Stolen Moments Read Online Free PDF Page B

waitress, it looked as if chilling wasn’t going to be an option.
    When she delivered my order she threw me another look filled with pure, raw sex appeal. She turned my cup in its saucer, facing the handle toward me. Her name badge announced that she was called Martine.
    “I’m testing out some new cocktails for the bar. Why don’t you drop by before you leave, and I’ll give you a taste of something good.” She winked. Well, that was direct . I felt the tug of the woman’s invitation from the pit of my stomach to the tip of my clit.
    “Thanks, I’ll do that, Martine.”
    I mustered a nonchalant smile, my fingers ruffling through my short, cherry-dyed crop, and watched as she walked away, her hips skirting obstacles. She knew that I watched. She stretched her legs back as she bent over the tables, the scalloped edge of her black skirt brushing, so tantalizingly, high against the back of her thighs, offering a glimpse of what appeared to be stocking tops. Her body was lush and curvy, her mouth a ruby pout. She cast sidelong glances back to me, her finger flicking quickly against the corners of her bow tie before smoothing slowly over her fitted waistcoat.
    I barely touched the sandwich; my appetite had been redirected toward the waitress. I had never been approached by a woman as forthright and blatant as her before—or as glamorous. It was one of those rare encounters when fizzing chemistry instantly anchors two people together. The situation made me very hot, but could I act on it? I was supposed to be in work mode. What the hell. Of course I could act on it!
    Martine smiled and her eyes flashed a welcome from under heavy eyelashes when I climbed onto the bar stool in front of her. She was a total sex bomb, with thickly fringed, dark brown eyes and blue-black hair clipped up at the back of the head. The occasional glossy coil escaped to hang tantalizingly over her eyes, giving her subtle cover as she glanced around. There were signs of an alternative edge beneath her smart uniform. She had an electric blue streak in her hair; both her ears were fully studded, and there was evidence of a nose piercing. I liked that. I also had a streak of die-hard glam-punk that refused to conform, despite my career. Through the thin white sleeves of her shirt, I could make out her tattoos flexing as she went about her business behind the bar, rapidly shaking a cocktail mixer in such a physical way that her figure was shown off to perfection. I imagined what it would feel like to be pressed hard against her, to rub against her naked breasts and touch her between those strong thighs. Maybe we would exchange contact details. Maybe we could meet, later on. My sex was heavy with the idea of it, the sensitive flesh crushed inside my G-string plump and swollen.
    Martine set up a tall glass in front of me, gave the cocktail mixer a final dramatic shake, and poured me out a long, tall drink over crackling ice, popping in a smart black swizzle stick. She rested two provocatively speared cherries on the edge of the glass at the last moment, then pushed it over.
    “A new recipe, please have some…and tell me what you think. Compliments of the bar.” She gave me another wink. Her accent was heavy, either French or Italian.
    I sipped the vibrant red-orange drink, looking at the waitress over the two plump cherries. Martine watched, her lips slightly open, a devilish look in her eyes. The cocktail hit the back of my throat; it was ice-cold and zappy, exhilarating, instantly making me wow. I could taste cranberry juice and other fruits, grenadine, vodka, and something else, a mystery ingredient I could not identify.
    “Mmm…what is it?”
    “It is Martine’s version of Sex On The Beach,” she replied, putting one hand on her hip and the other elbow on the bar, resting her chin on her hand as she looked directly into my eyes. “Shall we call it…Sex In My Bedroom?”
    She is definitely coming on to me. I felt a rush of heat traversing my