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 took him a moment more to realize how much that bothered him.
"Oh, come on," he cajoled. "It's just dinner. What's the big deal?"
The moment he voiced the question, Adam remembered what the big deal was. Her husband. As big deals went, that one was sort of … big. At least, he'd always visualized Mack's husband as being big. About six foot six, to be precise. Weighing in at three hundred pounds at least. With no neck. And a nasty overbite. And a hairy back. And knuckles grazing the tarmac. A really big beer belly. And a really tiny—
Before his thoughts became too distastefully graphic, Adam dropped his gaze down to the third finger of her left hand, to the slim gold band that always served to remind him of his folly. Much to his surprise, however—not to mention his profound interest—he discovered that Mack wasn't wearing her wedding ring.
Oddly, that made him remember that she hadn't worked a number of her shifts at Drake's over the past few weeks. She'd always had one of the other bartenders filling in for her, but she had missed quite a few nights. He wondered now if the reason for her absences at work might have something to do with the absence of a ring on her left hand. Like maybe her marriage wasn't all it was cracked up to be these days. And then he recalled once again their surroundings and couldn't help but think that Mack had come to the bookstore tonight to hear a best-selling author tell her how to trap herself a tycoon.
"Dinner's not a good idea," she told him. But, Adam noticed, she didn't say exactly why.
"It's an excellent idea," he countered. Then, before she could object—and because he just couldn't quite help himself—he reached out and wrapped
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 took him a moment more to realize how much that bothered him.
"Oh, come on," he cajoled. "It's just dinner. What's the big deal?"
The moment he voiced the question, Adam remembered what the big deal was. Her husband. As big deals went, that one was sort of … big. At least, he'd always visualized Mack's husband as being big. About six foot six, to be precise. Weighing in at three hundred pounds at least. With no neck. And a nasty overbite. And a hairy back. And knuckles grazing the tarmac. A really big beer belly. And a really tiny—
Before his thoughts became too distastefully graphic, Adam dropped his gaze down to the third finger of her left hand, to the slim gold band that always served to remind him of his folly. Much to his surprise, however—not to mention his profound interest—he discovered that Mack wasn't wearing her wedding ring.
Oddly, that made him remember that she hadn't worked a number of her shifts at Drake's over the past few weeks. She'd always had one of the other bartenders filling in for her, but she had missed quite a few nights. He wondered now if the reason for her absences at work might have something to do with the absence of a ring on her left hand. Like maybe her marriage wasn't all it was cracked up to be these days. And then he recalled once again their surroundings and couldn't help but think that Mack had come to the bookstore tonight to hear a best-selling author tell her how to trap herself a tycoon.
"Dinner's not a good idea," she told him. But, Adam noticed, she didn't say exactly why.
"It's an excellent idea," he countered. Then, before she could object—and because he just couldn't quite help himself—he reached out and wrapped
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