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The thought of any of them trying to take her home makes me feel rabid. Like some wild animal defending its territory. Which, again—seriously nuts. Women aren’t territory to me. I don’t feel the need to stake claim or plant my flag or whatever. I’m strictly fuck and run.
I shoot them another quick glance over my shoulder, sizing up the competition. These guys are more her speed. Expensive suits and unlimited expense accounts. The kind of guys who come to a place like Gilroy’s because for them, picking up a wide-eyed college co-ed is considered a sport.
I look at her again. “The one on the end—gray pinstripe, red tie,” I say, giving her my quick assessment. I’d seen him in action before. He scores almost as much as I do. “They’re all bark, but he’s the only one with any real bite.”
She does it again, catches her bottom lip between her teeth, this time touching a hand to her throat to toy with the pearls draped around her slim, creamy neck. “He’s not what I’m looking for,” she says, dismissing him without even giving him a second look. A smile plays at the corner of her lush mouth, lifting it in a way that can only be described as sinful. “To be perfectly honest—none of them are.”
The way she’s looking at me feels like someone just hit my cock with a cattle prod. I know what she’s thinking. What she wants but I say it just to make sure. “Yeah?” My gaze falls to her mouth so I can watch her say the words. “What kind of guy are you looking for?”
The tip of her tongue peeks out from behind her teeth, running along her bottom lip for just a moment. I get the brief impression that she’s nervous, like she’s on the verge of bolting but then it’s gone, the hand at her throat moving lower to slip her fingers between silk and skin, running the tip of them along the swell of her breast, giving me a glimpse of expensive black lace.
“A guy like you.”
Before I can answer her, she slides off her stool and gathers her purse, smoothing a slim hand over the generous swell of her hip, settling her skirt in place. “Are you coming?” she says, cocking her head before turning on the stacked heel of her peep-toe Louboutin to weave her way through the usual Thursday night crowd.
Like she knows where she’s going, she heads straight for the short hallway that houses the bathrooms and storeroom that doubles as an office. Just before she breaches the hallway, she shoots me a look over her shoulder, giving me another sexy half smile. I can read her expression from across the bar, as loud as a shout.
What are you waiting for?