Page 35 of Savage Suit

Sofucking over it, I refused to address any of his comments from these past minutes. But he was still my kid brother, so I turned to him. “Do you want anything from the bar?”

“A Bohemia beer.” He placed two twenties on the table. “For both our drinks and the tip.”

Nodding, I grabbed the money to buy our beers, my head still spinning from my little brother’s revelations.

Chapter Eight

The moment I reached the bar, I saw her sitting on a stool like an angel dropped from heaven.

The bright blue of the backless halter she wore enhanced her gorgeous complexion. She had a smooth back that made me long to run my lips along the warmth of her skin. As when I met her, her impossibly curly hair, as black as the midnight sky, was piled on top of her head. Admiring the tiny waist that her skimpy top revealed, I stared at her plump ass. It had mesmerized me as she’d stormed out of my office.

Her profile was beautiful, unique, and stunning. She was picture-perfect sitting at the bar, unaware of my presence as I stood at an angle where she wouldn’t see me unless she turned.

She’d plagued my thoughts for days. Once I entered the bar, I’d successfully pushed her out of my mind. Yet, here she was, in the flesh, to torment me again. As I stared at her, I searched for why she had me so fucking captivated. I’d thought it was her fearlessness. She had yet to notice me, but her nearness aroused me and made my heart race like a rediscovered ex-girlfriend I hadn’t overcome.

Perhaps I’d finally gone fucking insane. Fuck greeting her. Swallowing, I stepped back to walk away, chiding my ridiculous pull to her and cursing my regret at the dirty game I’d played when she’d come for her interview.

She came from a family with five kids and was the middle child, with two of her siblings older than her and two of them younger. Her mother had been killed, her father died when Ryan was sixteen, and her oldest sister inherited the home in their father’s family since the early 50s. Ryan’s paternal grandmother had been a nurse, and her grandfather a physician. I was uncertain about her mother’s parents, except they hailed from New Orleans.

I hadn’t been able to stop myself from ordering an extensive background check after meeting her, one much more in-depth than an ordinary employee records verification. In the back of my mind, I understood the invasion of her privacy. It was supposed to appease my curiosity; it hadn’t.

She shifted on the stool, craning her neck as she patiently waited for the bartender. Instead of heading back to the table, I stepped forward, pausing inches away from her.

“Ms. Hagen?” I murmured, breathing in her sweet scent that overrode the pervasive smell of cheap alcohol and greasy food.

She froze, sitting a notch straighter. For a moment, she didn’t move, then she heaved in a breath and slowly turned to face me as shocked at hearing my voice as I was to see her. Her silver-gray eyes met my gaze and grew as wide as saucers. She looked me over, her shameless appreciation of me as impressive as her hell-on-wheels temperament.

Now that she was facing me, I studied her, thoroughly appreciating her thick hair, beautiful coloring, and curvy figure. The front of her halter plunged into a valley that afforded me an appreciative peek at her round breasts, and the hem stopped right above her belly button.

She attached no names to the design, but I was intimate with loss and the need to honor those who’d been stolen away. Even if I hadn’t delved into her history, I would’ve known it was her personal memorial.

Her intense scrutiny of me mirrored my examination of her. Perhaps my fascination stemmed from her sincerity. Most women of my acquaintance enjoyed coyness. They offered wry smirks if they caught me admiring their charms, but Ryan appraised me measure-for-measure.

She licked her lips, and I groaned. When she didn’t react, I decided the bar's noise swallowed the sound I’d made.

“Mr. Keegan,” she said with a smile.

She was here, in front of me. I could rectify my stupidity and offer her another interview. There’s no damn way I’d pursue her while I employed her. Becoming another disgraced asshole pinned with sexual harassment charges wasn’t on my bucket list. Nor would I ever consider marrying her. She was a working woman and proud of it. No matter my reasons, or if they were fair, legal, or rational, I didn’t want the lady I married to have a career. But when we won the Amage contract, and Ryan’s ended with KMG, I’d pursue a sexual relationship with her.

Goddamn, having her in my office was a fucking crapshoot. There was a fifty percent chance she’d end up hating my guts because I required near perfection and no excuses in the office.Orwe’d end up fucking and ruin our working relationship.

Fuck, maybe Iwasobsessive and insane. Since the ball, my life had turned upside down. The Amage contract was in danger, while the upcoming twentieth anniversary of my mother’s death overwhelmed me with grief. And I was turning into an inexperienced whelp with his first crush.

As much as I wanted to eliminate Ryan from my thoughts, I couldn’t. I wantedhermore. Fucking insanity. Ryan’s replacement of my angel in blue was more senseless than my desire.

Perhaps the reality ofhercoconut scented hair and her beautiful golden skin banished a figment of my imagination. Ryan was much more serious and fierier, missing the stranger’s sweet irreverence that briefly unfroze my emotions.

“How are you?” Ryan asked, her lyrical voice capturing my attention.

Her eyes sparkled and danced, entrancing me. She shifted, drawing my gaze to her tits. She was in this grimy little bar, dressed to give any man who laid eyes on her a fucking heart attack. She lacked nothing, perfect in every way.

A thought occurred to me, and I narrowed my eyes, tension dropping into my body. “What are you doing here?” I demanded. “Are you on a date?”

She went rigid. “This is the last place I’d expect to see you,” she said, her voice cooling as she eyed me, “so I can ask you the same thing. What are you doing here?”

Typically, thiswouldbe the last place I’d be. “I don’t seem like a drinker?” I quipped, understanding her meaning. I hadn’t chosen to be born into wealth; the fates had shined on me, so I respected what they’d gifted me.

“You don’t seem like you’d frequent a dive bar.”