The words died on her lips as she took in Libby’s appearance. Her eyes moved to Paul, who made his way across the room in a lazy swagger that spelled sex and sinfulness. His hair, mussed by her fingers, had that slept-in look to it. Libby gulped.
Oh crap! Nina is going to kill me. No matter which way I spin it, she’s going to know I’ve kept her in the dark.
Nina looked at Libby pointedly, awaiting an introduction. The words stuck in Libby’s throat. Should she introduce him as her boyfriend and thereby continue the lie? Or should she come clean and wear Nina’s judgment?
“I’m Paul,” he said, sticking out his hand—the one that didn’t bring her to orgasm—and offering a charming smile.
“Nina.” She looked at him closely. “You’re the guy from the bar, aren’t you? You were there when Libby sprained her ankle.”
“Yes, I’m the bar manager at First. We’re interested in Libby’s business, so she was kind enough to talk me through how she makes her product.”
“Oh.” Nina nodded, some of the suspicion seeping out of her features. “That’s great.”
“Nina is the one responsible for all the artwork I showed you.” Libby looked up at Paul, hoping to hell her features didn’t betray her.
Cool as a cucumber, you can do it!
“You make a great team.” He looked at his phone and shoved it into his back pocket. “I should be heading off.”
“Meet me in the office, Neens. I just need to finish up with Paul.” Libby swallowed the giggle that bubbled up in her throat.
Maybe it was the fact that she’d had her first orgasm in months—one that didn’t come from her own hand—or perhaps it was just that she was doing something naughty for once, but Libby felt giddy with the danger of it all. She never lied to her friends, and it had been an age since she got involved with a guy for anything more than scratching an itch.
But she had to remember that’s all it was, a silly mistake. Paul was just the kind of guy to have a girl melting at his feet, that’s why he was so damn good at it! She had to stay away; getting involved with a ladies’ man was not on her agenda.
“Nice to meet you, Paul.” Nina nodded and retreated into the depths of the house.
“Outside. Now.” Paul’s breath tickled her ear as the whispered command sent a shiver down her spine.
“Did you even set the timer?” she asked as they walked out onto the front of the house. She closed the door behind her.
“You seemed so certain that you’d be able to say no, I didn’t think you needed it.” He looked so smug she wanted to kick him in the shins and wipe that self-satisfied grin off his face.
“I’ll get you back, you know that, right?”
“I look forward to it, Tiger.” He leaned in and pressed his lips to her cheek. “See you later.”
He made it halfway down the driveway before Libby found her voice. “Why did you come by today, anyway?”
“I wanted to tell you about the mixology idea…and Gracie and Des are coming for dinner tomorrow night. Bring some of your product around and we’ll give them a chance to try it firsthand. I’ll text you the details.”
“You could have just called.” She planted her hands on her hips.
“Aren’t you glad I didn’t?”
Without waiting for her to respond, he headed toward his car with the kind of hip-rolling gait that was hot enough to singe a girl’s panties. Speaking of panties, hers were…irreparable.
Libby waited until Paul had driven off before she headed back into the house, undoubtedly to face an inquisition from Nina. Paul had covered when words failed her, but her best friend wasn’t so easily fooled.
She found Nina sitting on her desk, twirling a strand of her bright blue hair around one finger.
“Spill,” she demanded.
“Spill what?” Libby shrugged innocently and went to her stock cabinet to select a few bottles to present to Des and Gracie.
“You don’t expect me to believe that gorgeous hunk of a man was here purely for business.” She raised a brow. “Or did you get that JBF look all by yourself?”
“JBF?”
“Just been fucked.”
Libby held up a hand in surrender. “So we kissed, no big deal.”
“You did more than kiss.”
Libby sighed and plucked out a bottle of lemon myrtle vodka. “Why would you think that?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Nina shrugged. “Maybe because you’ve got that puppy-dog look on your face. Or maybe because his jeans were more revealing than he probably wanted them to be.”
Heat surged through Libby, the memory of Paul’s hands on her fresh and raw. It was lucky that Nina had interrupted them—she would have given him anything at that point. At least now she had a minor indiscretion on her record rather than a full-blown fake relationship violation.
“Lucky you, by the way, and you’re a terrible liar.” Nina winked in her usual lewd manner and burst out laughing when Libby looked at her guiltily. “Did you sleep with him?”
“No,” she sighed. “But I was damn close.”
“You should have put a bloody sock on the door or something. I don’t want to be the source of your continued sexual frustration.”
“I’m not the one who’s frustrated.” She couldn’t stifle her grin.
“You dirty birdy!” Nina slapped her palm down on the surface of the table. “I love it.”
“So did I, unfortunately,” Libby muttered.
Tomorrow night she’d have to keep her cool. She may have slipped up, but that wasn’t a reason to throw it all in. Paul was dangerous, and she’d already opened up to him more about her past than any other person with the exception of Nina. She didn’t want a relationship, and talking about personal stuff before sex was definitely relationship territory.
She had to put a stop to it now, no matter how much she wanted to return the favor.
Since meeting Libby, Paul found himself uninterested in other women. Temptation hadn’t once caught his eye at the bar or anywhere else. All he could think of was the plucky redhead who’d burst into his life and not only given him a permanent hard-on, but had made him feel things that had been locked away for a long time.
Like possessiveness. The need to protect. A desire to listen and learn.
These were all things he hadn’t experienced since Sadie, but the comparison terrified him. They were very different people, but some of the traits that had pulled him and Sadie apart were the things that attracted him to Libby, like her ambition. That wonderful competitive streak. Her relentless pursuit of what she wanted. Those similarities were so clear, in fact, that he could see the way their future would unfold…right down to the exact scene where she was packing her bags and leaving him.
He couldn’t let her get under his skin.
Focusing on the fact that Libby drove him crazy with her passion, despite trying her hardest to hide it, would be the best thing he could do. After leaving her house yesterday he’d had the mother of all cold showers, but the memory of her splayed out on that couch would not abate.
Now he was trying to cook something that didn’t resemble prison food, all so they could have another opportunity to pitch her product and the mixology school to Des.
He raked a hand through his hair. At least it had distracted him from the black cloud that was Des and Gracie’s wedding. Although if he was being honest with himself, being needed by someone like Libby made him feel alive…not that any amount of water torture would force him to admit those words aloud.
It’s just pent-up sexual frustration; you don’t really feel anything for her. Remember what she said, it’s just business.
Or had they crossed that line when she told him about her family? Was that her way of leaving things open enough for him to want more?
The doorbell buzzed, pulling Paul away from his thoughts.
“Hey,” he said, holding the door open for Libby. “Give me that box, it looks heavy.”
“I can manage.” She of
fered a stiff smile and tried to shuffle past, but he held out an arm, and she begrudgingly placed the box there.
“What the hell did you pack in here? Bricks?” He balanced it on one side and shut the door with his free hand.
“Lots and lots and lots of vodka.”
“Perfect.” He grinned.
Libby dropped her bag and a folder onto his couch, her eyes darting around the room. Her hands fidgeted with her hair, which had been piled on top of her head. Agitation marred her normally graceful movement.
“Are you nervous?” he asked, setting the box down on top of the coffee table so he could unpack it.
“A little,” she admitted, without meeting his gaze. “I think it’s because I know he’s rejected me once already.”
“So?”
“I’m manipulating him. We’re manipulating him.” She dropped down on the couch and knotted her hands in her lap. “Don’t you feel bad about that?”
Yeah, he did. More than he wanted to. But somehow the knowledge that he was helping Libby seemed to override everything else. Besides, Des hadn’t really given her a fair chance. Tonight Libby’s hard work and his ideas would do the talking.
“What would be the difference if we were really dating?” he asked. “And I thought you said you’d do anything to make your business a success.”
He pulled out six bottles of vodka in a variety of flavors. Each had its own colored label sporting the Libby Gal logo. They looked feminine and professional, something he could easily imagine selling out at First. Des had been a fool not to see that.
“Why don’t we make them a cocktail?” he said, carrying the bottles to his bar.
The bar was the area in his house where he felt most comfortable, the creative outlet he craved when everything else turned to shit. He’d built it himself, customized it to exactly what he wanted. The shelves were stocked with his favorite spirits and liquors, a bar fridge contained other ingredients required for cocktail creation, and a wine fridge sat next to it.
“Wow, this is amazing.” Libby ran her hand along the bar’s polished surface. “You’ve got everything here.”
“What can I say, I like to drink.” He shrugged.
“No, you like to create.” Her eyes lit up, the anxiousness from earlier draining out of her features as she went behind the bar. “If you just liked to drink you’d have a fridge full of beer like every other man in Australia.”
She turned to the rows of cocktail glasses hanging upside down beside tumblers, highballs, and shot glasses. Her fingertips danced along the stem of a martini glass.
“Which of those is your favorite?” He turned the vodka bottles so they all faced the same way like a rainbow of infused goodness. Lemon myrtle, marshmallow and rose petal, fig and vanilla bean, lavender, basil and orange, strawberry and spearmint.
“The marshmallow and rose petal.” She picked up the bottle with the pink label. “I made this for a friend’s wedding, and it’s what gave me the confidence to start Libby Gal Cocktails.”
He nodded and took the bottle from her, opening it. The scent of fluffy pink candies danced with delicate rose petals, it was definitely not the flavor Paul would have chosen but this was about Libby’s tastes, not his.
He grabbed two shot glasses from the bar and filled them to the brim. “Drink.”
“I thought we were supposed to be making cocktails for Gracie and Des.” She took the shot glass and smirked at him.
“Salute!” He raised his shot glass.
“What does that mean?”
“To good health.”
She nodded and clinked her glass against his. “Salute.”
They downed the vodka and Paul had to admit, as much as it tasted like something that could have been squeezed out of a unicorn, it was tasty. An idea took shape in his mind.
“Okay, so we’re going to make a Bellini.” He grabbed a bottle of Prosecco from the wine fridge. “Grab four of the champagne flutes.”
Libby complied and lined them up in a neat row in front of him. “Bellinis don’t have vodka, do they?”
“Not usually.” He eased the cork out of the bottle with a pop. “But I used to make Absolut Bellinis when I was living in London.”
“You lived in London? I didn’t know that.” She watched him with curious eyes, her arms propped up on the bar’s surface.
“Spent a year there in between some backpacking stretches. I wanted to see the world. That’s how I started working behind a bar—it was the perfect job for me to party and get paid at the same time.” He winked.
She shook her head, smiling as he measured out the vodka into each glass and then followed it with pureed cherries. As the Prosecco was added, the red puree swirled, coloring the wine and mixing in the vodka until the glass graduated from clear to hot pink.
“That looks amazing.”
He placed a cherry in each glass. “Voilà.”
“There’s a story behind this, isn’t there?” She breathed in the scent of the drink. “The cherry goes so well with the rose and marshmallow, why didn’t I think of that?”
The way she looked up at Paul could have knocked him dead on the spot. The admiration shining out of that beautiful face made him want to sweep the drinks to the floor and take her right there on the spot.
“You’ll have to ask Gracie about that story,” he said, brushing his hands down the front of his jeans. “Want another sneaky shot before dinner?”
“I’ll be under the table before the food comes out.” She held up her hands and laughed. “Multiple shots on an empty stomach is a bad idea.”
“I’m open to bad ideas,” he said, stalking around the side of the bar and placing his hands on her shoulders.
She swallowed, her eyes darkening instantly. “That’s why I need to be careful around you.”
Paul opened his mouth to protest but Gracie’s shrill giggle came from outside the house. Bad ideas would have to wait—tonight they were on a mission.
Chapter Eight
“These are seriously delicious,” Gracie said, knocking back the remainder of her third cherry vodka Bellini. “And they smell amazing. What flavor is the vodka again?”
“This one is marshmallow and rose.” Libby jumped up from the table and brought the bottle over. “It’s my personal favorite.”
Gracie unscrewed the cap and took in a big breath. “I love it, and I adore this cocktail. I would never have thought to put the cherry in the Bellini.”
“I’m curious, what’s the story behind it?” Libby asked, taking a long sip of her cocktail.
At the current rate, Gracie was drinking her under the table. Libby was halfway through her second drink, and Gracie was motioning for Paul to make her number four.
“Didn’t Paul tell you?”
Libby shook her head and watched as Paul mixed another drink. His shirtsleeves had been rolled up, revealing strong forearms covered in a smattering of dark hair. His eyes caught hers, crinkling as he stifled a smile.
Busted.
“Oh, it’s such a funny story.” Gracie grabbed Des’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “I used to bring all these loser guys to First because I had it stuck in my head that I needed to marry some corporate bigwig. But they were always terrible! When I ordered a Bellini with a cherry on the side that was Des’s signal to come and save me.”
“It took her a while to figure out I was the better choice,” Des said with exaggerated smugness, though his love for Gracie filled the room like a heady perfume.
Libby’s heart squeezed. She had no idea how it felt to be looked at as though you were the only thing in the world that mattered. But she’d bet her last dollar it would make everything else pale in comparison.
“But I got there in the end, didn’t I?” Gracie beamed, her eyes bright, cheeks pink with love and alcohol.
“You sure did.”
“That’s such a lovely story.” Libby didn’t try to hide the awe and envy in her voice. If Paul questioned her she’d claim to be an amazing actre
ss. Again.
“So you came up with all these vodka recipes yourself?” Des asked.
The boys had moved on from the cocktails to straight shots after dinner had been cleared away. Now they all sat around the table, feasting on a bowl of chocolates that Libby brought with her and sampling the vodka flavors.
“I started out following recipes I found online.” Libby selected a chocolate with a bright green foil wrapper. “But then I experimented with my own. These six flavors are the core ones I decided to launch up front, but I’m currently perfecting another four flavors and I’m in early stages of testing a few others.”
“I like the orange and basil,” Des said, lifting the bottle to his nose. “It’s not sweet at all.”
“It works really well as a mixer with plain soda water or tonic water. I felt like I needed something a little more masculine given how sweet some of the other flavors are.”
Des nodded. “I’ll be honest, when you first came to me I thought the whole thing was a bit gimmicky. But I misjudged the product—it’s really good.”
Hope curled in Libby’s gut; she had the feeling Des wasn’t one to hand out praise too easily. This was definitely a positive step forward, all she had to do now was convince him that his customers would select her bottles from the shelf.
“Having a few flavored vodkas would really open up the opportunity for a specialized cocktail menu,” Paul interjected, opening the last bottle and pouring four shots. “And mixology classes.”
Des raised a brow. “Mixology classes?”
“Libby and I came up with this brilliant idea—”
“I’m not taking credit,” she said, holding up her hands. “That was all you.”
“We—I—want to start up my own mixology school. I thought we could run classes on how to create professional cocktails at home or for parties, teach people the theory behind mixing the perfect drink. It would be a perfect branding partnership for Libby Gal Cocktails as well.” His face was neutral but she sensed a nervous energy in the way he bounced his leg next to hers under the table. “I could run it during the week. It will bring more people into the bar on our quiet nights, make some extra revenue if we couple the classes with a dinner here.”
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