“Whiskey it is.”
His mouth twisted with bleak humor, and her heart did the same as he followed her into the kitchen.
CHAPTER SIX
SHE MIGHT NOT be much of a cook, but he was damned impressed with her bartending skills. Wes leaned a hip against the counter and watched her. Within minutes, she was handing him a crystal tumbler of top-shelf whiskey, complete with a spherical ball of ice.
“Fancy.” He lifted the glass in a wordless toast, and she clinked hers against it before they indulged.
The smooth burn was exactly what he needed.
“Your taste in alcohol has definitely improved over the years.”
“Hey. Señor Taco’s cheap tequila Tuesdays will always hold a special place in my heart,” she countered.
The reference to the night they’d met charged the air, stealing the jaunty smile from her lips. She hadn’t taken off her makeup yet, so they were the same deep red they’d been in the elevator. Except now they’d taste like whiskey and sex, instead of just the latter.
Wes drowned that dangerous thought with another swallow of premium liquor. He should walk it back. Hit the eject button. But as she stood there, in his shirt, her pale thighs dappled with shadows, he said what he was thinking instead. “Mine, too. Señor Taco’s changed my life.”
Their gazes held in the darkness of the kitchen, and for a second, she looked like the fearless, passionate girl he’d known, before she’d smoothed it all out into precise angles and lines.
She opened her mouth, probably to make some excuse and retreat, so Wes kept talking, unwilling to let her disappear quite yet. “Jesse dragged me to that party at his frat house. He wanted me to see this girl he had a crush on.”
She relaxed a little at the promise of gossip, even though this particular secret was in the rearview mirror. “How did I not know that?” Vivienne took a sip of her drink, and he used the moment to admire the graceful line of her throat as she swallowed. “Did he make a move?”
“Nah. She bailed on the party to get tipsy on cheap tequila with some blue-collar lawn jockey before he had the chance.”
Dawning understanding tightened her fingers around her glass. “I never thought... I didn’t know he... Jesse and I were just friends.”
Wes nodded, twisting his wrist so the ice sphere rolled around in his glass. “I figured that out when you left with me. And I wouldn’t have gone into business with him if I didn’t believe he was cool with it. Can’t build a solid company with someone you don’t trust...” He set his drink on the counter. “Or someone you want to beat the shit out of.”
The not-quite confession sharpened her gaze, and for a split second, something flared in her eyes. Like she understood that that night, the night they’d met, he would have dumped Jesse—all his money, all his business connections—in an instant for her. Would have shoveled decorative rocks and schlepped Bermudagrass sod for the rest of his life, if that’s what it took for a shot with her.
Then she blinked and it was gone, like the failed strike of a match.
Considering that, in the end, he’d chosen Soteria Security over her, it was a fair reaction.
“It’s getting late.”
She brought the glass to her mouth. Finished it in one go. The tumbler seemed loud when it met the counter, even though she set it down carefully.
Retreat mode activated. “It was late before you came out here,” he reminded her.
Their eyes met, and lust sizzled along his spine. It was still there. The connection between them that he’d thought was lost. Or at least that’s what he’d been telling himself since the day she’d hopped a plane to Yale. But he couldn’t deny it anymore.
Vivienne shook her head, and it was edged with desperation. “The elevator was a mistake. It shouldn’t have happened. A memory,” she added, her voice trailing off into nothing.
“It was a hell of a memory,” Wes countered.
He stalked closer. One careful step, then another.
Her lips parted on a shaky exhalation, and the answering snap of hunger made his body hum.
In the space of a breath, he’d become the tiger.
“You felt it, too.”
Her tongue darted out, leaving a sheen on her matte-red lips. “And you have evidence to back up that claim, counselor?”
Such a badass, even when she was the antelope. As true now as it had been then.
His eyes dropped to her chest, her nipples hard beads against the soft cotton of his old T-shirt. His hands itched to feel them pressing against his palms.
She glanced down, a frown creasing her forehead. “Don’t flatter yourself. A woman’s nipples aren’t like a pop-up thermometer in a turkey. You can’t gauge a heat level from them.”
There she was. His tigress.
It was his turn to lick his lips. “And what do you know about cooking a turkey, Viv?”
Pride lifted her chin, her color gloriously high with that potent combo of anger and lust that they both excelled at. “I know you can order delicious, apricot-glazed turkey breast from Whole Foods that’s so good, no one cares who cooked it.” He saw her struggle to stop herself, saw the moment she lost her inner war and veered off the high road. “You’d probably love it. You always were a breast man.”
Wes’s grin was all male satisfaction. Sparring with her had always been the best aphrodisiac on the planet. “Still am. Which is how I know that, while that might be true for women in general, your nipples have always been incredibly accurate at predicting your heat level.”
She crossed her arms over her chest to conceal the evidence. “It’s not so tough to read your thermometer either.” She dropped her gaze to his crotch, but the ploy backfired. Because he wasn’t embarrassed. And there was nowhere to hide when all you were wearing was a pair of white boxer briefs. He didn’t miss the way her eyes flared at the result of
