And I admired her all the more for having the balls to stand up to my in-your-face innuendos to get a rise out of her.
‘So quit the bullshit flirting and let’s talk business.’
I couldn’t resist one more. ‘Dirty business?’
‘Jeez, you’re annoying,’ she muttered under her breath as she stomped away.
Okay, so maybe I’d pushed too far but getting her so wound up had its advantages. Namely giving me an unimpeded view of her ass.
My earlier assessment had been correct. It was sweet. Taut and rounded, highlighted to perfection in the tight black pants worn by staff at the patisserie.
The patisserie...
I’d promised Remy to ensure it ran smoothly in his absence, and I always kept my promises. I might be a prick who didn’t let anyone get too close but Remy was different. He was my blood. And I owed him.
Which meant I needed to play nice with little miss sweet cheeks.
‘Hey, wait up.’ I caught up to her in a few strides. ‘Look, you can blame my idiocy on jet lag, considering I only got in from LA late last night.’
She shot me an exasperated glance that indicated she hadn’t thawed in the slightest.
‘Let’s have that coffee, and I promise to behave.’ I held up my hands to show I had no tricks up my sleeves. ‘What do you say?’
She hesitated, gnawing her bottom lip, and damned if the innocuous action didn’t shoot straight to my cock. Contrary to popular belief, I didn’t screw everything that walked and it had been a few months since I’d been with a woman.
Time to rectify that if the ice princess got me horny with a simple lip-nibble.
‘Come on, Abby, I don’t bite.’ I refrained from adding, ‘only if you ask nicely’, because that wasn’t helping the hard-on situation.
After what seemed like an eternity, she managed a terse nod. ‘Fine.’
But it wasn’t. Because as we strolled the last fifty metres to the café I caught a whiff of her fragrance on the wind. An intoxicating blend of vanilla and coconut, and I wondered if she tasted as good as she smelt.
Shit. Remy would castrate me if I screwed around with his protégé. Not that I wanted to. Taunting was one thing, following through another.
But as another gust of wind blew blond strands of hair into her face and my fingers itched with the urge to brush them away, I knew working alongside Abby would be a long four weeks.
I’d craved a challenge.
Looked like I’d got one.
Abby
I DIDN’T HAVE time for this.
I should head back to Le Miel and make sure Makayla had everything under control.
Instead, I had to play nice with him.
‘This table suit?’ Tanner gestured to the only vacant table for two outside the café. A cosy table.
Swallowing my first retort of ‘hell no’, I nodded. ‘Let’s get this done so I can head back to the patisserie.’
‘Why the hurry to get rid of me?’ He pulled out my chair, a gentlemanly gesture at odds with the raw toughness that radiated off him. ‘I told you I’d behave.’
I managed a tight smile in thanks as I sat, well aware that Tanner’s version of ‘behaving’ and mine would be continents apart.
‘What’ll you have?’ He sat and pushed his shirtsleeves up, revealing heavily inked arms.
I didn’t like tattoos. Couldn’t fathom what drove a person to scar their skin like that. But as Tanner leaned his forearms on the table, I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the sheer artistic beauty that started above his wrists and wound its way up.
Elaborate vines. Stunning roses. Intricate motifs. Symbols I couldn’t decipher from this distance but wanted to get closer to.
I found myself inadvertently leaning forward before realising what I was doing, and when I glanced up Tanner grinned like he knew exactly how fascinating I found him.
‘See anything you like?’
‘No,’ I snapped, sounding uptight and prudish, the situation made worse by the wash of heat flushing my cheeks.
‘They extend a lot further than my arms,’ he said, his voice low and gravelly, the underlying hint of naughtiness making my thighs clench. ‘In case you were wondering.’
‘I don’t like tattoos,’ I said, making a mockery of my supercilious declaration when my gaze strayed to those forearms again.
Strong. Sinuous. Sexy.
Damn.
‘Many people don’t.’ He shrugged, like my opinion meant little. ‘They see tats and think bikers and drug lords. They don’t get the artistic angle at all.’
‘You like art?’
It was the safe thing to say, a conversation starter that would get us off the topic of his tattoos and his body. I hoped.
‘I like ink.’ He leaned back in his chair and interlocked his hands behind his head, a guy comfortable in his own skin.
Which he revealed more of as the hem of his shirt rode up and I got a tantalising glimpse of more ink on his lower belly. I couldn’t make out the design, but it looked suspiciously like a cutlass and a hook.
‘A pirate, seriously?’ The words popped out before I could stop them and while I was horrified I’d articulated my thoughts, he laughed so loud nearby patrons turned to stare.
‘Don’t look so shocked,’ he drawled, filling our glasses from the water bottle between us. ‘I like a good pillage like the next pirate.’
I compressed my lips before I blurted anything else. Like how I’d rather walk the plank than be pillaged by him.
Though that wasn’t entirely true, and after my disastrous marriage, I’d made a promise to myself to never lie again—especially to myself.
In less than thirty minutes, Tanner King had made me feel more alive than I had in years. He riled me. He taunted me. His cocky, laid-back attitude annoyed the crap out of me.
But I liked the buzz making my skin prickle and the weird hollow feeling deep in my belly. Like I was missing something. Like I craved something.
Much to my horror, I had to admit that he turned me on a little. A lot. Whatever.
Bastard.
‘Let me guess.
