The Billionaire Next Door (Billionaire Bad Boys #2)(22)

“Something to drink?” His voice echoed off the sparsely furnished kitchen and dining area.

“No, thanks.”

“I have wine.”

He stood at the counter, palms flat on the surface, biceps straining, chest temptingly bare.

“No,” she said more forcefully, then covered with, “Rain check.”

“Hold you to it,” he said with a nod.

She turned away and tried to think of something to say, when her saving grace came into focus. On the kitchen table next to the discarded gloves was a collection of photos of bars. Pool bars, she noted. She lifted the eight-by-tens and flipped through the pictures.

“Is this for work?” she asked, admiring the ocean view for this one. Tropical. Hawaii, maybe?

“Yeah.” His deep voice grew closer. “Redesigning the bars in a bunch of Crane hotels. He dug under another stack and pulled out a blueprint-style drawing. “Just had these drawn up.”

She took the prints, a bird’s-eye view of the pool bar with seats and blenders, liquors, and beer taps. “Where’s your server’s well?”

“The what?”

“Come on.” She slanted him a disbelieving glance.

He grinned. Yeah, she thought he was giving her shit. He couldn’t be in charge of Guest and Restaurant Services and not know there was an area where servers picked up their customers’ drinks.

“Here.” He pointed.

“It’s tiny.” She held the drawing closer to examine the itty-bitty square of space. “Bad idea.”

“What do you mean?” This time he wasn’t teasing her; he sounded interested in her opinion. He crossed those massive arms over his massive chest and waited.

“Well…” Don’t think about how good he smells, even sweaty.

She didn’t like sweaty guys. She liked suited guys. Clean-cut guys. No facial hair. A respectably short haircut. What was happening to her?

“You don’t have enough space for the servers to wait for their drinks,” she said, grateful she’d found her former thread of thought. If Tag had an inkling of how he affected her clothed—let alone shirtless—he’d never leave her alone.

Which suddenly didn’t sound so bad. Which was why she needed to keep talking. Outside the door, she’d determined why he was a bad idea and why she wasn’t ready for someone of his caliber in her life. In here, she was having a harder time reminding herself why she couldn’t roll onto her toes and sample his mouth.

“Sure they do.” He took the papers, scooting closer to point out the map. “One here, and one here, on the opposite side.”

“You have servers on two sides of the bar? So your bartenders have to run from one end to the other.” She shook her head and repeated, “Bad idea.”

He took the plans, studied them for a long, silent minute, then handed them back to her. “What else sucks?”

She let out a small laugh. “It doesn’t suck.”

But his brow was creased, his expression concerned. She took another look and then pointed out the flaws that jumped out at her immediately.

“Here. The liquors are out of reach. If you have a bartender who doesn’t have particularly long arms”—she gestured to herself—“you run the risk of breakage and spillage, which is costly.” She laid the plans on the table next to a spread of photos. “You’re right to carry through on a redesign. The way it’s designed currently isn’t good, but the plans aren’t much better.”

When he was silent for a few seconds, she lifted her chin to take him in. His eyes were shadowed by the bill of his cap, his mouth pulled flat. He nodded subtly.

“Interesting,” he murmured.

“I’m no expert but—”

“But you kind of are.” Those electric eyes arrowed to her soul. She could sense his brain churning. Tag cared about this stuff. In a flash she saw past the player who had talked her into a beer followed by a walk home. He cared enough to bring his work home and spread it out on the table. Cared about his job as much as he cared about his body. And he must. To work it out to such perfection. Her eyes slipped from his face to acres of tempting flesh.

“Do you mind if I pick your brain some more?” His eyes narrowed. “I could use another opinion. I was trying to figure out the kinks, but I gave up and worked out instead, which didn’t get me anywhere.” He offered a cocky smile. “I mean, it got me these.” He spread his fingers over his glistening abs. She imagined running a finger over those bumps. One, two, three…

Good Lord, he had an eight-pack.

“You like what you see, Dimples? Because you keep looking down there.”

She moved her eyes to his and instantly regretted it. Their gazes locked and when he stepped forward, she was again in the position of stepping away or standing her ground. She should step away. Excuse herself. Her brain tried to call up details of the lecture she’d given herself at the door, but she came up blank.

“What do you want from me?” she asked, her tone light so he didn’t think she was panicky.

He stopped advancing and leaned with one hand on the back of a chair. “I want you to admit you like what you see.”

“Ha!” She couldn’t help it. The audacity of this guy was incomparable. Who talked like he did? “You want me to stroke your ego? No, I don’t think so.”