Too Hot to Handle (Romancing the Clarksons #1)(15)

If Rita actually showed, the local women who’d been trying to coax him out of the office and his self-imposed celibacy would only see his showing interest in Rita as a challenge to try harder.

You reap what you sow had never rung more true than it did tonight.

If Rita showed. And that was a mighty big if.

Hell, maybe this bone-deep necessity to have Rita see him as something other than Hurley’s orgasm machine was useless. Maybe he should have just kissed her that afternoon. Hesitation had never been part of his genetic makeup, but her big, wary golden-brown eyes had made any leftover game at his disposal seem like laughable bush-league bullshit. At least if he’d just let his mouth drop another inch this afternoon he would know how she tasted. Maybe he wouldn’t have an incessant itch between his shoulder blades from wondering if she might actually leave town without him finding out. The reality was, she would leave town. Probably tomorrow. Which did nothing to decrease this edginess in his bones. A restlessness that made him think not seeing her before her Suburban vanished into the sunset would be a missed opportunity.

Jasper plowed a hand through his hair. “Nate, grab me a beer, would you?”

“Yeah, boss.”

Nate dragged a Budweiser out of the ice, popped the top, and slid it down the bar, right into Jasper’s waiting hand. “You feel the air in here, Nate? It’s feeling real close, ain’t it?”

“I don’t feel anything.”

Jasper made a sound of disgust and drew on his icy-cold beer. “Yeah, I reckon you don’t.” Wondering if he could find a hidden vantage point to watch for an unlikely Rita appearance, Jasper turned and surveyed the bar. Already Eleanor Nesbit was doing that dance. The one where she lifted her arms, closed her eyes real tight, and ground her hips on some imaginary pommel horse. Things like tempo or beat didn’t matter to Eleanor—she just kept on keepin’ on with that infamous move. Meanwhile, her friend Gina switched it up constantly. Just trying out a new move every four seconds or so, not committing to a single one. They made quite a pair.

“Hey, Jasper Ellis.” Gina said his name the way most people say cherry pie. “You’re thinking of joining us. I can tell.”

Eleanor sent him a wink, breaking back into the same dance. Jasper had to admire her loyalty to the technique, but that was about as much admiration as he could muster. They were both attractive women, close to his age, and he felt exactly nothing but hollow when they spoke to him in that overdone cherry-pie manner. Beer bottle tipped to his lips, Jasper turned from the dance floor—

Just in time for Rita to walk into his bar. She brought a cool breeze in with her, a relaxing energy that thrilled at the same time. Her sister was in tow, for which Jasper was grateful. Hurley was safe enough, but he didn’t like the idea of her walking to the Liquor Hole by herself in the dark.

Rita looked the same as this afternoon, hadn’t gone and dressed herself up—thank God. She had, however, rid herself of all that makeup, and Jasper liked her unpainted face. The way it called Saturday mornings to mind, when the only stain on her lips would be from fresh strawberries. Her clothes might be plain, but they were form-fitting enough that he could see the taunting curve of her bottom. That’s exactly what an ass like Rita’s was. A taunt. It said, Don’t even try it, fucker. But at the same time, her long-sleeved shirt, complete with thumbholes, made him think of long stretches on the living room floor while rain pelted the roof. The shirt would mess her hair up when it slid over her head, but they wouldn’t give a shit on account of it being Saturday.

What the hell is in this beer?

Jasper gathered his far-fetched thoughts and rounded the bar in Rita’s direction, remembering at the last minute to smile. Odd, since smiling typically came natural to him. Intense wasn’t a description anyone in town would associate with him, but Rita seemed to coax it to his surface. The closer he came to their seats, the more anxious she appeared. As if she might jump out of her skin at the mere idea of talking to him. Laying that kiss he’d promised on her in lieu of hello was out of the question, because something told him he wouldn’t stop, and he was determined to keep things slow and steady. Good thing slow and steady appeared to be what Rita needed, too.

“And here I was doubting you.” Jasper made eye contact with Nate and nodded toward the ladies. “Buy them a drink on me, Nate. They’re mourning a fan belt tonight, God rest its soul.”

They gave their drink orders. An apple martini for the sister. Rita a pint of their IPA. Gorgeous, sharp-witted, and good taste in beer. Lord have mercy.

Jasper leaned against the bar beside a stiff Rita, but reached to shake the sister’s hand. “I don’t think we met properly today. I’m Jasper.”

“Peggy.” Her smile was warm and slightly giddy, her gaze darting back and forth between him and Rita. Did that mean Rita had been talking about him? He didn’t have a chance to finesse the answer out of Peggy before she hopped off the stool. “You have a jukebox in this place?”

“I surely do. Please avoid Van Halen.” He noticed the dance floor filling up, the couples moving closer to one another. “Tends to get ’em worked up.”

“You got it.”

Just like that, he was alone with Rita. Maybe the heavens were finally smiling on him. Now if he could only get her to look at him. She seemed more interested in the condensation on the pint glass Nate had set down on the bar. Before he could become entranced by the movements of her index finger, Jasper shook himself. “You talk to your sister about me?”