much to ask for a night to herself. But she’d been saddled with Charles, the boss’s son, who couldn’t go to the bathroom without consulting her first. If she wanted a promotion and all the trappings that came with it, she had to deal with Charles’s crappy program debugs and shoddy work ethic. She pulled her phone from her pocket and sat it on the table. “Excuse me,” she murmured, reading the message.
“Everything okay?”
“Ever feel like you’re the only one that knows what they’re doing?” she asked, answering the text.
“Every day,” he answered.
She paused midtext and glanced at him. “It’s exhausting, isn’t it?” Was he looking at her hands? Her wrists?
“But necessary—if you want things to get done right,” his voice rumbled.
She ignored the thrill that rumble elicited, hit Send and slid the phone aside. “Exactly.” Maybe they did have something in common...
“Work?” he asked, motioning at her phone with the beer bottle in his hand.
She nodded.
He glanced at his watch. “You keep odd hours?”
“I guess. But my job is time-sensitive, so if I get a text, I answer it.”
“You enjoy that? Being on call?”
She knew he was watching her as she lifted the olive-laden toothpick to her mouth and pulled one off with her teeth. But she didn’t answer until she’d swallowed the olive and taken a sip of her drink. “I enjoy being in charge.” She rested her elbows on the table, fully aware that her sweater slid farther off her shoulder. Fully aware that he was staring at her shoulder. She liked the way his jaw clenched. She liked the way her body tightened, yearning for this man. Her voice was a little husky when she added, “I work hard to keep it that way.”
His gaze slammed into hers, knocking the air from her lungs. He wanted her. From the way he white-knuckled his beer bottle, he wanted her badly. That was very good news.
“What do you do? What are you in charge of?” He took a long swig of beer.
“For work?”
“Isn’t that what we’re talking about?” He cocked an eyebrow, leveling her with a lethal, crooked grin.
“Sure,” she teased. “I’m a systems security analyst.”
His eyebrows rose. She wasn’t sure, but he looked impressed.
“I know. Computers. It sounds super exciting, doesn’t it?” She grinned, leisurely enjoying a second olive.
He shifted in his chair, setting his beer on the table a little harder than necessary.
She bit back a smile. “And you?”
“I’m a cop.” He sighed. “A detective.”
It took everything she had not to say something about handcuffs. She really wanted to. “Really?” She should not be thinking about Patton and his handcuffs. Oh hell, there was no way she could stop thinking about Patton and handcuffs.
His eyes narrowed, the muscle in his cheek jumping. “You’re pretty easy to read.”
Cady’s cheeks were on fire but she met his gaze. “Then I guess we don’t need to worry about foreplay.”
* * *
HE KNEW AN invitation when he heard one. His body accepted. But he’d be damned if he let his dick make his mind up for him tonight. He tore his gaze from hers, on the verge of exploding. His one-night-stand days were over; he’d outgrown the thrill of the hunt years ago. But if he did, she would be impossible to resist.
Focusing on something else—anything else—was impossible. She was the sexiest thing he’d ever laid eyes on. Petite, feminine and a whole lot of fire. Sleek auburn hair, cut short along her jawline, interrupted by a bold stripe of blond. He didn’t like short hair on a woman, but he couldn’t deny there was something very appealing about Cady’s slender neck. Every damn time she tucked the blond strand of hair behind her ear, he imagined sucking on her ear lobe. And her shoulder... His hand itched to slip inside the neck of her low-hanging sweater. He wanted the weight of her breast in his hand. He wanted to touch her, to taste her.
What the hell was wrong with him? After working three days straight, he’d wanted to go home, walk the dog, watch some sports, nuke his dinner and sleep for a good ten hours.
His family was worried about him, he knew that. They all wanted him to get out and live a little—let go of what happened. This blind date was his brother Zach’s idea. A date that wasn’t supposed to happen, but he’d forgotten to cancel. Now, Patton couldn’t decide whether he wanted to thank his brother, or knock his lights out. There was no way Zach could know how Cady would affect him, but still... Looking at Cady, tonight he really did want to “live a little.”
Her fingernails were dark blue, a stark contrast to her pale skin. He watched her small, agile fingers stir the olive-skewered toothpick in her drink. If she used her little pink tongue on one more damn olive, he was going to break something. Her huge brown eyes fixed on her drink. And her mouth... He took another long pull of his beer. Her lips were full and red and meant for tasting.
“See anything you like?” She looked at him, peeking up at him through long lashes.
Her words were soft, not nearly as cocky as she meant them to be. But he liked the softness, the hint of uncertainty. It was the hesitancy that made him answer honestly, “Yes.”
She blinked, those full red lips parting.
“I have your salads.” Their salads were placed on the table. “Pepper?”
Patton shook his head. Their pretty-boy waiter and his pepper grinder needed to back the hell away from the table.
“No, thank you,” Cady added, her eyes never wavering from his.
“Another round?” the waiter asked, disappearing at their nod.
“What am I thinking?” Cady asked Patton, her hands loosely resting on either side of her drink.
He shook his head. He didn’t miss the shudder that ran along that bare shoulder or the way her breathing had picked up. The slight flush creeping along her skin told him everything—she was just as worked up as he was.
“Don’t know or won’t say?”
“Maybe I’ll show you later,” he murmured, fascinated by the way her eyes closed briefly and she bit her lower lip.
Her brown eyes were molten, exploring his face. “I’m not that hungry—”
“You will be,” he argued.
She picked up her toothpick, the olive heading for her mouth. A bolt of hunger tightened his already rock-hard erection. His hand encircled her wrist, stopping her. He couldn’t be held responsible for his actions if she ate that damn olive.
“Not a fan of olives?” she asked.
“Not
