old joke had gone beyond annoying. “I know, I know, Samantha on Bewitched, and am I a witch, and if I wiggle my nose can I make you disappear?”
“Nope.”
“No?” She smiled, curious, and frankly unable to keep from smiling back at him. Something about the way he looked at her made her feel strangely happy. Maybe it was just that he seemed interested, but plenty of men had been interested, and she didn’t recall it necessarily involved this kind of…uplift, for lack of a better term.
His eyes were brown, lighter than dark deep endless brown, but full of life, full of male confidence and messages that he knew that she knew and that if they both wanted it to, something could happen.
This could be a really, really outstanding evening.
“I was thinking of another Samantha.”
“Okay, let me guess. The character on Sex and the City who falls into bed with every man she meets.”
He laughed and gestured forward to the seat next to her. “Is this taken?”
Samantha swung her legs back under the bar and shrugged. “Nope.”
He slid off the stool and moved closer. She hadn’t realized how tall he was—well over six feet—nor how imposing. And boy, did he smell good. Male and sophisticated—what was that scent? She hadn’t a clue but she wanted to roll in it like a dog and smell it on her own body later.
He settled himself onto the stool next to her and smiled. “That’s better.”
Close up he was even more magnificent. His hair was thick and slightly wavy, cut short so the muscles in his neck were visible when he bent his head forward. The back of men’s necks and their shoulders, that powerful broad expanse, was a turn-on to her.
“Samantha.”
He said her name as if he was contemplating the taste of it, sliding it around his tongue and mouth before he swallowed it and made it part of him. The sound did shivery schoolgirl things to her insides, so she kept her face rigid, since it was silly at her age to be feeling this light-headed over the sound of her name.
“Samantha was the name of a very, very special…female.” He took a sip of his beer and turned to look full into her eyes, his softening as if the memory was taking him over.
Samantha narrowed hers. Something lurked in the back of those eyes. Something extremely mischievous. A very, very special…female?
She shook her head and turned back to her beer. “Your dog.”
He burst out laughing and slapped his hand on the bar. “Damn, you’re good.”
She bit off the obvious line. A bit too soon to be agreeing, even playfully. She knew where that would lead. And even if she ended up wanting it to lead there, now was too soon to start in with the serious flirting.
He angled his body toward her and leaned one elbow on the bar. “So what do you do, Samantha?”
“I’m a lawyer.”
“Corporate.”
“How did you know?”
He tapped the side of his head. “I’m brilliant.”
She snorted. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
He took a sip of beer, straight out of the bottle— Leinenkugel’s Red, brewed up north in Wisconsin. Drinking out of the bottle was sexy on men. Samantha approved.
“What kind of law?”
“I’m corporate counsel for ManForce temporary agency. I handle discrimination cases mostly, racism, sexism and sexual harassment.”
“Uh-oh.” He held up his hands. “I better watch what I say.”
She lifted her brows acknowledging his statement, but not responding. Never hurt to get that information on the table. Men were usually pretty wary after they found out what she did. Nice little weapon, one she wasn’t afraid to use, not that she got herself in situations like this often. But by the way his eyes warmed at the sight of her, she was starting to be damn glad she’d gotten herself into this one.
“And what do you do for fun, Samantha?”
He spoke softly, suggestively. Samantha started to roll her eyes, but then it occurred to her that if he kept up this kind of macho pickup-line crap, he might qualify as the Swaggering Butthead and then she’d get to see him naked. “Define fun.”
“Nonwork activities.” He winked. “You don’t strike me as the type that sits in bars for excitement.”
“Oh?” For some reason that stung. As if she had Desperate Divorcée written all over her instead of Confident Woman On the Prowl. “What type do I strike you as?”
“Beautiful, classy, elegant.” He looked her over as if he was thinking about having her for dessert. “More at home at the opera, or the symphony or in a five-bedroom split level with hubby and lovely children.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you trying to charm or insult me?”
“I’m trying to be honest. How you take it is up to you.”
Samantha gritted her teeth at the same time she was starting to get seriously excited. Mind games. Just what a true Swaggering Butthead was into. Keep his prey off-balance, subjugated. “I’m not into opera, I go to the symphony maybe twice a year, no kids and…” She gave a nonchalant shrug, though it was still hard to say. “I’m not married.”
“Divorced.”
She shot him a look. Yup. He had her pegged. One deep to-hell-with-you breath and Samantha regained her composure. “It happens.”
“You didn’t think it would?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Of course not.” He tipped the beer back into his mouth and put it down on the bar with an emphatic thud. “If you ask my opinion, which you didn’t, marriage is a fairy tale force-fed to us from birth.”
He paused for her reaction. She gave him none. “It’s unreasonable to expect two people to be able to stand each other’s neuroses for all eternity. But there you have it every day.” He gestured with his hand and let it slap onto the bar. “People standing at the altar, sure that mindless infatuation bound to deteriorate is something special and mystical and everlasting. Am I right?”
“You’re right.”
He looked surprised, as if he’d only been baiting her in his best Swaggering Butthead manner, and was anticipating a surefire reaction of hysterical female outrage. “You agree?”
“No. You’re right, I didn’t ask your opinion.”
He blinked once, then clutched his chest as if she’d shot him. “You got me.”
“Easy target.”
“I guess.” He signaled the bartender,
