Getting Off. Эбби Грин

was very broad, tapering down to slim hips. He was wearing jeans. His arms were muscled and just then he lifted his glass and the muscle bunched and flexed. And there went my clit again, as if a homing device had started back into action because I was only feet away from him.

      As if sensing my intense focus, he turned just as I reached the stool. I clambered back up, but so inelegantly that he curled a hand around my upper arm to help steady me.

      Instant heat liquefied what was left of my brain. His hand lingered on my arm even when I didn’t need it. I looked at him and my mouth got dry. Heart beating fast. Maybe the prospect of sex wasn’t so imaginary.

      His eyes went to my mouth as if deliberately and then back up to meet my gaze. He was telling me he wanted me. Or was he? My body hummed with awareness and hope. His hand finally loosened on my arm, but he didn’t take it away, he let it drift down, fingers trailing suggestively, sexily, against my inner arm, making my skin tingle, touching off the side of my breast.

      He was interested. No doubt now.

      My heart pounded.

      ‘Can I get you another beer?’

      I didn’t even look to see if my last one was finished. ‘Sure. Thank you.’ I sucked in oxygen as he looked away from me to get the barman’s attention, trying in vain to make the heat die down in my cheeks. And body.

      I saw that he left a couple more dollars than required as the tip and said with some embarrassment, ‘I forgot...about leaving the tips here. We don’t do that at home.’

      I noticed that his hands were big and masculine looking as he pushed the bottle of beer toward me. They looked like the kind of hands that could do some serious manual labour and those clever long fingers looked as if they could stroke a woman to an effortless orgasm.

      Face burning at the rampant image of those fingers exploring my body, I vaguely heard him ask something. He was looking at me expectantly. Mortification burned me up. I was never this distracted by a guy.

      ‘I’m sorry, what?’

      ‘Where are you staying?’

      His voice was so deep I felt it in the pit of my belly. Just like in my dream.

      Seizing on banal conversation as if that might restore some sanity, I said, ‘Not far from here...my aunt’s apartment. I’m looking after it for a few weeks while she’s in India, until I find my own place.’

      Liam frowned. ‘Is she from Ireland, too?’

      I nodded and explained, ‘My father and aunt came to look for work when they were barely out of their teens, they got green cards. My father met my mother here—from home, too. Me and my older brother and sister were all born here, but we moved back to Dublin when I was still a baby. My aunt stayed on. She’s a bit eccentric.’

      Liam quirked a half smile. ‘Plenty of those in New York. So what kind of work are you looking for?’

      I had to rip my eyes off his mouth...that smile had just distracted me all over again. I dragged my wanton gaze away, focused on my beer.

      ‘I’ve got a degree in marketing and business...so I’ll be looking for an internship somewhere and then hopefully a job...but in the meantime I’m looking for waitressing or bar work to tide me over.’

      ‘So you’re staying awhile?’

      I snuck him a look and all I could see were those amazing blue eyes. I nodded. ‘There’s not much going on at home. Recession.’

      Jesus. I could hardly string a sentence together. In a bid to get his focus off me, I asked him, ‘So what about you? What do you do?’

      Liam took a swig of his beer and I saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. Cue yet more heat between my legs. Was there nothing this man could do that I wouldn’t find a turn-on?

      ‘I manage a bar.’ He grimaced slightly. ‘Well, that’s to say, I sort of own it. It’s the family business. We do food during the day and then it’s a full bar at night. A good old-fashioned Irish American bar.’

      Now I frowned and turned toward him. ‘Sort of own it?’

      His eyes flashed as if he regretted letting that slip out. ‘I do own it, it’s just complicated because my old man is still alive, but he hasn’t been involved in the business for a long time.’

      He looked away abruptly and I felt the keen sense not to push. Then he looked at me again and his eyes were searingly blue.

      ‘Do you want to get out of here?’

      His words detonated any slim chance of me clinging onto any sense of sanity when I felt as though I was burning up from the inside out. No man, ever, had made me feel so aroused...or aware of myself.

      I huffed a weak joke. ‘You’re not a psychopath, are you?’

      He smiled and it was feral. ‘Would I tell you if I were?’

      I swallowed and saw nothing but a heat haze of desire that seemed to cocoon us. I wanted this man’s mouth on mine...all over. I wanted to press against him so hard my body would leave an imprint on his.

      He smiled then, making little bombs of sensation explode all over my skin. ‘No, I’m not a psychopath, Caitlin, although my buddy Mike might disagree when we watch the Knicks and they’re losing.’

      I melted even more. Excitement seized my insides, making them tight. I wanted this guy. With a hunger I’d never experienced before. It was physical, visceral. Before I could lose my nerve, I said, ‘Yes, I’d like to leave.’

      And then, just in case he was in any doubt I’d suddenly decided to leave without him, I added, ‘With you.’

      Those blue eyes glittered.

      ‘I have a ride outside. Come on.’

      He stepped from his stool and I knew there was no going back. He had to be at least six foot four. Broad all over, but lean. Clearly defined pectorals, flat belly. Slim hips. And the faded jeans. Clinging low to those hips. Muscled thighs.

      I hadn’t even realized I’d been giving him such a thorough once-over until I heard a dry ‘Ready to go?’ and looked up to realize that he was holding my bag. My head nodded jerkily, blood pounding. I slipped off the stool and landed close to his body, and felt every inch of my very average five foot four next to his towering height.

      His sheer size and masculinity overwhelmed me for a moment. He was too perfect. This couldn’t be happening. But I really hoped it was. He took my hand in his and I felt calluses on the palm. My legs were like jelly as he tugged me through the heaving bar.

      The thought that I was being a complete slut to leave a bar with a guy I’d only met a scant hour before entered my head, but I quashed it. There was something different about him, trustworthy. No matter how desperate I was to embark on a pilgrimage of sexual adventure, I wasn’t completely stupid or without morals. Yeah, right.

      He opened the door and we stepped out into the warm balmy Manhattan evening. The sky was a stunning dusky violet colour, completely clear. He was still holding my hand. He was even more gorgeous now, shadows making his face look all lean and stark. Dangerous. But in a sexy way. Not in a psychopathic way, I hoped, in spite of his joking.

      His thumb swept across the pulse point at my wrist, and my legs wobbled. Right then I was prepared to take the risk.

      The air seemed to sizzle between us, like a live current. He came close and let my hand go to lift his and slide it around the back of my neck. Every nerve point in my body sat up and vibrated gently, none more so than in my pants.

      ‘Caitlin...?’

      The deep voice made my insides clench. I was fixated on his mouth.

      ‘Hmm?’

      He cursed then, but I barely heard it before his head dipped and his mouth settled over mine. I had to clutch onto his T-shirt