The Guy Next Door (22 page)

“I absolutely will. I’ll call you as soon as I know the results.”

“Well…take a few minutes to regain your strength first. Or a few hours.”

Cairo winked before heading back to the table to pass out more White Orchid magnets and pinup-girl pens. Things had quieted down, but a few men in business suits still hovered nearby. Cairo was adorable with her black pixie cut and sexy ’50s outfits. Her little red wrap dress managed to look innocent even as it showed off her fantastic rack and quite a bit of thigh.

The men looked either self-consciously amused when accepting one of the magnets, or they approached Cairo with a lascivious smile. Either way, Cairo could handle them. But Beth was more interested in the women. Women made up ninety-five percent of their clientele, just as Annabelle Mendez had planned when she’d opened The White Orchid fifteen years earlier.

Now Annabelle was off on a “soul-cleansing world tour,” and Beth was in charge of everything. Payroll, taxes, purchasing, human resources. Everything. And it felt good. She loved her job. She loved her employees. She loved that she spent her days helping women get closer to their sexual dreams. Too bad Beth couldn’t seem to get a handle on her own fantasies.

She glanced toward the guy in the polo shirt one more time and caught him looking again. Sparks zinged through her belly, and she smoothed a hand down the front of her fitted blouse.

God, he was cute. Square, clean-shaven jaw. Dark brown hair cut boardroom short. When he’d picked up that box, his biceps had flexed, stretching the arm-band of his shirt as if he were in one of those exercise-machine commercials.

He was Beth’s preppy fetish come to life. She didn’t even want to look at his ass in those khakis. It would drive her mad.

“Focus,” she scolded herself. She wasn’t here to drool after grown-up frat boys. She was here to make connections with other female-oriented business owners.

“I’m going to take a look at those two jewelry designers I scoped out earlier,” Beth said. “When I get back, you can take your lunch.”

Beth grabbed her phone so she could take notes and pictures then slipped out of the booth. She knew she’d have to walk past him, but she tried not to think about it. Still, she couldn’t stop her hips from swinging a little more fiercely as she approached. She knew the moment his eyes found her. She felt his stare like a stream of light sneaking through pine trees. As she drew even with his booth, her skin warmed.

Part of embracing your sexuality was loving your body, and Beth wasn’t modest about her ass. It was her best feature. She loved the shape of it, and this skirt loved it, too.

So she didn’t bother lying to herself. She had no doubt he was checking out her ass, and her whole body tingled as she glanced toward the booth. Donovan Brothers
Brewery, the sign read. Air rushed out of her lungs. She knew that place. It was less than a mile away from The White Orchid. She dared a second look toward the table.
Jamie Donovan, proprietor,
read the little cardboard stand on the table.

When she let her eyes rise to him, their gazes met, and she felt her cheeks turn hot as she looked away. He was watching her as she moved on, she knew it, and she could barely hear the echoing noise of the place as she continued down the row of booths.

Jamie Donovan. The name turned through her brain for a moment. She’d heard of him, hadn’t she? He was…a bartender. Of course. A notoriously flirtatious bartender who sometimes wore a kilt. Even the girls in the shop had mentioned him on occasion, so he must be something special. But maybe those were just rumors. He didn’t strike her as a playful ladies’ man. His face was serious and his eyes were cool, and he was obviously an owner of the brewery.

But if he
was
a ladies’ man…

An idea took form. A ridiculous thought that she immediately dismissed. But the idea was sticky and sweet and it stuck in her head despite her attempts to bat it away.

She could have a fling. With him. She’d be just one fling among his many, after all. She’d mean nothing to him, and he might be worth the risk.

Still, he lived in her town and worked only a few minutes away from her. “Bad idea,” she murmured to herself. If her coworkers found out, she’d never live it down.

Squaring her shoulders, Beth headed toward the first jeweler she’d noticed. But thoughts of Jamie Donovan
persisted. Her brain, which was normally cool and logical, was preforming excuses in anticipation of her arguments.

Yes, Boulder was a small town, but it wasn’t
that
small. They’d never run into each other before, after all. And Jamie Donovan clearly knew how to navigate these treacherous waters. She’d heard him called cute, funny, sexy and adorable. She’d also heard some serious compliments about what he had going on under his kilt. But she’d never heard him called a dog.

A flush took her face as she honestly considered the idea of flirting with him, testing the waters. But that felt dangerous. Anytime it got beyond flirting, Beth was lost. When you worked at an erotic boutique, men expected something more. Something
better
. And there was nothing more or better about Beth the way there was about Cairo or Annabelle or any of the other bold women she worked with.

Beth was just…regular.

But if it was a fling, it wouldn’t matter if he ended up disappointed, not as it did during real dating. There’d be no awkwardness. No breakup. No painful winding down until they “decided to see other people.” It would happen and it would be done.

And maybe, just maybe, it would be the sexual adventure she’d been waiting her whole life for.

But surely that was a lot to pin on one poor preppy bartender. Her smile widened with amusement as she waved at the designer she’d come to hunt down. A little sexual fantasy was good for a woman’s soul. At least Beth knew her soul would be getting some great fortification tonight.

E
RIC WAS STUFFED FROM
the ten courses of so-called small-bite plates he’d been served at the tasting dinner, but he made himself finish the salted caramel torte that had been set in front him. One, because it was only polite, and two, because it was the most delicious damn thing he’d ever tasted. The only thing missing from the meal had been a good lager, but wine had been a nice change. Not that he’d ever admit that to the person who’d invited him.

“Thank you, Andrés,” he said, standing to shake his friend’s hand. “Amazing. But next time, don’t forget the beer.”

“Beer is for peasants,” Andrés replied with a wide smile. Eric might have taken offense if he hadn’t raised so many pints with him.

“I’ll remind you of that next time you stop by the tasting room.”

Andrés handed him a little box wrapped with a gold bow. “A torte for your brother. I know how much he enjoys sweets.”

“Thanks. Stop by the brewery in a week. We’ve got an apricot hefeweizen that’s almost ready.”

“That’s a deal, my friend.”

Andrés moved on to the next table, and Eric took a last look around. He’d already schmoozed with everyone
at the dinner, and he still had a younger brother to yell at, not to mention invoices to review back at his office. So he said his goodbyes and escaped to the quiet of the hallway. He was scrolling through his BlackBerry when he walked around the corner, sparing a glance down the hallway as he did. This part of the hotel was packed with meeting rooms and suites, and the hall was a jumble of corners and alcoves. The hallway jagged to the right about twenty feet ahead, and beyond the corner of the wall, Eric caught a glimpse of one green high-heeled shoe.

The tip of the dark green shoe tapped the floor in a languid rhythm. He watched it closely. His pace slowed.

As he drew closer, Eric saw a delicate ankle, then the curve of a smooth calf. And then he caught sight of the brown skirt.

It was her.

Despite his certainty, he was still surprised when he passed the corner and saw her profile. Her hair was down now, a sexy fall of sable brown that shone beneath the floodlight above her.

She leaned against a glass railing, staring down into the hotel atrium. Her arms rested on the railing, and one knee was bent, the foot still tapping out a secret rhythm against the floor.

Christ, those heels.

She turned her head then, and her gaze met his. For a moment, she looked just as shocked as he felt. Her lips parted. Her brown eyes went wide.

Eric’s focus fell to her red lipstick as she recovered herself and smiled.

“Hi,” she said, her voice just slightly husky at the edges. “You’re Jamie Donovan, right?”

“I—” His fingers twitched as he started to reach out to her. “Actually—”

“I’m Beth,” she continued. “Beth Cantrell.” Her hand slid into his, distracting him from correcting her.

“Nice to meet you, Beth.”

She laughed a little, and his stomach tightened at the sound. “In case you’re wondering if I’m a stalker, I saw the sign on your table. That’s how I know your name. And you’re a little notorious.”

“I am?”

She raised one shoulder in a shrug, and her fingers tightened for just a second before she drew her hand away. “Just a
little,
” she answered, her eyes twinkling.

She thought he was Jamie, which was kind of a surprise. He would’ve expected Jamie to be well-known at a place like The White Orchid. Still, she’d heard about his brother, and her grin was for Jamie, not Eric.

He meant to correct her. He really did. But he hesitated. Eric wouldn’t flirt with a woman who worked at a sex shop. He was responsible, careful and risk-averse. But Jamie? Jamie would do way more than flirt with her.

A door opened behind him, and she darted a nervous glance past his shoulder. He followed her gaze, but the man who stepped out of the room moved on down the hallway.

A peek at her ring finger revealed bare skin. “Are you waiting for someone?”

“Oh, no. I just finished a marketing session. I need
to waste a few minutes before the next presentation. It’s on tax prep. Are you going?”

“No, I was at a dinner.” He gestured down the hallway.

“The Andrés Villanueva dinner? Wow, you are lucky.”

“Are you a fan?”

“Who isn’t?”

Eric rubbed a thumb over the box in his hand, considering. It was meant for Jamie, but Jamie sure as hell didn’t deserve it. If he’d been at the expo as he was supposed to have been, he would’ve had his damn torte. “You’re not one of those women who doesn’t eat, are you?”

“No, I am definitely not one of those women.”

Offering a wolfish smile, Eric held up the box. “Want a little taste?”

Her dark brown eyes went wide. “What is that?” she demanded.

“It’s manna from heaven, also known as salted caramel torte.”

“Shut up,” she gasped.

He gave the box a little wiggle. “Want it?”

“Yes!”

The lustful anticipation on her face shot heat into Eric’s veins. She stared at the box as if it held something naughty. What were the chances that he’d be presenting
her
with a naughty gift?

“Wait here for one second,” he said before rushing back the way he’d come. He snuck into the room and snatched a clean fork and a napkin from a wheeled tray.

Still, he hesitated before stepping back into the hall
way. He could just hand her the box and the fork and be on his way. Or he could watch her eat it.

Yeah, he was totally going to watch her eat it.

When he walked around the corner, she grinned in delight.

Eric held the fork just past her reach. “I noticed a seating area just past the elevators when I was lost earlier. You’ve got a few minutes?”

“I do. And if the dessert is everything you say it is, I might even chance being late to the tax seminar.”

“A risk taker.”

A laugh bubbled from her throat and she pressed a hand to her lips to stifle it. “Not really.”

He found that seriously hard to believe. “No?”

“Well…” Her gaze slid toward him and she gave him a quick once-over as they walked. “Maybe tonight I am.”

At that moment, Eric decided he was fully committed to taking this just as far as Jamie would. He deserved some fun just as much as the next Donovan Brother, didn’t he?

N
ERVOUS EXCITEMENT SHIMMERED
along Beth’s skin as she followed the man around a corner and found herself in a small alcove with a coffee table and four chairs. Despite her anxiety, she took a moment to appreciate the picture he presented. He’d changed into dark slacks and a crisp blue button-down shirt. The pants fit him perfectly, showing off his narrow hips and tight ass. Nice.

She had yet to see his infamous kilt, but she didn’t mind. In fact, she’d much rather ogle his business attire.

He waved her into a chair before taking the one beside it. Then he handed over the prize.

“I should’ve grabbed you a glass of wine, too,” he said as she tugged at the elaborate gold ribbon.

“Oh, no. Wine before a tax seminar? I’d wake up two hours from now, sprawled across a whole row of chairs.”

The ribbon finally sprang free, and Beth made an effort not to tear the cardboard as she yanked it open. Buttery sweetness drifted upward and she sighed. “Oh, man.”

“Taste it,” he urged.

She crossed her legs, aware that a few inches of her thighs were exposed as the skirt snuck up. She didn’t bother easing it back down. Instead, she took the fork he offered and dug in.

“Oh, my God,” she moaned as the first bite of salty sweetness hit her tongue.

“Told you.”

She swallowed, fighting the urge to moan like a woman being pleasured. But she
was
being pleasured. By caramel and buttery crust and sea salt and chocolate.

“Oh, good Lord.”

She might sleep with this man just to reward him for the torte.

His eyes watched her mouth. She licked a crumb from her lip and watched his own lips part in response. For a brief moment, she was
that
woman. The woman she pretended to be for her coworkers and customers alike. The woman who
knew
all, because she’d lived all.

Maybe Jamie Donovan’s gift was making a woman feel like a sensual goddess. She didn’t even mind if this
was his standard act, as long as she could push her way onto the stage.

She cleared her throat and looked down at her plate, still afraid to turn the flirtation into something else. Instead, she concentrated on cutting off a perfect bite of torte and savoring every second of flavor as she chewed.

“So,” he said slowly, “I passed your booth.”

“Oh?” She wished she’d asked for wine now. She’d had a vague hope that he hadn’t checked out her booth. That he’d talked her into dessert without any of the complications that came along with a man’s awareness of her work.

“Your job must be pretty interesting.” He was staying neutral. That was a good sign. People had varied reactions to The White Orchid, but oftentimes men fell into the sly and smarmy camp.

And her job
was
interesting.

Beth let herself smile. “There’s never a dull moment.”

“I bet. How did you end up working there? Or do you own the shop?”

“No. I interned there almost ten years ago, working for the owner, Annabelle Mendez. Somehow I never left.”

He coughed, choking on incredulity, it seemed. “You interned there? Like, as a
kid?
”

“As a
college
student. I was all grown up and legal, I promise.”

“But…what did you major in?”

“At first, anthropology, but I just happened upon a class in Cultural Sexuality, and it was fascinating. Then I took a higher-level course in Women’s Sexuality Through Western History, and…”

“And
what?
”

“And…suddenly, I found myself transferring to women’s studies with a minor in anthropology. I interned at The White Orchid as part of a course, and…here I am. It’s my passion.”

His eyebrows rose. “I had no idea that kind of passion could be so…scholarly.”

“Oh, yeah? How did you think I fell into this?”

“I don’t…” An honest-to-goodness blush crept over his cheeks.

Beth couldn’t quite believe it. Oh, she saw plenty of blushing customers at the store, but men never blushed because of
her
.

Something like liquid electricity zinged down her spine. Beth studied his face. He had a square jaw and a strong, straight nose. His eyes were smoky blue, almost gray, and his eyebrows were dark slashes above them.

As for his mouth…she could spend hours imagining the feel of those sculpted lips against hers.

“I wasn’t thinking anything,” he finally offered, his smile both chagrined and charming.

He looked as if he would smell good. Like starch and shampoo. She decided to let him off the hook. “I’ll drop it.”

“Okay, great.” Relief chased across his face.

Beth ate her dessert and weighed her options. He was cute. Hot. Sexy. And well-known for flirtation, though he didn’t seem particularly forward. If she was brave enough to indulge her fetish for preppy guys, he might just be the perfect candidate for the job. He wouldn’t want anything more from her than she wanted from him. And how would her friends ever find out?

She took another bite to buy herself some time. His
eyes watched as she raised the fork to her mouth. As soon as she swallowed, she shook her head. “I’m sorry. Have a bite.”

“No way. It’s all yours. I’m just enjoying watching.”

“Oh, yeah?” She couldn’t help but grin. “Interesting.”

His head dropped as he laughed.

Lust spun through her like a vicious flock of butterflies. She wanted this man. She wanted to touch him. Taste him. Feel his skin beneath her hands.

“Jamie—”

“Um, listen. Beth…”

“Yes?”

His lips parted as if he were about to speak, but he shook his head before saying a word. Was he nervous, or was this part of his shtick? If it was, it was totally working for her.

He cleared his throat. “I’d still like to get you a glass of wine. Can I buy you a drink?”

Uh-oh. This was do-or-die time. She’d flirted with him. She was interested in more. But that “more” had nothing to do with being seen in public with him. “You mean at the bar?”

“Actually, there’s a wine bar across the street. It’s a little less hectic.”

Her hands tightened around the box until the ends bowed. “I don’t think I can. I’ve got the seminar. But thank you.” Even as the words left her mouth, she felt a surge of disappointment. In herself.

She stood up so quickly that she swayed on her heels. He stood too and reached out to steady her with a re
spectful hand under her arm. God, he was so cute that it hurt.

“Right,” he said. “The seminar. Afterward then?”

“I…”

His mouth looked serious now. He was waiting for her to say no. She was waiting for it too. But that wasn’t the word that escaped her lips.

“Okay,” she said so softly that he leaned forward.

“Sorry?”

She cleared the fear from her throat. “Okay. I’ll meet you there.”

“I could walk you—”

“No. I’ll be fine. It’s just across the street, right? Next to the bridge?”

“That’s it. So around nine-thirty? Does that work?”

Beth’s muscles were tightening up as her heart began to pound, as if flirting with this man was sending her into fight-or-flight mode. “Sure. Nine-thirty. That sounds great.”

The elevator dinged and a crowd of voices suddenly filled the hallway.

Crap. What if someone saw her here, cozied up in this small space with Jamie Donovan and chocolate? It would look just as sinful as it was. Beth’s heart beat so hard, she wondered if he could hear it. Certainly his smile was slipping. Probably because she was just standing there, staring wide-eyed at him.

“I’ve got to go,” she finally stammered. “I don’t want to be late.”

“Of course—” he started, but she cut him off.

“Thank you for the torte. It was so good.” She thrust
the box into his hands, mourning the last few bites she hadn’t eaten.

“So—”

“I’ll see you in a little while,” she interrupted then whispered, “Nine-thirty,” as she backed away from him.