shifted her weight on the bar stool, her gaze nervously darting around the room rather than making eye contact with him. No question in his mind that she had some sort of hidden agenda, but what and why? Who was she and what did she really want?
“What’s your friend’s name? I can at least let Mr. Washington know that a friend of his was asking about him.”
“That’s okay. No big deal.”
She sounded too casual, as if trying too hard. She flashed a charming smile, but it appeared more forced than sincere.
“It’s not important. I’ll catch up with him some other time.”
The bartender’s unwavering gaze sent a tremor of uncertainty rippling across Dani’s skin. It was almost as if he could read her mind and had detected her deception. The one thing that had kept her from becoming the investigative reporter she wanted to be was that pesky streak of honesty she couldn’t control. She had a difficult time telling out-and-out lies to someone’s face. She was not a deceptive person by nature. Yet here she sat, telling brazen lies to a stranger and feeling very uncomfortable about doing it.
She gathered her determination. This could be the story that would break things wide open for her, and she couldn’t let it slip through her fingers. An exploitative type of tabloid exposé, something exaggerating the facts and slanting the story toward a specific angle with innuendo and half-truths, was not her style. She wanted to be a true investigative reporter offering up facts. And finding the secrets—the real secrets—of the mysterious Third Floor was worth the effort.
“We’re a very informal group here. I’m Mitch Sinclair, filling in today for the regular daytime bartender who’s out sick.” He stuck his hand out toward her. “And you are…?”
“I’m Danielle Foreman…Dani.” She hesitated a moment, then accepted his handshake.
The moment he clasped her hand in his, a sensual warmth flowed up her arm and through her body. Her attention had been drawn to him the second she walked into the bar. Ruggedly handsome features— very handsome. Certainly not the pretty boy type of looks that always struck her as too slick and usually came with a heavy dose of arrogance belonging to someone shallow. At least that had been her experience with the pretty boy type.
Mitch appeared to be in his mid-thirties with an athletic, well-toned body dressed in worn jeans, a tight T-shirt that showed off the sculpted planes of his muscular chest and broad shoulders…and five hundred dollar running shoes. Long legs that put him an inch or two over six feet. A golden tan that said he spent a lot of time outdoors. Intense green eyes and longish light brown hair with sun-bleached streaks, yet what appeared to be a stylist salon haircut. He wore an expensive scuba diver’s watch.
A guy who apparently worked part time as a fill-in bartender yet wore an expensive watch and running shoes with a high-end salon haircut? It didn’t make sense. Something was amiss. He wasn’t what he would have people believe.
She took another sip of her wine. She couldn’t afford to let this sexy stranger deter her from her goal—a determination she instinctively knew would require a major effort on her part. No question that he oozed a magnetic sex appeal, the type of talent that could give a girl multiple orgasms and have her begging for more.
Jeez…I’ve obviously been working too hard lately, no time for play or to meet any interesting men. Definitely too long since I’ve had a no-holds-barred, down-and-dirty hot fuck with an unbelievably sexy man. And Mitch looks like he more than qualifies. One of those hot, naked encounters you can’t get enough of. My vibrator eventually gets the job done, but it’s just not the same as the real thing.
She watched Mitch as he filled drink orders for three waitresses, allowing her gaze to drift over his body and finally settle on his ass. My God, Dani, get your mind out of his pants and back
“What’s your friend’s name? I can at least let Mr. Washington know that a friend of his was asking about him.”
“That’s okay. No big deal.”
She sounded too casual, as if trying too hard. She flashed a charming smile, but it appeared more forced than sincere.
“It’s not important. I’ll catch up with him some other time.”
The bartender’s unwavering gaze sent a tremor of uncertainty rippling across Dani’s skin. It was almost as if he could read her mind and had detected her deception. The one thing that had kept her from becoming the investigative reporter she wanted to be was that pesky streak of honesty she couldn’t control. She had a difficult time telling out-and-out lies to someone’s face. She was not a deceptive person by nature. Yet here she sat, telling brazen lies to a stranger and feeling very uncomfortable about doing it.
She gathered her determination. This could be the story that would break things wide open for her, and she couldn’t let it slip through her fingers. An exploitative type of tabloid exposé, something exaggerating the facts and slanting the story toward a specific angle with innuendo and half-truths, was not her style. She wanted to be a true investigative reporter offering up facts. And finding the secrets—the real secrets—of the mysterious Third Floor was worth the effort.
“We’re a very informal group here. I’m Mitch Sinclair, filling in today for the regular daytime bartender who’s out sick.” He stuck his hand out toward her. “And you are…?”
“I’m Danielle Foreman…Dani.” She hesitated a moment, then accepted his handshake.
The moment he clasped her hand in his, a sensual warmth flowed up her arm and through her body. Her attention had been drawn to him the second she walked into the bar. Ruggedly handsome features— very handsome. Certainly not the pretty boy type of looks that always struck her as too slick and usually came with a heavy dose of arrogance belonging to someone shallow. At least that had been her experience with the pretty boy type.
Mitch appeared to be in his mid-thirties with an athletic, well-toned body dressed in worn jeans, a tight T-shirt that showed off the sculpted planes of his muscular chest and broad shoulders…and five hundred dollar running shoes. Long legs that put him an inch or two over six feet. A golden tan that said he spent a lot of time outdoors. Intense green eyes and longish light brown hair with sun-bleached streaks, yet what appeared to be a stylist salon haircut. He wore an expensive scuba diver’s watch.
A guy who apparently worked part time as a fill-in bartender yet wore an expensive watch and running shoes with a high-end salon haircut? It didn’t make sense. Something was amiss. He wasn’t what he would have people believe.
She took another sip of her wine. She couldn’t afford to let this sexy stranger deter her from her goal—a determination she instinctively knew would require a major effort on her part. No question that he oozed a magnetic sex appeal, the type of talent that could give a girl multiple orgasms and have her begging for more.
Jeez…I’ve obviously been working too hard lately, no time for play or to meet any interesting men. Definitely too long since I’ve had a no-holds-barred, down-and-dirty hot fuck with an unbelievably sexy man. And Mitch looks like he more than qualifies. One of those hot, naked encounters you can’t get enough of. My vibrator eventually gets the job done, but it’s just not the same as the real thing.
She watched Mitch as he filled drink orders for three waitresses, allowing her gaze to drift over his body and finally settle on his ass. My God, Dani, get your mind out of his pants and back
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