“You see that’s where we differ.” She turned and gave him the once-over, noting his loose-fitting, expensive-looking jeans, long-sleeve white tee, black leather vest and black ascot cap. Damn it if he didn’t smell even better than he looked. “I like the doing more than I like the talking.” She reached for the handle on the door. “And I’m not one to hide out because of a little controversy.”
“Then allow me.” He pushed one hand past hers and opened the door. The other he set at her low back and, applying a gentle pressure, eased her inside.
Just as the song on the jukebox ended. The bar went quiet. All eyes turned on her. Roxie hesitated.
Fig leaned in close, his chest pressed to her back, his palm flat on her belly. “Time to muster up some moxie, Roxie,” he whispered. “Every woman in this bar is wishing she had a body as gorgeous as yours, and every man is wishing he had your long, beautiful legs clamped around his butt.”
Roxie relaxed. Smiled even. “Does that include you?” She allowed herself to be led to the large wooden bar.
“Nah.” He assisted her up onto a stool, even though she didn’t need assistance then slid onto the stool beside her. He looked up, locked a pair of dreamy green eyes with hers and added, “My wish involves them wrapped around my head.”
Hell-o! An excited tingle started—there—and flared out to her periphery. Roxie came dangerously close to grabbing him by the arm and dragging him off to someplace more private. So she could grant a little wish fulfillment. Because with men there was a Polly Pocket–size window of opportunity between “I want to make you feel so good” and “me, me, me.” But, “So that’s why you’re here? Sex?” Making him no better than the rest of her post-pornographic-video fan club. Too busy to bother with an official date, too cheap to shell out some bucks on dinner and a movie, but ready to get naked at the first opportunity. The slug.
“I’m here because Victoria’s worried you’re heading down a dangerous path.”
“Ah. How sweet.” Not. “And she sent her does-what-he’s-asked-to-do lackey to stop me?” Roxie stood. “Well, thanks anyway, but I don’t need a keeper.” She didn’t need anyone.
“I beg to differ.” He caught her by a belt loop on her skirt as she tried to walk away. “Sit down,” he said quietly, but it was an order all the same.
Not likely. “Who do you think …?”
“I can tie a cherry stem in a knot using only my tongue and teeth,” he said, calm as can be. The randomness of his comment caught her off guard. Intrigued, Roxie stopped.
“In eight seconds,” he added with a slow, confident smile.
He was too cocky for his own good. “Triple B,” she called the bartender. “The usual for me. My friend would like something with a cherry in it.”
“I guess that leaves you out,” Raunchy Rob from Radiology called from the other side of the bar. The guy next to him laughed.
“Ha-ha,” Roxie said. Idiot.
Fig stood, looking ready to do some damage. “Apologize to the lady,” he demanded.
“What?” Rob asked. “I was only having some fun. You know I love you, Roxie.” He snickered. “Even more so on my computer screen.” He elbowed the loser next to him. They both chuckled.
Fig took off.
Now it was Roxie holding him by the belt loop in a futile attempt to slow him down. “Don’t.” The man was a plow horse. She was the plow, her sandals absolutely no help in the traction department. “Oh, look,” she tried. “Our drinks. Time to prove your oral dexterity.” Fig kept on going. “For heaven’s sake, apologize, Rob. Or I’ll tell everyone …” about his stubby little pecker. What a miserable night that’d been.
“I’m sorry.” Rob hopped off his stool and backed across the dance floor. “I’m sorry. Hell, Roxie. Call him off.”
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