Passionate Persuasion (Entangled Indulgence) by Rosemary Clement-Moore Page B

sake?”
    “Yes… no…” She shook her head, trying to shake her senses into order. “How do you know I drink bourbon?” And why would he remember her favorite drink from back then? And why did he think he had the right to be charming when he’d been such an ass in college? Well, charming, then an ass, then charming to everyone but her. Would the real Alex Drake please stand up.
    “It’s a gift,” he said, answering the question she’d actually voiced and maybe all the others, too. Then he turned again to the bartender and ordered a White Russian for her and an Old Fashioned for himself, like he was Don freaking Draper.
    “Why are you buying me a drink when I’m on a date with someone else?” she asked, like this was the most important question of the moment and not, What would she do when Elliott showed up? Or, What would her date do if he arrived and found her talking to another man? Or What would she want him to do?
    “Technically,” said Alex, swiveling back to face her, “it’s on the house. Though I guess I’m paying for it in the long run, since I own the bar.”
    Somehow this surprised her. “You own this place?” she echoed, gesturing around them at the urban pub décor—exposed beams and distressed brick and polished copper. It was part of the revitalized Waterfront District that had become the new trendy place for shopping and eating. The pub was packed, and she knew the restaurant upstairs was, too.
    She did the math, accounted for his birthday, and realized it was a good business for someone not quite thirty. “I guess those keg parties paid off.”
    He laughed. “Good to know my college education wasn’t wasted.” The bartender put two drinks in front of him, and Alex handed one to her. She took it automatically. “So what have you been doing for the last eight years?”
    “Oh, you know,” she said, stirring her drink. “Studying. Working. Dating . Which I mention because I’m meeting mine here.”
    “Yeah, you said that.” He stirred his drink, mirroring her movement. “Blind date, right?”
    Kiara arched a questioning brow. “Is that another bar owner’s mindreading trick?”
    “Kind of. You were looking at your phone to double check the details, watching the people coming in to see if anyone was searching for you.”
    She realized with a guilty start that she hadn’t checked the time, her messages, or the door in ages. Well, minutes, really, but time was malleable with Alex around. It always had been. A kiss could last a blissful eon. Hours in the back seat of his Mazda felt like minutes.
    “When he gets here,” she said, not sure why she said it, not sure what else he would do, “you have to clear out.”
    Alex cleared his throat. “Yeah, that’s going to be difficult.”
    “Why?”
    “Because I’m your date.”
    “Very funny.”
    “I’m not joking.”
    Once she stopped rolling her eyes she noticed that he was not, in fact, joking. Either that or he was a damned good poker player. She leaned in close, narrow-eyed, like he’d done to look at her nearly-invisible freckles, but Alex didn’t crack.
    Which was not to say he didn’t react. His gaze dropped, just for a second, to her mouth, maybe lower, before he jerked his eyes back up to hers like he was snatching his hand away from a temptation he’d been trying to avoid. Only then did he look…abashed? Was that a word she’d ever have used for him at twenty-one?
    Whoa. Kiara sat back, a hot, stinging flush spreading up from her chest to her neck to her cheeks and ears. What the hell is going on here?
    Alex didn’t say anything smarmy, or remark that she was cute when she blushed, or anything else. He just sat there waiting for her next move—which was to grab her drink and down a big gulp.
    “You can’t be my date,” she said, when the burn of vodka had abated. “My date is a very nice guy named Elliott. Local business owner. Patron of the arts.”
    “I am a local business owner.” He took a sip of