hat.”
This time, the indignation she felt was real. And hot. He was hot. Exciting. Her emotions zinged all over the place. She wanted him. She wanted to run. But overriding it all, she needed to prove to this man that she was anything but a timid woodland creature. “Are you calling me a bunny rabbit?”
He straightened as if having one of those ‘Eureka!’ moments guys in sitcoms and chick flicks were oh-so prone to, but the cynical twist of his lips ruined the ah-ha innocence he was meant to convey. “Not at all, but I have to admit, I wouldn’t mind petting you. Scoot a little closer.”
The sheer audacity of his command broke her, but she absolutely refused to give him any more reward than one short, incredulous laugh. “Is everyone so direct up here?”
He ran a knuckle over the back of her hand and every nerve ending in her body perked up. “I don’t see any point in lying about it, but I can add some subtlety if I’m offending you.”
He flashed a smile so disarming she snatched the glass from the bar and took a slug of Sister Laurent’s sexy Australian Shiraz to buy herself a little time. It didn’t help. She liked his bluntness. Liked the fact that he didn’t try to play it cool or act the fool. Admired the artlessness of his seduction. And it was a seduction. A practiced, practical assault on her defenses. How the hell was she supposed to arm herself against what she craved?
“I want you. I’ve wanted you since I watched you walk through that door. I wanted you the whole time I watched you watching me.”
His blunt admissions should have been off-putting, but they weren’t. They were downright refreshing, truth be told. She’d been born to breathe the little white lie, trained in the art of well-intentioned fibbing. I love your dress. You haven’t changed one bit! No, I don’t mind that my husband was fucking the town whore and everyone knew it. In all honesty, Betty couldn’t remember the last time she’d told the absolute truth.
“Betty?”
She jumped when he touched her leg. A streak of purple wine sloshed over the rim of her glass as she set it down a tad too forcefully. Before she could reach for a bar napkin, Will caught her hand and drew it to his mouth. Those dark eyes fixed on her, he pressed his lips to her knuckles then parted them slightly, sipping the wine from her skin.
“Good gracious, you are the devil, aren’t you?” she said as he released her.
He favored her with a crooked smile. “That’s what my poor, sainted mother used to claim.”
“I need to…I want….” she pushed off the stool.
She cast about, trying to catch the thread that might tell her what her next move should be. A burnt wood sign announced that the restrooms could be located down a barely-lit hall. The front door beckoned. She tried to move, but the soles of her boots were stuck to the floor.
Will stood, cupping a solicitous hand under her elbow to steady her. “What? What do you want?”
Him. She needed him. Though why she would or how she could was beyond her at the moment. She’d walked through that door not an hour before, not knowing there might be a fallen angel on the other side. A man who claimed he liked the way she looked in a pink marshmallow coat and furry hat. He didn’t know the first thing about her beyond her name. And he wanted her. Just her. And, good gravy, she wanted him, too.
“You,” she whispered. “I want you.”
Without giving herself a chance to second-guess herself, she grabbed his hand and pulled him off his stool as she started toward the back of the bar. The hall to the restrooms was narrow and dark, the walls covered in cheap fake paneling and the plastic on the overhead light so yellowed with age it glowed amber.
“Betty.”
He was still working on the second syllable when she turned and fell back against the rough wall. There, she learned her second lesson about Will Tarrant. Once he stated his intentions, he didn’t waste time gearing up for