Her grin widened. “Yes. It appears you are older than twenty-one.”
“Phew. Now I can sleep tonight knowing you believe me.”
She tried to contain a giggle with a hand over her mouth.
I stopped and she almost ran into me. “And you?” I countered, leaning inches from her lips.
She handed me my wallet and stepped back. “How old do you think I am?” she teased.
I took my time. I knew we should hurry off the street. I knew I was being stupid. But I didn’t want to rush this moment. I was enjoying it too much. “I don’t know. Come here.”
She easily followed my lead.
I dragged her under the streetlight and let my eyes sweep over her. I didn’t have to, though. I’d already memorized her features. She had a small nose, heart-shaped lips, smooth porcelain skin with a smattering of freckles on her nose, hair the color of cinnamon, and a body that would make any hot-blooded male look twice. I scratched my chin. “Hmmm . . . I’m not sure. My age. Maybe a year or two younger.”
She threw her head back. “Just a few minutes ago you thought I was old and married.”
Practically mesmerized, I watched her carefree style. She wasn’t like most women. Or most of the women I came in contract with—the ones from the New York City upper echelon who prided themselves on packed social calendars and their looks. She seemed tough. Able to take care of herself. She seemed to be a fighter, like me. “First of all, I only thought you were married. You’re the one putting the word old with married,” I playfully countered.
She pulled her lip between her teeth in contemplation. “You might be right,” she conceded.
Our eyes locked and I had to lick my lips as she chewed on hers again.
“What did you say?”
She rolled her eyes.
My grin couldn’t be erased even if I tried.
“I turned thirty last December,” she blurted out.
“An older woman.” I winked.
She started walking.
When I took my place beside her, she glanced over at me and nonchalantly joked, “Just call me Mrs. Robinson.”
My cock twitched at the thought of her seducing me—the game of a young college boy and an older experienced woman definitely had my attention. And although I’d already let my intentions for the evening be known, hers weren’t clear and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to make sure she was on board with the fact that we were going to fuck. So I raised a brow and told her, “I’d love to.”
Headlights lit up the alleyway and a car started to slow. My guard instantly went back up. My body tensed and my stance changed. The car passed and someone got out. My eyes focused, my hands ready for action, I watched as an older Chinese woman pounded on the back door of a nail salon. False alarm. Still, the moment between us was broken. Awareness took over where I had allowed playfulness to wrongly occupy my mind.
With my hands shoved in my pockets, I put my head down.
What was I doing?
Once the car passed, I looked at her. She hadn’t noticed the car or my reaction. She was still lost in our Mrs. Robinson conversation and her response caught me off guard.
She was blushing.
I hadn’t been expecting that.
And right then, I knew I was in trouble.
ELLE
I glanced up at the sign above the restaurant—The Hornet’s Nest.
How appropriate. I shouldn’t have agreed to have dinner with Logan. After all, he was the son of the man Michael had just told me to stay away from.
Yet I couldn’t fight the sexual tension between Logan and me. I’d never felt anything like it. And I wanted to give in.
But I knew better. Life had taught me that lesson long ago.
Don’t get too close or you will get burned.
The restaurant was tucked away down an alley just around the corner from Molly’s. It was out of the way and off the beaten path. I was thankful. There would be little chance of running into anyone who knew Michael. I hadn’t decided what I’d tell him, if anything.
Logan pulled open the door and as I walked past him, I could feel my cheeks still blazing. I had no idea what my schoolgirl reaction was all about, but it had to come to an immediate end. I intended to put my mind to it. But that wasn’t what happened. Instead, I stumbled to a stop when his hand grazed my back.
Thank God he was reading a list of tonight’s specials and hadn’t noticed. With nonchalance, he stood beside me. Luckily, I quickly regained my composure as I observed the restaurant. Polished wood paneling and brass fixtures made the place appear slightly less bar-like. Whereas Molly’s pub side looked like a hole-in-the-wall brewery, this place looked like an authentic American-style Irish pub.
“Shall we?” Logan motioned toward a booth in the back corner. He stripped off his jacket as I slipped out of my raincoat, and he tossed them both on the red leather bench. My gaze lingered over him and my pulse raced as we sat across from each other. The leather seat might have been worn, but I melted into it without a problem.
My nerves had my palms seeking the cool, smooth surface of the table separating us. My focus flicked away from Logan and landed on the menus that sat against the wall. Logan’s gaze followed mine and he handed me one before I could reach for it. “It’s nothing fancy but they have the best burgers around, if you like burgers.”
I opened my menu. “Cheeseburgers happen to be one of my favorite foods.”
He looked pleased.
Just as I started perusing the menu, the waitress approached. “What can I get you to drink?”
Still feeling the effects of the shot, I decided against alcohol. “A Coke, please.”
“The same,” Logan said. “And I think we’ll both have the special cheeseburger and fry basket.”
The waitress looked at me. “How’d you like your meat cooked?”
“Medium.”
She looked at Logan. “The same,” he answered.
She walked away and I glanced at him. “You’re at an Irish pub and you don’t order beer with your burger?”
Amused, his chin was down but his eyes lifted to mine. “No.”
“Isn’t that part of the whole Irish experience?”
“You know, I never thought of it that way, but I guess a Guinness does typically accompany a burger in a joint like this.”
I dropped the subject. He didn’t drink. It was obvious—he hadn’t touched that second shot of Jameson’s at Molly’s. And I had a feeling there was more to it than he wanted to let on.
My thoughts started to wander.
He was a lot like Charlie.
Practical in his thinking.
Short and to the point.
Serious but also funny.
Charming.
However, there was that one difference: looking at him made me breathless. This strange sexual chemistry that existed between us hadn’t been there with Charlie and me.
Aside from Michael’s warning, Logan was just what I needed to help cure the restlessness I had been feeling lately.
Yes, I was in trouble.
“Here you go.” The waitress delivered our Cokes and I picked up my straw to help disguise the yearning I thought must be obvious.
“So tell me about yourself, Mrs. Robinson,” he asked. Logan knew what he was doing. How to set the tone and make the moment intimate.
I opened my straw and playfully blew my wrapper at him. “That’s enough of the Mrs. Robinson business.”
The comfort level between us was as high as the sexual tension. I’d never sat like this with a man I was attracted to and felt so at ease. Not even with Charlie. I almost felt like I was sixteen and out on my first date. Nervous in a way, but excited.
Growing up, I hadn’t been allowed to date, not that I ever would have wanted to anyway. No, my childhood memories wiped any dreams of knights in shining armor and Prince Charmings right off the table. I always looked at it like this—you either became someone like your parents or stayed as far away from being anything like them as you could. My sister became the former. I became the latter.