LITMIR.BIZ

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overdose, her paternal grandparents had decided her mother was unfit to raise their granddaughter. They’d sued her mother for custody of her and won—taking eleven-year-old Fiona away from her five-year-old brother.

      Fiona wanted to be there for Matthew again. But he wouldn’t let her. Maybe he resented that she’d left him. That hadn’t been her choice, though. The judge hadn’t listened to what she’d wanted. And now Matthew wouldn’t listen to her, either. He only listened to Wyatt Andrews.

      “Well, I’ll let you get back to your meeting with him,” Howard said.

      She opened her mouth to correct his misassumption that she was with Matthew. Would he be jealous over her meeting another man in a bar, though—even if it was just to talk about her brother?

      But before she could say more, he continued, “I’ll see you next Friday.”

      “Why not before?” she asked.

      Wyatt hadn’t been talking to her when he’d been teasing about being edgy and tense. But he could have been.

      She just hadn’t been aware that she was...until she’d seen him, lifting weights—his naked arms and chest straining, muscles rippling, skin glistening with sweat. Her mouth dry again, she wondered where the drink was that she’d ordered when she’d walked in. And then it suddenly appeared on the table in front of her. She grabbed the glass and took a quick sip.

      And gasped as the fiery liquid burned her throat. This wasn’t the club soda she’d requested. It tasted more like gin than tonic water.

      Howard was talking—something about busy schedules or sticking to schedules. She barely heard him as she looked up to tell the waitress that the bartender had gotten her drink wrong. Since she hadn’t seen a waitress when she’d walked in, she’d given her order directly to him. But it wasn’t a waitress who stood beside the booth.

      It wasn’t Wyatt, either. This man was nearly as tall and muscular, though. But while Wyatt’s hair was dark and too long, this man’s was light and clipped short. His eyes were light, too, a pale green. Was he a waiter? A different bartender from the one she’d spoken to?

      “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

      Howard thought she was talking to him. “You’ve already apologized,” he said. “I understand you need to talk to your brother. We’ll see each other next week.”

      “Yes,” she said. “Goodbye...”

      Howard had already clicked off the phone. She did the same and dropped her cell back into her purse.

      “I’m sorry,” she said again to the man leaning over her booth—over her. She raised her voice so that he would hear her. “But this isn’t the drink I ordered.”

      “I know,” he said as he slid into the booth to sit across from her. “I ordered this drink for you.” He held a frosted mug of beer, which he clinked against the glass she hadn’t realized she was still holding. “Cheers to the most beautiful woman in the place.”

      She glanced around and discovered that the only other woman had left. And despite herself, she laughed.

      He sucked in a breath. “Beautiful doesn’t even do you justice.”

      Oh, God, she’d inadvertently encouraged him. She pushed the drink toward him. “No, thank you,” she told him. For the drink and the compliment. “I’m waiting for someone.”

      “He’s too late.”

      She wondered what was keeping Wyatt, and that damn image flashed through her mind again—of him standing naked in the shower, water sluicing over his skin and muscles...

      Despite the sudden dryness in her throat, she didn’t reach for the glass again. The last thing she needed was alcohol. Her judgment was already impaired, or she wouldn’t keep thinking of Wyatt Andrews...naked.

      “He’ll be here soon,” she said. But she really had no idea. Maybe this was a joke—sending the woman he apparently considered frigid into a bar full of men.

      The guy sighed. “What a waste...” he remarked. “A woman like you waiting for an idiot like him.”

      “You don’t know who I’m waiting for,” she said. She considered Wyatt Andrews a lot of things: arrogant, reckless, insufferable. But he was no idiot.

      “He’s a fool for making a woman like you wait,” he said. “I would never do that to you.”

      She was tempted to laugh again. But she’d already encouraged this man too much. So she assumed the icy demeanor she used to dissuade men like him—the same demeanor she’d previously used with Wyatt Andrews. No wonder he’d thought she was frigid. Hopefully this man would, too.

      “You can keep your drink,” she said, pushing it closer to him. “And your opinion.”

      He laughed now and held up his hands. “To inspire so much loyalty in you, this must be some amazing guy you’re meeting.”

      “I am,” a deep voice said—too close to her ear—as Wyatt Andrews slid into the booth to sit next to her. His hard body, smelling shower fresh, pressed against her side. Shoulder against shoulder, hip and thigh against hip and thigh.

      Heat flashed through her. She was definitely not frigid. “There you are,” she murmured.

      Instead of taking the hint and leaving, the other man tipped back his head and laughed. “Wyatt. I should have known it was you she was waiting for.”

      “Why?” The question slipped out without her realizing it. But she wanted to know.

      The blond guy readily replied, “Who else would have staked a claim on the most beautiful woman in the bar?”

      “I’m the only woman,” she reminded him. “And Wyatt has no claim on me.”

      “Well, if that’s the case...” He pushed her drink across the narrow table.

      She’d inadvertently encouraged him again. Maybe that was why she didn’t protest when Wyatt slid his arm around her shoulders and tugged her closer—as if it were possible for them to get any closer.

      No space separated their bodies.

      She could feel his heart beating against the side of her breast. It was beating fast and hard. Unfortunately so was hers.

      “Get lost, Cody,” he told the other man. “I apparently have to stake my claim.”

      She turned her face toward him, to protest his arrogance. But her lips barely opened before his mouth covered hers. Like his body, it was hot and sexy. He took advantage of her parted lips to deepen the kiss, flicking his tongue inside her mouth.

      Heat rushed through her. It wasn’t anger. Or even embarrassment. It was desire.

      Did he feel it, too? He slid his lips across hers, back and forth, and dipped his tongue inside once more, stroking over hers. Teasing her.

      God, he was teasing her.

      She realized it when he pulled back, and his blue eyes glittered as he stared at her. She was the idiot—not Wyatt. She glanced across the table to the man who’d called him that. But the blond guy was gone.

      They were alone. And still much too close together.

      “Are you going to slap me again?” he asked, almost hopefully.

      So she lifted her hand to his face.

      * * *

      WYATT WAITED FOR the sting of her palm connecting with his skin. He needed a hard slap to snap him out of it—out of his gut-clenching desire for her. His body was hard and aching.

      But instead, her fingertips glided along his jaw. “You’d like that too much,” she said. “I did figure you for that S&M stuff.”

      “Not me,” he protested. “I’m into pleasure—not pain.”

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