Virgin Daiquiri

by Elise Faber

  Virgin Daiquiri

  Love After Midnight #2

  Elise Faber

  VIRGIN DAIQUIRI

  BY ELISE FABER

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  * * *

  VIRGIN DAIQUIRI

  Copyright © 2020 Elise Faber

  Print ISBN-13: 978-1-946140-66-1

  Ebook ISBN-13: 978-1-946140-65-4

  Cover Art by Jena Brignola

  Love After Midnight

  Rum and Notes

  * * *

  Virgin Daiquiri

  * * *

  On The Rocks

  Contents

  Love After Midnight

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

  Epilogue

  On The Rocks

  Love After Midnight

  Also by Elise Faber

  About the Author

  One

  Brent

  I smiled at Brooke and Kace, or rather, I smiled as Brooke settled in with her computer while Kace stared at her like she owned his heart.

  Because she did.

  Still, it was Christmas Eve, last call was done, the bar was empty and clean. Which meant, my duties were complete. It was time for me to go back to my rental and go to sleep.

  Pathetic?

  Maybe.

  But I’d gotten used to being alone.

  Better that way.

  I waved to Kace and slipped quietly by Brooke, not wanting to disrupt her flow as she wrote the latest bestselling romance novel. Technically, I’d known her longer than Kace, and I still felt real guilt at not having kept in touch with her after her brother and my friend, Hayden, died. I should have looked after her better.

  But the past was the past, and I, more than anyone, understood that it belonged there.

  Sighing, I stretched my aching back—reason one I’d gotten out of the military—and walked away from the bar. I’d just reached the doorway to the hall when a tiny female crashed into me.

  “Oof,” I grunted, instinctively reaching out to steady her. “Easy there, darlin’.”

  She stiffened and pulled back. “I’m sorry,” she said, and my gut clenched from the impact. Her voice was sweet summer peaches, warm honey dripping down fingers. It was the most intoxicating thing I’d ever heard. “I should have been more careful.”

  “You’re fine, darlin’.”

  She nodded, lifting her hand to push her bangs from her face. It was trembling, as was her voice, when she went on. “I left my purse. I can’t believe I was so stupid to—”

  “What color was it?” I asked gently.

  “Black with a gold zipper and chain.”

  I nodded. “I have it. Come on,” I said. “I saw it left behind and put it in the office.” I’d set it on Kace’s desk earlier while on break.

  Her relief was palpable. “Thank you so much. I swear, my whole life is in that bag.”

  “Your whole life?”

  She smiled, and it was another punch to the gut. I had the distinct thought that I wanted to see that smile forever. What? Blinking away the crazy idea, I turned and led her down the hall, opening the door marked private and pointing to the desk.

  Her hands came up and she clasped them to her chest.

  “Oh, thank God.”

  “You come here often, darlin’?” I asked and mentally winced at the words, which came out sounding like a lame pickup line.

  “No,” she said, fiddling with the neckline of her shirt, smoothing it out before bunching it up again. “I just moved to town.”

  “Ah. You going to come back in tomorrow?”

  Her cheeks went a little pink. “Um. You guys are open on Christmas Day?”

  Oh. Shit. Now I’d gone from lame to sounding like a total idiot. “Oh. Um. No, we’re not. I . . . forgot.”

  “You forgot Christmas?” she asked, stepping forward to pick up her purse, head tilting to the side in an adorable fashion.

  I shrugged. “No family here. Not a ton to celebrate.”

  “Oh.”

  And now I could add pathetic to the list.

  But then she glanced up and I saw warmth in her gorgeous blue-green eyes. “You could come over to my house. I was going to cook and—”

  The warmth in her eyes died.

  Probably because my expression was coming across as shocked. Or maybe a little disbelieving. What kind of woman invited a strange man back to her house? Moreover, what kind of woman invited a strange black man to her house?

  That had happened to me exactly . . . never.

  “Never mind,” she said, biting her lip, eyes dropping to the floor. “It was a stupid idea.”

  I huffed out a laugh.

  “I’m not stupid,” she snapped.

  “Inviting strange men you don’t know to your place for Christmas isn’t exactly smart.”

  Those eyes shot up, and my breath froze in my lungs. Blue tinged with green. The ocean reflecting the hot summer sun. Pretty and delicate and somehow still strong.

  Then she spoke again, and I couldn’t keep the amusement out of my expression. “You’re not a strange man,” she said. “You’re the man who saved my life by keeping my purse safe.” Her chin came up, and that small show of spine was the third punch to my gut. “Serial killers don’t rescue purses.”

  I snorted. “Whatever you say, darlin’.”

  A huff. “I’m new in town and don’t have any family, and you seem nice, so I invited you for dinner.” She tossed up her hands. “What exactly is the problem with that?”

  “Because sweet little girls like you don’t invite men like me places.”

  Her brows drew together. “Men like you?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Men”—I pointed at my face—“like me.”

  She disappeared. I literally had no other word to describe it, but one second, she was all fire and the next, she was a blank slate.

  “Girls like me,” she repeated, and her voice was no longer sweet peaches and sticky honey. It was ice. “I see. Heaven forbid a girl like me ask out a handsome man because a girl like me should be at home knitting or collecting cats or darning my socks.” She sighed and turned away. “Or at the very least, hanging her star on a man who fits her. Someone plain and dumpy and average-looking.”

  Um. What?

  “You’re far from average-looking, darlin’.”

  She winced like I’d punched her.

  But I wasn’t blowing smoke. This woman was small and curvy with delicate features. Her skin was all peaches and cream, her eyes a mix of blue and green, one I’d never seen before, and her blond hair was lush and thick, hanging in silky waves down her back. Too much sweet in a small package.

  And too much sweet for me.

  “I’m reading you loud and clear,” she muttered, spinning for the door. “Don’t need to hit below the belt. I’m going back to my empty house, back to my imaginary cats, and won’t darken your doorstep again.”

  Fuck. Someone needed to save this woman from herself.

  That someone couldn’t
be me.

  But that still didn’t stop me from snagging her arm and rotating her to face me. “You live near the city now. You have to be smart.” Her lips parted again, probably to tell me she was smart, but I kept talking. “Street smart. You can’t tell strange men you live alone or invite them back to your place.”

  “Fine,” she said.

  “Fine,” I agreed.

  But I didn’t let her go.

  Her eyes flicked over my shoulder, to the ceiling, and my gaze followed hers, half-expecting to see a giant spider dangling there.

  Instead, I saw mistletoe.

  I glanced back down. She licked her lips.

  And suddenly, I knew she was thinking the same thing as me. Warm bodies pressed together, lips only inches apart, heat filling the space, and a kiss-inducing plant overhead.

  “Mistletoe,” she whispered and licked her lips again.

  Just one taste.

  I could give myself that.

  I bent my head and slanted my mouth across hers.

  Two

  Iris

  Soft lips.

  That was the only thing I could think.

  His mouth had been pulled so tight, his jaw clenched firmly enough that I’d noticed a tick just in front of his ear, but when his lips met mine, they were gentle.

  A brush that stole my breath.

  My lips parted.

  And then . . . he kissed me.

  It was almost chaste, his hands staying at his sides, not coming up to tug me against his body, even though I would have gladly plastered myself against him. And his tongue stayed in his own mouth.

  At least until my tongue did something it had never done before.

  Well, not without coaxing and forcing myself to work up the courage to make the move.

  Anyway, this time I didn’t need coaxing or courage or shoring up my spine to make the leap. Almost without thinking, it slid free of my mouth, darting lightly against his lips.

  The change was instant and electric.

  Arms banded around my waist, yanked me flush against his chest, trapping my hands between us. But I didn’t mind, not when it meant they were pressed against the hard muscles there, and I especially wasn’t crying about being close enough to have the man’s scent wafting up, surrounding me, soaking into my pores.

  It was spicy and masculine, so much different than my own mix of floral and baby powder.

  Not that I had a baby.

  I just adored the smell of baby powder.

  I hoped the man did, too.

  My brows drew down, and I almost came out of the kiss with the realization that I didn’t know the man whose lips were currently pressed to mine, but then his tongue chased my own back into my mouth, tangling and teasing and ramping chaste up to hot, and I forgot about the fact that this was only the fourth person I’d kissed.

  Ever.

  Ever.

  Frank. My parents. And now . . . this man.

  Oh, God—

  I was kissing a man, and I didn’t even know his name!

  Panic swarmed me, and I yanked my head back, trying to shove out of his arms and completely unable to free myself.

  “Let. Go,” I said, panting and completely aware of the fact that it was from the kiss, and not because it had been bad. But because I was kissing a man I didn’t know. I didn’t kiss men. Hell, I was too shy to even talk to men.

  But here I was, in a bar.

  In a man’s arms.

  And I didn’t know his name.

  “You have to let me go,” I said, wriggling in his hold, trying to free myself. I watched the beautiful man blink, deep pools of unfathomable dark eyes coming back into focus after a moment. “You don’t know who you’re kissing,” I continued blithely. “You don’t—”

  His arms opened.

  I stumbled back a step.

  “I—” I shook my head. “I—”

  “I shouldn’t have done that,” he said, voice placid, face expressionless, eyes over my shoulder. “Not with you.” He pointed to the door. “You should go.”

  Slice.

  Rejection.

  I knew that feeling intimately, had felt it frequently.

  So, I didn’t cry or wither or let my face show how deeply that wounded. Instead, I bundled it up with the rest of the pain from my past and shoved it deep down. Then I bent to retrieve my purse, it somehow having fallen to the floor without me noticing.

  Probably because even though I’d been kissing a stranger, the feel of his mouth, his lips, his tongue . . . were more incredible than anything I’d ever experienced with Frank.

  I’d kissed just two men.

  Not hard for the one in front of me to beat Frank.

  Not only because Frank was a total jerk, but because Frank and I had been bumbling teenagers when we’d been together.

  Sigh.

  “Don’t worry,” I said, pushing Frank from my mind. “I’ll go.”

  “Good.”

  The short, sharp syllable made my filter disappear.

  Or at least, that was the only reason I could think for my normally shy and locked-down nature to have poofed away like fairy dust, the next words out of my mouth being a total blurt.

  “And I definitely won’t come back and drool over you all night again,” I snapped. “I certainly won’t sit at the bar for three hours and hope that you notice me. Because I get it. Beautiful men like you aren’t into dumpy, fat girls like me.”

  His eyes shot to mine, going wide, gorgeous lips parting, but I wasn’t going to let him tell me to go again.

  I spun for the door.

  I was going to see myself out. I was going to forget about extending ridiculous invitations to dinner, about kissing gorgeous men whose names I didn’t know.

  I’d been humiliated enough for a lifetime.

  Frank had seen to that.

  Now I’d seen to that.

  Lifting my chin, I reached for the handle.

  Then found myself being hauled back against a strong, broad chest.

  “You’re beautiful. It’s not you—”

  I snorted, shoving at his arm. “Okay, let me stop you before you finish that It’s not you, it’s me nonsense.” Another shove, which meant I managed to loosen his grip all of a millimeter before it banded tightly around my middle again. “I’ve got the picture. Let me flounce off with an ounce of my dignity intact, will you?”

  “No.”

  Cool.

  Let me start off by saying I didn’t usually condone violence, but I’d been pushed to my limits, and this man, the one who’d given me the best kiss of my life—yes, it was only the best kiss of two total men, but I also didn’t have to be an idiot who’d only kissed two men to know that it still had been a really good freaking kiss—was holding me firm, wasn’t letting me escape my embarrassment—which had reached critical mass—and I snapped.

  I tilted my chin down and bit him on the forearm.

  Not lightly.

  He cursed, arms falling open, and I shoved forward lurching for the door, grasping the handle and yanking it open.

  The last thing I heard as I stumbled out of the office was the cursing cut off and his rumbling voice chase me down the hall as I fled.

  “So, what time is dinner?”

  I’d entered the bar chastising myself for being an idiot who left her purse behind, and I left that same bar, chastising myself for still being an idiot.

  Albeit this time, one who’d left some of her dignity behind.

  Three

  Brent

  I glanced down at my arm, at the two perfect crescents of teeth marks, and felt my lips curve up.

  I shouldn’t be amused by the fact that the woman had just bitten me.

  But, one, I’d had it coming.

  And, two, I’d had it coming.

  First, for kissing her. Even though she’d stood there under the mistletoe looking as sweet as a Christmas cookie—cheeks a little flushed, blue-green eyes darkening, lips parted, tongue darting out. She’d kis
sed me back.

  But sweet girls like that didn’t kiss me.

  They were scared of me.

  I was a big, black guy. I was built, and my default expression was scowl, especially when I had to haul some rowdy fucker out of the bar. Brooke even liked to tease that my resting bitch face was more powerful than hers.

  Still, I’d had the bite more than coming, and not just because of the kiss.

  But because I’d let her think that I hadn’t wanted to kiss her.

  Because I’d been warring with myself, thinking that I didn’t deserve to have my hands on such a beautiful, sweet angel, my lips, my tongue—

  And then the angel had shown me a slice of the devil.

  With her teeth.

  Hard enough to surprise, not hard enough to really hurt.

  I glanced back down at my arm, saw the marks had already faded, then looked down the hall, the flash of her blond ponytail disappearing into the front room. I followed slowly, intending to lock the door behind her, but about halfway down the hall, I kicked something.

  It clattered across the floor.

  I looked down, saw it was a cell phone, then bent and picked it up, just as the beautiful angel-devil rounded the corner, muttering to herself about idiots.

  She skittered to a stop, eyes going from the phone in my hand up to my face.

  “This yours?” I asked, holding it out.

  Silence.

  Then a begrudging, “Yes.”

  I waved it lightly. “You going to take it?”

  Her lips pressed flat, which I knew was a fucking shame because I’d kissed that luscious mouth and if it was pressed flat against anything, then it should be pressed flat to some part of my body.