. Your lips are… Well, I mean, they were very nice…when I saw them outside…around your cigarette.” He seemed flustered all of a sudden. “But the lipstick,” he said, gesturing with a finger at his own lips as I widened my eyes, hoping to look like a baby deer. “That looks good, too.” He cleared his throat and averted his gaze.
Well, well, well.
I couldn’t help smiling. “Thank you. That’s gracious of you.”
He looked at me again, this time taking in my scandalous outfit, now that my coat wasn’t in the way. “I do like how the makeup enhances the whole”—he waved at me—“effect.”
He seemed breathless and not at all upset about Patrick leaving, thank God.
I mean…what?
“About that game. Did you want to join one of these tables? I can inquire if there’s a place for you.”
This was my job. I’d been hired to make men feel welcomed, accommodated and entertained.
“No, that’s all right. I’d rather stand and observe.” He slid his gaze over me again, then met mine.
My cheeks heated and my traitorous dick started to swell. I parted my lips. “Oh, sure. I mean, certainly. That’s fine.” I scrambled for something to say. “Drink?”
He nodded. “That would be great.”
Thank God.It would give me something to do besides wallow in my unexpected fascination.
“What’s your poison?” I asked.
“Hmm. What do you recommend?”
Oh, we were flirting. We were definitely flirting, which wasn’t so unusual here at Maverick Molly’s. Whatwasunusual was the way it was affectingme. Mr. Alastair Kenney made me feel like an actual nineteenth-century molly boy in the sights of a rakish gentleman with clandestine desires.
“Have you tried the Sazerac?” I asked, channeling all my powers of sophistication.
He smiled wider, and I noticed a dimple in one cheek.
Damn him.
He laughed and scratched at his chin. “I don’t know what that is.”
“Oh, it’s very nice,” I said, running my fingers along the buttons on the front of my corset as his gaze tracked them. “It’s a whiskey base with sugar, bitters and a splash of absinthe.” I drew my fingers to my neck, touching the velvet choker. “You’ll love it,” I said, fluttering my lashes.
