Authors: Eve Berlin
“You’re their baker?”
He laughed, a rich, booming sound. “Lord, no. I’m Connor.”
His deep tone was laced with a distinctly Irish accent.
God, she loved a man with an accent. It really made her swoon. Hell, she’d been swooning since the moment she’d laid eyes on him.
“Connor Galloway, Mischa Kennon. Connor is a friend of Alec’s. He’ll be in the wedding party. And I seriously doubt Connor can boil water, never mind bake. He burned the hot dogs the last time the guys went camping.”
“Hey, I learned to microwave mac and cheese at my mother’s knee,” he protested, his brogue a low, rolling thunder that made her belly stir with need.
Down, girl.
Dylan laughed, putting Mischa’s hand into that of a petite, smiling blonde woman. “
This
is our baker—and friend—Lucie.”
“Hi, Mischa. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Mischa?” Dylan gave her a nudge with her elbow, making her realize she was still focused on Connor.
Get it together.
She turned and smiled. “It’s great to meet you, Lucie. Do we know what kind of cake they want yet?”
The blonde’s smile widened into a grin. “We’re doing cupcakes. Wait until you see what I have in mind. We’re having a tasting session on Wednesday.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
Sugar was one of her favorite things. She wasn’t a dieting girl—she loved food too much—and she was comfortable with her curves. But even the idea of a cupcake tasting couldn’t distract her from the towering presence of Connor Galloway as Dylan led her around the table, introducing her to their friends.
He wasn’t exactly following them, yet she had the sense that he was watching her from under those dark brows. Whenever she’d glance up for a moment—which she did more often than she’d like to admit—she found his gaze on her. No matter where he was in the room, leaning over the table, talking to various people. That gaze was dark. Penetrating. She wasn’t sure what it was he wanted, but it was clear he wanted
something
. It was more than desire—that she recognized easily enough. She was no wallflower. She welcomed desire, from the right man. Knew exactly how to deal with it. She felt his desire. But there was something else…some sort of deeper curiosity that
commanded
her attention.
Ah, that must be it. He must be another dominant. But where that air of command elicited a bantering response from her when it came to most of the toppy men she’d come into contact with, Connor’s direct searching gaze made her feel…warm all over. A sort of odd, melting sensation. As though her knees were actually weak.
Don’t be silly.
He was just a man. A dominant man. But many a dominant
man had met his match in her. She wasn’t about to be taken down by the admittedly scorchingly sexy Connor Galloway.
Lord, he was sexy.
She sighed, tucked her blonde hair behind her ear as Alec held a chair for her. She thanked him as she seated herself at the long banquet table. And had to pull in a breath as Connor sat down next to her.
“We’re to be dinner partners,” he said.
A simple remark, yet it felt loaded. As if he meant more than that they would sit next to each other through the meal.
She was reading far too much into things with this man. She must be tired from the long trip up from San Francisco. Either that or it had been too long since she’d been laid.
Was two months too long?
“Shall I order you a drink?” he asked. “I see you don’t have one yet.”
“Oh…yes, a drink would be good.” Maybe that was exactly what she needed to relax and pull herself together. “I’ll have some cold sake. They have a good selection here.”
He raised a brow. “Nothing stronger?”
“Why would you think I’d need something stronger?”
He leaned in and she caught a whiff of his scent, a blend of the rain outside and something dark and earthy. “You strike me as a strong woman. Who may require a stronger drink after your long journey.” He grinned, a warm grin she found infectious.
She couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re right, I could use something stronger. How about a vodka on ice?”
“Grey Goose?”
“Why not?”
The man knew his vodka. She couldn’t help but wonder what else he might know. What those large hands had experienced…
Okay, this really had to stop. She was sitting at her best friend’s
engagement party and her panties were going damper by the minute. Over a guy she’d just met. Of course, that was how it usually worked with her. She knew the moment she met a man if she wanted him. There was no dancing around it, the way it often seemed to go for other women. No doubts. She always knew she
wanted
someone. But rarely to this ridiculous degree.
Maybe never.
Even more ridiculous how utterly girly she found herself feeling when he ordered her drink for her, saying to the waiter, “A Grey Goose over ice for the lady. Add two olives, if you will.”
That accent…the tone of authority in his voice, no matter how polite he’d been. It made her shiver. Distracted her. From the fact that this was Dylan and Alec’s party, not some personal meat market for
her
. Although the shopping was quite nice.
Their drinks came and Connor took them from the waiter with an almost imperial nod of his head that was still somehow charming. She noted he drank whiskey straight up. She could smell the perfumy fragrance after he sipped and leaned in close to her.
“How’s yours?” he asked.
She lifted her glass, sipped. “Perfect.”
“Ah, I may not be able to bake, but I have other talents.”
She laughed. “You say that as though you made the drinks yourself.”
“That wasn’t necessarily what I was referring to.”
She lowered her voice, batted her lashes. “Are you flirting with me, Connor Galloway?”
“Why? Are you opposed to the idea?”
“On the contrary.”
He grinned, those brilliant white teeth contrasting with his plush red lips. So damn kissable she could feel her own lips twitch.
He took her hand, pulled it to his mouth, and brushed a quick
kiss over her knuckles that sent desire spiraling through her in sharp, fluttering arcs.
“You have long fingers,” he said, keeping his tone low. “The hands of an artist.”
“Do you think so?”
He was still grinning at her. Still making her feel like a teenager with a mad crush. “Well, I admit Alec and Dylan may have mentioned that you are indeed an artist, but yes, you have beautiful hands.”
Why was his little compliment making her blush? That and his heavy Irish brogue. She felt a surge of disappointment when he released her hand.
“Thank you.”
“You have your own tattoo shop down in San Francisco, they tell me. That’s a hard road, running your own business.”
“Hard, but wonderful. After years of apprenticing in other people’s shops, then renting chair space, I love being my own boss.”
“I’ll bet you do.” His green eyes were twinkling. He was teasing her, and she liked it.
“I do, as a matter of fact. I like being in charge of my life. Doing my art my way.”
He nodded. “That I understand. I’m an artist myself, though of a different sort.”
She took another sip of her vodka, leaned toward him, intrigued. “What do you do?”
“I’m a concept artist. I design for video games, some for film and television. Spaceships, robots, that sort of thing.”
She laughed. “That’s like every kid’s dream come true.”
“It is. Except that it gives me little time to do my own work.”
“And what is your own work?”
“I like to sketch in charcoal.”
“But not spaceships and robots?”
He shrugged, his massive shoulders rippling with muscle beneath his dark button-down shirt. “I’ve been more interested in the human form the last couple of years. I’ve started to do some erotic pieces.”
She smiled at him. “Every young
boy’s
dream come true.”
He nodded. “When I have the time. Which I’m just now beginning to have. I’m at a point where I can start to pick and choose which contracts I want to accept. You’re lucky to be your own boss, in charge of your schedule, although I imagine running the show is a lot of work.”
“It is, but I have a great team, which helps. And I love it.”
Being able to open her own shop was one of her biggest achievements, bigger, even, than getting her art degree. Her business was everything, the one thing in her life she
knew
she’d done right.
“What does your family think of you doing tattoos for a living?” Connor asked.
“My younger sister, Raine, is…different from me. She’s an English professor, married to a professor of mathematics. She’s been supportive, in her way, even though I think she finds it hard to relate. Evie is more of a free spirit, an artist herself, so she loves the idea.”
“Evie? Another sister?” he asked.
“My mother.”
“You call your mother by her first name?” He wasn’t the first to ask about it.
She laughed, but there was a raw edge to it that stuck in her throat. “If you knew Evie…she’s never really been anyone’s mother.”
Why had she said that? She was certain he didn’t want to hear her sob story about her flaky mother. He was quiet for a moment,
watching her again. She shook her head, a little appalled at herself.
“Change of subject?” he suggested kindly.
“Yes. Sure. What about you? Do you have family here?”
“Just me. Family is back in Dublin. It’s just my mum and my sisters, Molly and Clara. I try to get back every year to visit.”
“What brought you to the States? Did you come here for work?”
It was his turn to stall. He shrugged again, but the gesture wasn’t quite as casual as it had been before. “I married an American. I’ve been divorced for a long time.”
“Ah.” He was obviously uncomfortable talking about it, so she switched tracks. “But you stayed here.”
“I like it here. I’d made a life here, got my degree in graphic arts, started a career.”
Why did she suspect there was something else to it that he wasn’t saying? Maybe because for the first time since they’d been talking he was looking away, his gaze resting on the rain-spattered window for several moments before he turned back to her.
“Change of subject?” she suggested this time.
“Yes. Definitely.”
He smiled, and she watched his tight features loosen. Noticed the merest hint of creases at the edges of his eyes. She’d always loved that on a man, for some reason.
“What shall we talk about?” she asked.
“We can talk more about you.” He leaned in toward her.
“There isn’t really that much more to say.”
“Ah, I disagree. I find you fascinating.”
“Are you flirting with me again?”
“I am.”
She smiled at him. “I like it.”
He lifted her hand once more and his voice was a quiet murmur
against it before he laid a soft kiss there. His sea-green eyes burned into her. He had long lashes, dark and full. She could see a small scar, about an inch long, below his right eye. Which only made him more masculine. Sexier. “We have much to discuss later, then.”
“Discuss?”
God, she could barely speak, her entire body feeling like she’d been engulfed by flames. He’d only kissed her hand!
He moved in even closer. “You may have guessed who—and what—I am, knowing Alec and Dylan, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Then you may know that I never take a woman without negotiating first.”
She straightened, pulled her hand from his. “You think you’ll ‘take’ me?”
“I do. And I think you’ll like it. I can see it in the sparkle in your lovely blue eyes. Eyes like the sky off the coast of Dun Laoghaire in the summertime.”
“Dun Laoghaire?”
“Just outside of Dublin. Have you ever been to Ireland?”
“No, never. I’d love to see it someday.”
How had he managed to change the subject so smoothly? Oh, he was smooth. Still, she’d never met a man who could maneuver around her. This man would be no different, despite her response to him. He could play the role of boss in the bedroom—and she knew already they’d end up there—but if he thought to pull that anywhere else, he’d be dead wrong.
She took a long swallow of her vodka, set the glass down on the table beside the square red porcelain plate. “So, back to these negotiations you mentioned.”
“Ah, lass, don’t you agree that should wait until after this party is done?”
He was right, of course. What was wrong with her? A totally inappropriate conversation while they were supposed to be celebrating with Dylan and Alec. But he’d talked her in circles…hadn’t he?
She gave a small nod of her chin, sipped her drink once more. And was relieved when Dylan stopped by to chat with her for a few minutes, shifting the mood. Allowing her some time to think, to get her head back on straight.
“I’m so glad you’re here, Mischa. There are a thousand things to do.”
“Don’t worry, sweetie, we’ll get it all done. I’m completely at your disposal.”
“You’re sure you don’t mind staying at my place without me being there? I just…I don’t want to be away from him.” Dylan ducked her head, but Mischa could see her blush.
“Oh, you’ve got it bad, hon,” she laughed. “But honestly, I’m used to living alone. And we’ll be together all the time to work on the wedding plans. You’ll be plenty sick of me by the end of the trip.”
“I will not,” Dylan insisted. “I’m grateful you’re here. I need a right hand. I’ve never done this girly bridal stuff.”
“Me neither. But we’ll figure it out.”
“Thanks, Misch.”
“No problem, chica.”
Dinner arrived, a gorgeous array of sushi, spicy curries, noodles and rice, and Dylan went back to her seat, where she cuddled up with her groom-to-be. Mischa wondered for one brief moment if any guy would ever want to stick with her the way Alec did with Dylan—their mutual devotion was an almost palpable thing. But why was she even considering it? She’d always been fine on her own. Just like her admittedly eccentric mother had finally learned, she didn’t need a man to make a happy, full life. Her life
was already full with running her business, her friends, her art, her writing. Men were a pleasant pastime, and one she didn’t want to do without. But anything more? No, that wasn’t for her. She’d learned that lesson early on through the absence of her own father. It had only been confirmed when Raine’s father had left when Evie was pregnant with her. He’d been around for Raine through the years, but Evie had been left alone again. And again and again, until she’d had an epiphany about the value of independence a few years ago. No, she was just fine on her own. More than fine. Hadn’t her success as a businesswoman proved that?