He shook his head. “Why?” He kept his eyes fixed on hers so they didn’t drift down to her neckline and all that skin.
“Well, the most obvious reason is you’re their favorite bartender. But apparently you have a reputation for listening to everyone’s troubles and keeping them to yourself. Your female customers are especially appreciative of your ability to keep a secret. I wonder why?” She sent him a sly wink.
“Oh,” came his witty response. While part of her statement gave him a warm flicker of pride, the other part made him squirm under her amused scrutiny. Or maybe the shots of whiskey sloshing in his empty stomach explained his sudden discomfort.
“I can’t blame them. You do shake a mean martini, barkeep. And the way you toss those liquor bottles. Phew!” She faked a forehead swipe.
For a breath-stealing moment, their eyes locked, and he couldn’t break it.
What is really going through that beautiful head of yours?
She cast her gaze down and pushed away from the credenza in an uncharacteristically jerky way, so different from her usual feline grace. A spray of greenery stuck to the hem of her skirt, and she plucked it off and held it in her open palm. “Oops, I hope I didn’t crush this. What is it?”
He ate up the distance between them, leaving mere inches of space, and lifted the vegetation from her hand. “Mistletoe. I really need to organize that credenza.”
Her pale blue eyes darkened as she scanned his face. “Mistletoe?” The word rolled out of her mouth in a breathless rush. Was it possible she was as hot and bothered as he was?
“It’s left over from Christmas last year. We had it hanging everywhere,” he stammered. “Dixie thought we could save it and reuse it this year, but it’s looking a little ragged.” He held it over his head to see if it would crumble.
“Barkeep, are you trying to get yourself kissed? If so, it’s the wrong time of year.”
He yanked his gaze back to hers. “I thought any time of year was the right time,” his mouth said for him.
A kiss wasn’t what he’d been going for … or was it? Hailey had been dancing in his line of sight and his mind’s eye, dousing him with hits of dopamine for most of the day, and the Jameson had dissolved his restraints into a mellow amber puddle.
He wanted her. Despite knowing he shouldn’t, despite the sirens blaring in his head. It wasn’t only his libido talking, though. Something else was at work, an undercurrent that was as powerful as it was vague and elusive.
For an electrified instant, he swam in the depths of those crystalline eyes, recording every fleck, every nuance of their shading, while a debate escalated in his head. He shouldn’t do this. It was a bad idea. The reason why was a little fuzzy, though, and the alarms faded to a dull noise.
She probably thought he had lost it as he stood there, holding the damn mistletoe in the air while he stared down at her. But if she did, she didn’t show it. Instead, she tilted her chin up and glanced at the desiccated plant, murmuring, “So are you just going to hold it there all night?”
Again, his mouth took over for his short-circuited brain. “Until I can invent a different reason why you should let me kiss you, then, yeah, I probably am.”
Her eyes flared and lowered to his mouth before slowly leveling with his again. “Who says you have to invent anything?”
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