eye as I was escorted to the back of the restaurant. He was holding two drinks, but he set one down and gave me an unabashed thumbs up and a huge smile. I felt my cheeks heat, but I rolled my eyes and kept walking.
William—Stormy Eyes—I didn’t know what to call him since we still hadn’t been formally introduced—directed me to an open space at the end of the bar. Wonder of wonders, there were two open bar stools. Imagine that. In a place as packed as this, two seats were waiting. I barely had time to climb into my chair before the bartender set two drinks in front of Stormy Eyes. William nodded and slid one drink in front of me. He leaned close, and there was that dizzying scent again. “It’s bourbon. Three fingers. Neat. It’s meant to be sipped,” he murmured, his voice low and velvet soft. “Let it linger in your mouth and heat up, then swallow. You’ll feel the warmth right here.” He leaned and touched my chest above the valley between my breasts. I jumped. I didn’t expect him to touch me there, and even without sipping the bourbon, I could feel the heat building in me. How did he do that? How did he make taking a drink sound so sexual? I warmed just from the sexy timbre of his voice. Part of me wanted to do exactly what he said. Part of me wanted, desperately, to see what would happen next.
Another part of me glared. Another part of me seethed, unable to believe the nerve of this guy. Billionaire or not, no man had the right to drag me through a party, corner me, and then order me to drink something I didn’t even order. Brown liquor and I weren’t friends, and when I had indulged in the past—okay, admittedly too many shots of Jack Daniel’s at a college party probably didn’t compare with whatever pricy elixir was in the glass in front of me—it hadn’t gone well. I leveled my gaze at him. “I don’t know if this is your attempt at an apology, but it sucks.” What the hell. I lifted the glass, slammed down the bourbon in one swallow—no point in wasting it—and with my eyes watering, tried to rise from my stool, intent on making this the last of my encounters with Stormy Eyes. I wasn’t ready for this or for him.
The pressure of William’s hand on my thigh halted me. Firmly, he pushed me into my seat. “I clearly offended you the other day,” he said, his fingers spreading. “Believe me when I say, I’m not usually so forward. Catherine.”
I could feel the liquor coursing through me, and I looked at his hand, still on my thigh. “Yes, I can see you’re the shy, retiring type, Mr. Lambourne.”
He laughed, a full, rich sound that reverberated, heating me up more than the bourbon. “I admit, I value directness. Sometimes I’m too direct, but subtlety has never been my style.” Another bourbon appeared before me, but I didn’t touch it. I couldn’t look away from those eyes. “Please, call me William. Or Will, if you like. Mr. Lambourne is a little too formal, don’t you think?”
I narrowed my eyes, and he gave me an innocent look.
“I’m glad you’re here. I want you to stay.” He continued talking. “Catherine, I like you. Very much. I promise, I’m going to be on my best behavior from now on.”
How could he possibly think that he liked me when he didn’t know me? I was trying to make sense of what he’d said while feeling the effect of the bourbon, and then a voice said from behind us, “I see you’ve finally met!”
I turned and saw Amanda smiling.
“William Lambourne, this is Catherine Kelly. She’s a wonderful photographer. Catherine, this is William Lambourne, and William is...” She hesitated, “Well, William is incorrigible.”
“Thank you, Miss Lee,” William said, cutting her off before she could say more.
With a grin, Amanda strode away.
“So, isincorrigible a job description?” I asked. “Or do you have another title? I didn’t think being bad was an actual profession.” I couldn’t believe I was bantering like this, as I was
William—Stormy Eyes—I didn’t know what to call him since we still hadn’t been formally introduced—directed me to an open space at the end of the bar. Wonder of wonders, there were two open bar stools. Imagine that. In a place as packed as this, two seats were waiting. I barely had time to climb into my chair before the bartender set two drinks in front of Stormy Eyes. William nodded and slid one drink in front of me. He leaned close, and there was that dizzying scent again. “It’s bourbon. Three fingers. Neat. It’s meant to be sipped,” he murmured, his voice low and velvet soft. “Let it linger in your mouth and heat up, then swallow. You’ll feel the warmth right here.” He leaned and touched my chest above the valley between my breasts. I jumped. I didn’t expect him to touch me there, and even without sipping the bourbon, I could feel the heat building in me. How did he do that? How did he make taking a drink sound so sexual? I warmed just from the sexy timbre of his voice. Part of me wanted to do exactly what he said. Part of me wanted, desperately, to see what would happen next.
Another part of me glared. Another part of me seethed, unable to believe the nerve of this guy. Billionaire or not, no man had the right to drag me through a party, corner me, and then order me to drink something I didn’t even order. Brown liquor and I weren’t friends, and when I had indulged in the past—okay, admittedly too many shots of Jack Daniel’s at a college party probably didn’t compare with whatever pricy elixir was in the glass in front of me—it hadn’t gone well. I leveled my gaze at him. “I don’t know if this is your attempt at an apology, but it sucks.” What the hell. I lifted the glass, slammed down the bourbon in one swallow—no point in wasting it—and with my eyes watering, tried to rise from my stool, intent on making this the last of my encounters with Stormy Eyes. I wasn’t ready for this or for him.
The pressure of William’s hand on my thigh halted me. Firmly, he pushed me into my seat. “I clearly offended you the other day,” he said, his fingers spreading. “Believe me when I say, I’m not usually so forward. Catherine.”
I could feel the liquor coursing through me, and I looked at his hand, still on my thigh. “Yes, I can see you’re the shy, retiring type, Mr. Lambourne.”
He laughed, a full, rich sound that reverberated, heating me up more than the bourbon. “I admit, I value directness. Sometimes I’m too direct, but subtlety has never been my style.” Another bourbon appeared before me, but I didn’t touch it. I couldn’t look away from those eyes. “Please, call me William. Or Will, if you like. Mr. Lambourne is a little too formal, don’t you think?”
I narrowed my eyes, and he gave me an innocent look.
“I’m glad you’re here. I want you to stay.” He continued talking. “Catherine, I like you. Very much. I promise, I’m going to be on my best behavior from now on.”
How could he possibly think that he liked me when he didn’t know me? I was trying to make sense of what he’d said while feeling the effect of the bourbon, and then a voice said from behind us, “I see you’ve finally met!”
I turned and saw Amanda smiling.
“William Lambourne, this is Catherine Kelly. She’s a wonderful photographer. Catherine, this is William Lambourne, and William is...” She hesitated, “Well, William is incorrigible.”
“Thank you, Miss Lee,” William said, cutting her off before she could say more.
With a grin, Amanda strode away.
“So, isincorrigible a job description?” I asked. “Or do you have another title? I didn’t think being bad was an actual profession.” I couldn’t believe I was bantering like this, as I was
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