Her brow shot up. “Are you judging me, Mr. I-Watch-So-Many-Lifetime-Movies-I-Can-Spot-a-Fake-Plot? Seems like I should be judging you.”
Turning to face her, he shook his head. Damn she was prickly, and for some bizarre reason he liked it. “Judge me all you want, but I’m not judging you. I’m just trying to figure out what to make you.”
Her face froze and her irritation faded. “Oh.”
He laughed, then spotted some lemons on the counter. “How about a lemon drop martini? I’m limited on a few key ingredients, so it won’t be my best, but I guarantee it will be better than Lurch’s punch.”
An appreciative look filled her eyes. “Okay, then. Wow me.”
He laughed again, and damn it felt good. His life had been serious for far too long, but Maisie brought out a playful side of him that had been buried forever. Tonight he wanted to pretend that he didn’t have a narcissistic mother and a seventeen-year-old sister who felt like the world was caving in on her. He was going to pretend he wasn’t creeping up on thirty without much of an idea of what the hell he was doing. Tonight, he was just a man who was captivated by a beautiful woman.
After slicing the lemon, he pulled the bottles of vodka and triple sec out of the cabinet. He rooted around the kitchen and found a mason jar and lid, plus a bottle of agave nectar since he didn’t have any simple syrup. He added the ingredients to the jar and shook it up with some ice, while Maisie watched him with an amused grin.
“Were you like those bartenders in Coyote Ugly who took their shirts off?”
“Sorry to disappoint. That would violate many health code standards.”
“So you’re a rule follower,” she said, studying him more intently.
“Why do you feel the need to label me?” he asked, searching for an appropriate glass to pour the drink into and only finding a wine glass.
But Maisie must have realized his dilemma because she snatched the mason jar from his hand and took the lid off.
“You’re supposed to pour it into another glass.”
She looked up at him with a smug expression. “See? Rule follower.”
Then she took a sip.
Was it wrong that he watched her lips as they cradled the rim of the jar? Or that his gaze drifted to her bare neck as she swallowed? Shit. That should not be turning him on, yet here he was, shifting uncomfortably and grateful his boxer briefs had shrunk in the dryer, binding him more tightly than usual.
“I don’t follow all the rules,” he found himself saying in a husky voice.
She lowered the jar and stared up at him. “Oh, yeah? Prove it.”
Jesus. What was she doing to him? Was she insinuating what he hoped she was? He took a step toward her, closing the distance between them and wrapping an arm around her back. When she didn’t protest or knee him in the balls, he slowly pulled her flush against him.
“Was this what you had in mind?” he dared to ask.
Her emerald eyes were staring up at him, hooded with lust. “Not exactly.”
He started to let go of her, because while every signal she was sending him said yes, not exactly constituted a no in his book.
“Don’t you dare let go of me,” she said, grabbing a fistful of his shirt to hold him in place. “When I asked you to break some rules, I figured you’d just run with scissors or hang the toilet paper upside down.”
Despite himself, he laughed, because even though that had to be the least sexy thing she could have possibly said, it was so her. “Do you think I’m so uptight that I’d get all twisted over how to hang toilet paper?” Then he added, “And it’s over, not under.”
Her eyes lit up with mischief, and she reached up on her tiptoes, pressing her lips to his.
It was a tentative kiss, a questioning kiss. Was this what he wanted?
Yes. This was definitely what he wanted.
His arm tightened around her, and he deepened the kiss with a hunger he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt for a woman before. He’d blame it on alcohol, but he hadn’t had a drink all night.
Voices filtered into his brain and he lifted his head, knowing he should step away from her in case anyone walked in on them, but he wasn’t ready to let go of her yet.
“Wow,” she said softly. “Did they teach you how to kiss like that in bartending school?”
A slow smile spread across his face as his stomach twisted. “I didn’t go to bartending school. On-the-job training.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t say.”
Then she took a step back, her drink still in her hand. His eyes tracked her lips as she took another sip.
He was either going to have to go to the bathroom and deal with his down-south situation or take her home, because just being next to her was sending his hormones into overdrive, and right or wrong, he wasn’t ready to walk away.
“Well?” he asked. “Is it better than Lurch’s punch?”
Her eyes lit up. “I thought you didn’t care if I judged you.”
“I don’t, but you have to admit, it would have to be pretty bad to fall below Lurch’s standards.”
She laughed. “It’s better than what I get at Prohibition.” He’d been in town long enough to know that was a Roaring Twenties-style cocktail bar. A popular one. Then she added, “But don’t let it go to your head.”
He put the bottles back in the cabinet, then motioned to the back door. More people had filtered into the yard, and miracle of miracles, the goats were still contained. He’d left Diego in the bedroom, and he suspected Dottie was going to come back to a situation. Still, he’d done as he was told. “I feel like I need to make an appearance out there. Would you mind being my bodyguard?”
She gave him a puzzled look. Then understanding filled her eyes. “Because they’re staffers and you’re Buchanan management?”
He shrugged, not wanting to explain. There was a fine line between getting along with your employees and earning their respect, between being their friend and letting them take advantage of you. He wanted the Buchanan employees to respect him, but he also wanted them to feel comfortable coming to him if they had a problem. Which involved out-of-the-office interaction from time to time. He hadn’t wanted to come tonight, especially since he was literally picking his sister up at the airport tomorrow, after which his life would be devoted to getting her settled in. To making up for all of the things their mother had failed to be. But now…
Thank God he’d come.
“As for a bodyguard,” she said, “it seems like I need you more than you need me. Goose whisperer.”
He grinned. “I was thinking about the goat lady. I need you to be my harridan.”
A saucy grin lit up her face. “Oh, I can do that with one hand tied behind my back.”
An image of Maisie with his silk tie around her wrist sent his blood pooling south at a rapid rate, and he started to conjugate Spanish verbs in his head, a trick he’d learned in high school. It usually served him well, but for some reason it wasn’t working.
Maisie walked out the back door, leaving him to follow.
And he did, like before, only the pull was stronger this time.
At least he had the sense not to reach out and hold her hand or wrap an arm around her back like he was sorely tempted to do. Instead, he kept a small distance between them.