And the expression he noticed most was … fear? But that was ridiculous. Why on earth would Mack be afraid of him? After all, looking the way she did right now, all soft and pretty and touchable, she was a hell of a lot scarier than he was.
"What are you doing here?" he asked her, nudging aside the impression of fear—both hers and his. Then, immediately, he answered his own question. "Oh, wait. Don't tell me. Let me guess. You came to see the newest official spokes-icon of the women's movement."
She narrowed her eyes at him curiously. "And who would that be?"
He smiled indulgently. "Nice try," he said. "But you'll never convince me that you didn't come here as a devoted disciple of Her Most Royal Commodity, Lauren Grable-Monroe."
"Oh, her."
"Oh, please. Don't act surprised."
Oddly, though, she didn't seem to be acting. She really did seem to be surprised. Just not by the presence of Lauren Grable-Monroe, that was all. Clearly, her surprise—and something more, he just couldn't quite say what—had been generated by his own presence in the store.
Then again, he reminded himself, it was only natural that she and he, for that matter, might feel a bit awkward, seeing as how the two of them had never met in surroundings other than Drake's. And at the club, their roles were always clearly defined. Plus, they were always separated by the bar—among other things. Adam really had never laid a hand on Mack until a moment ago. Now, suddenly, with all the barriers, both physical and psychological, gone, he realized he wanted to lay more than just his hand on her. He, too, felt a bit surprised. By, of all things, his own uncertainty. He'd never felt uncertain about anything in his life.
Oh, except for Mack, of course.
"Well, it was interesting seeing you, Mr. Darien," she said, stooping to pick up the cup of coffee that had spilled on the floor between them. It had been covered by a snug plastic lid, so the mess was reasonably well contained. Still, there was a small beige puddle spreading rapidly by the time she scooped the cup up. "I'd better find somebody to take care of this," she added. "See you at Drake's."
In other words, Adam translated, Beat it.
"I'll help you," he said.
But instead of stooping alongside her, he lifted a hand to hail one of the bookstore employees. Evidently one of them had seen the collision, because the young man was approaching with a roll of paper towels.
"And I'll buy you another…" Adam gazed down and noted the proliferation of ice cubes and foam mingling with the beige and bit back a gag. How anyone could do something like that to a perfectly good cup of coffee was beyond him. "Another … whatever it was you were drinking," he finally concluded.
Mack stood when the bookstore employee assured her he would take care of the mess, then apologized profusely for the spill, even though Adam had been the one responsible.
"I'm the one who should apologize," he said.
She met his gaze levelly, her green eyes flashing with … something. "Yes, I know, but you didn't apologize, did you?" she asked pointedly.
He narrowed his gaze at her, then turned his attention to the young man on the floor. "Sorry," he said. Without awaiting a reply, he turned to Mack. "I'll buy you another one."
She expelled a soft sound of disbelief and shook her head. "Do you ever defer to anyone?"
This time he was the one to utter a sound of disbelief. "Of course not," he told her. But he offered no further explanation. After all, he figured, none was necessary, was it?
She nodded. "No, of course not," she echoed. "I stand corrected."
Yeah, she stood something, all right, Adam thought, unable to keep his gaze from roving hungrily over every inch of her. He was trying to figure out if this was the first time he'd seen her from the waist down. Surely not. Then again, he was pretty sure he'd remember a below-the-waist like hers.
Her baggy bartender uniform, although very appealing, hadn't prepared him for the trim, surprisingly long legs revealed by her snug blue jeans. Her sweater, unfortunately, was not so snug, but during the collision, the scooped neck had fallen off one shoulder, revealing a strap of white cotton undergarment—not to mention creamy shoulder—beneath. And that more than made up for any lack of shape the sweater suffered. Not that Mack was particularly well endowed, Adam noticed, and not for the first time. But what she did have was quite … fetching.
"I'll buy you another cup of coffee," he said for the third time, irritated that she hadn't yet taken him up on his offer. Or his edict. Whatever.
"That's okay," she said, her voice sounding rushed and anxious. "It's not necessary. I really need to get something to eat anyway."
"All the better," he told her. "I skipped dinner myself. There's a great restaurant a couple of blocks away. We can eat there. My treat."
Again she threw him that incredulous look at the way he tossed around orders, as if he were czar of all he surveyed. Okay, fine. So maybe he was a little … commanding. Adam preferred to think of it as being a good delegator. All right, a good dictator. Details, details. Jeez.
"Um, that's okay," she told him yet again. "You don't have to buy me dinner. Thanks, anyway."
It took a moment for Adam to realize that she was determined to turn him down. And it
