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“What do you drink then?”
“Water, mostly.”
He grimaces. “I’ll give you a chance to think of a better answer.”
I shrug. “Splurging a ton of money on expensive alcohol never really made sense to me. I prefer to spend my money on experiences.”
His grimace remains as he pours me a glass of the same wine he’s drinking. Once the bottle has been returned to its ice bucket, he hands me the glass.
“Drinking wine like this is an experience. Small sip first.”
I take the glass and swirl the contents like I’d just seen him do. Except that my swirl is not nearly as confident or as graceful. In fact, I nearly paint the table in a wayward slosh of wine. I expect him to mock me or maybe simply throw me out on my ass, but he just keeps watching without saying a word.
“Right, okay. Um…” It’s very distracting how intently he’s observing me. “So I take a sip and then I… Wine drinkers sometimes spit out their wine, right?”
Is he smiling? He is. Good Lord. That’s a deadly weapon. Between that and the stare, this man needs to be on an FBI watchlist somewhere.
“You strike me as the kind of girl who swallows.”
I promptly choke on nothing but air. The blush is spreading like wildfire now, so I bury my cough and the heat in my cheeks behind a sip. It’s silky on my tongue. Fruity, dry, delicious.
“Good?” he asks, amused.
“Delicious.” But that might have more to do with him than the wine. “It’s really nice. Tastes expensive.”
He smirks and licks his lips. “I don’t put just anything into my mouth.”
He has to be doing this on purpose, right? The way his eyes glide over my face has my body tingling. I’ve never been so conscious of my own limbs before now.
I keep squirming in my seat, recognizing a sudden and undeniable throbbing between my legs. Is this what it means to be turned on? And just like that, I’m blushing all over again with the realization that I have somehow managed to go twenty-five freaking years thinking I was being turned on when I clearly wasn’t anywhere in the same realm as this.
What’s even more alarming is the stark change in demeanor. He’s gone from low-key threatening to aggressively flirty in a matter of moments. There has to be a catch somewhere. If only I could see past those very kissable lips to figure out what that catch might be.
“You’re good at this, aren’t you?”
He raises his eyebrows. “Good at what?”
“Making women feel uncomfortable.”
He smiles. “I’m good at making women feel all sorts of things.”
“Oh, I’m sure. You’ve got tons of experience, so far as I can tell. That revolving door never stops.”
He looks amused now. One eyebrow is arched and his grin has turned lopsided. “You’ve been watching me.”
I suppress another blush and roll my eyes instead. “I mean, we’re neighbors. I’ve noticed Mrs. Heidegger’s routines, too, so don’t flatter yourself. And I like to read in the nights by my window while you’re walking your… ahem… ‘dates’ to their cabs.”
It’s unnerving how focused he is on me. I don’t think he’s looked away in the last few minutes. “More wine?” he says instead of responding to what I said.
I glance down only to discover that I’m almost done with my first glass. How the hell did that happen?
“Sure, why not?”
Why not? Why not?!I have so many reasons jumping around in my head that I’m not sure which one to focus on.
How about the fact that getting drunk on this man’s property is far from my best idea ever? How about the fact that, the more I drink, the more relaxed and more uninhibited I become? How about the fact that I’ve always been a lightweight when it comes to alcohol and that this is the worst time possible to be encouraging all the other dangerous temptations swirling around in my thoughts?
But when he fills my glass back up, I don’t stop him. We just clink our glasses together and I take another sip.
