Читать книгу Her Last Wild Ride - Эбби Грин - Страница 10

Chapter Three

I heard the clamor of the crowd, and the music had stopped. Dirty glasses were piled up. He was right. I was slammed. And I realized that even though he was a complete stranger, I felt I could trust him. Which should have been warning enough if I’d had enough time to think about it.

Still reluctant, though, I said, “I don’t even know your name.”

“Johnny.”

I pushed the image of Jenna’s wagging finger to the back of my mind and followed my gut—and my ravenous libido—and stuck out my hand. “Ashling.”

He took my hand with his and it was big and warm and callused. Be still, my pulsating pussy. Shit.

I pulled my hand away and tried to look as stern and boss-like as possible. “You could start by collecting the glasses and putting them in the washer.”

I showed him quickly how it worked and then he said, “It’s grand. I’ve got it—go on, get back to it.”

For the next couple of hours I operated in a haze, totally bemused to find myself working around this six-foot-three gorgeous Irish man who was now also taking orders and serving drinks as if he’d been here for years.

When the last customers finally left and I had closed and locked the door behind them, I watched Johnny carry some glasses from a table, bringing them behind the bar, efficiently putting them into the washer and switching the washer on.

He flipped a tea towel over his shoulder and looked around, hands on slim hips. He’d taken off his top layer along the way, so now he was wearing a white T-shirt that was so thin I could see nothing but ripped musculature. Flat nipples. A tantalizing sliver of flat belly and that delicious line of dark hair that led down underneath the top button of his low-slung jeans.

Man oh man. Some evil God had sent this vision of sex to tempt me away from my resolutions and back to a place of hormone-controlled decadence. Moisture pooled between my legs and my breasts felt tight.

Still in a kind of daze, I walked over to the bar and perched on a stool. We looked at each other and something sizzled. It might have been me.

I shook my head. “Wow. I don’t...” My mouth closed. Obviously I had to thank him. He’d saved my ass, probably literally. Even now I shuddered to think of those frat guys and what might have happened.

And then it hit me. I didn’t even know his full name. I stuck out my hand across the bar and smiled ruefully. “I’m Ashling Sullivan. Nice to meet you.”

He wiped his hands on the towel and I noticed that they were very masculine with long fingers. Short nails.

He took my hand and held it tight. “Johnny Ryan.”

Between my legs didn’t just pulse this time; it spasmed. Inner walls tightening as if already imagining what his thick length might feel like thrusting in and out. He didn’t let my hand go and I could feel those calluses again. My nipples hardened against the sheer material of my bra.

From somewhere that wasn’t keeling over with lust I said, “Thank you. Really. You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugged easily. “I didn’t have any plans to break. It was no bother.”

I tugged my hand free, aware of that delicious, slightly earth-tilting feeling of mutual desire. Because he wanted me as much as I wanted him. It wasn’t an arrogant assertion. It was just...there. I could smell it, and Jesus, I wanted to taste it. To taste him. He was looking at my mouth, and it made me want to put out my tongue to moisten it.

In a bid to stop myself crawling over the bar to get to him, I blurted out, “You obviously know your way around bars.”

He shrugged one broad shoulder, and something in his expression tightened. He avoided my eye. “Coming from Ireland, it’s kind of an occupational hazard. And I’ve worked in a few here.”

But then he dragged his gaze back to mine and said, “Actually, I came back in tonight for a reason.”

My heart thumped hard. “You did?” Mentally I was already apologizing to Jenna and I sent her telepathic permission to do a surfer dude.

“Yeah...” He ran a hand through his short hair, leaving it deliciously tousled and messy. Everything in me was poised, waiting for him to say he’d come back because he’d wanted to see me.

Already I was imagining lowering the blinds, taking him into the office, sitting on the side of the table, spreading my legs, his hands on my hips, roughly pulling me toward him—

He looked at me. “Yeah...the thing is that I’m actually looking for my little sister, Caitlin Ryan. Do you know her?”

The sting of exposure and humiliation was like a slap across the face. What the hell was wrong with me? I was all but ready to jump over this bar and strip off my clothes and beg this complete stranger to do me right now? As if I hadn’t just left my dignity in tatters back in LA?

I put the brakes on. Screeching. Thank God I hadn’t made a complete ass of myself and shown him how susceptible I was. I slid off the stool, brisk. “Yeah, sure I know Caitlin. She’s going out with my brother. She lives upstairs with him.”

I came around behind the bar and started to tidy up, not looking at him. But when he spoke and he sounded almost...hesitant, I had to look.

“Is she—are they...here? Now?”

I steeled myself against those huge eyes and the desire to know why he looked and sounded tortured all of a sudden.

“No, they’re on holiday for two weeks in Mexico. That’s why I’m here, covering for Liam.”

I frowned at him and folded my arms. “She never mentioned having a brother in New York.”

Something in his expression was bitter for a second. “Yeah, well, she does. I’ve been living here for a few years.”

Instantly interest spiked when a wealth of questions begged to be asked. Why hadn’t he seen her before now? Why was he so nervous? I pushed down the urge to know. Questions would lead to answers and answers would lead to confidences and confidences would lead to feelings of empathy and ultimately believing I could trust—I stopped my whirling brain and took a breath.

I felt dizzy. I would never let anyone suck me in again the way Steve had. No matter how hot.

But Jesus Christ... Steve had been undeniably gorgeous, but with Johnny in front of me, I don’t think I could have picked that cheating rat out of a lineup. And I hated to admit it, but there was something very satisfying about that. Although I had no interest in this guy.

Liar.

I turned around and picked up the jar of tips, holding it out to him. “Caitlin won’t be back for two weeks. Thanks for tonight. You should take these and I’ll settle up with you for the shift if you give me your bank details. I’ll do a transfer.”

I was avoiding his eye but had to look up when he didn’t take the jar. His arms were crossed, muscles bulging and seriously distracting. Now he sounded disgusted when he said, “I’m not taking your tips and I don’t want payment.”

More than exasperated at how he’d exposed all of my lofty resolutions for being weak at the seams, I said, “Well, what do you want then?”

He just looked at me for a long moment and then unfolded his arms and came close, putting two hands on the back bar either side of me. I clutched the jar to me like a shield. My pussy tightened. Just like that.

“You, Ashling. I want you and I wanted you the moment I saw you. I wanted you so bad I couldn’t even remember why I’d come in last night.”

* * *

The palpable relief Johnny felt to know that he had a reprieve from seeing Caitlin for another couple of weeks still lingered, even as he called himself a fucking coward for it.

But, if that was a license to push the past aside for a moment, he did. He kicked it right over the edge of a cliff to deal with later.

Because he felt wild and desperate as he looked down into Ashling’s upturned face. And right now he was all about the present and those mesmerizing blue eyes. For a second they looked hot enough to burn him alive. The pink tip of her tongue came out as if to moisten her lips, and immediately he was rewarded with an image of her on her knees, that pink tongue exploring him, slipping along the slit at the head of his dick, tasting his pre-come.

He almost groaned and was about to press closer when she scooted out from under his arms and put the jar down. She stood a few feet away, arms crossed tightly across her chest. It pushed up the enticing swells of her modest but plump cleavage. Not helping. Ice in her eyes now. Not heat. Not helping either.

“Yeah? Well, I’m afraid I’m not interested.”

Johnny curbed the urge to point out that it hadn’t looked like that a few moments ago when she’d been on the other side of the bar and looking as if she was about to climb over it to get to him. He’d had to bloody focus enough to remember why he was here. Again.

I’m not interested. The words hung between them, and something dark pierced him. “Are you going out with someone?”

Ashling’s expression became hard. “No. Not that it’s any of your business.”

Tightness eased inside Johnny, and he didn’t like it. He wasn’t an angel by any means, but he’d never felt as if he couldn’t walk away if a woman was taken—drawing the line at seducing attached lovers. Which was about as noble as he got.

Except here, now, with Ashling, he wasn’t so sure he would have found it so easy. And that had never happened before.

Johnny’s voice lowered. It was very much game on now. “I’d say it’s my business when I know you want me as much as I want you.”

Her eyes flashed momentarily, as if with panic, but then she hitched her chin up belligerently. “Haven’t you ever heard the expression ‘I’m just not that into you’?”

Man, she was cute. Johnny’s libido surged. He stepped closer and saw how the pulse at the base of her neck jumped. She was into him, all right.

“Where I come from,” he drawled, “that’s called fighting talk. And if it eases your mind any, I’m not with anyone either.”

He crossed his arms and saw the way her eyes dropped for a moment before coming back up. Some of the ice was melting, he could see it. Lust kicked hard in his solar plexus.

Ashling rolled her eyes. “Whatever, Johnny. The fact is that whether you’re single or a cheating bastard, I’ve had my fill. So when I say I’m not interested, I mean it.”