Blue-Eyed Devil (Travis Family #2)(34)

"It's okay," I said breathlessly, hunting for my purse.

"Here, let me get that," the guy on the barstool said, bending down to retrieve it.

"Thanks."

As the guy straightened and handed me the purse, I looked up into a pair of blue eyes, and everything stopped, the sound of voices, the background music, every footstep, blink, breath, heartbeat. Only one person I'd ever met had eyes that color. Dazzling. Devil-blue.

I was slow to react, trying to jump-start my heart back into action, and then my pulse hammered too hard, too fast. All I could think of was that the last time — the only time — I'd seen Hardy Cates, I'd been wrapped around him in my family's wine cellar.

CHAPTER SIX

People were pressing behind me, trying to get the bartender's attention. I was about to be trampled. With a murmur, Hardy Cates guided me to the stool he'd been occupying, helping me up. I was too dazed to object. The leather seat was warm from his body. He stood with one hand on the counter, the other on the back of my chair, sheltering me. Trapping me.Hardy was a little leaner than I remembered, a little more seasoned, tempered by maturity. The look of experience suited him, especially because somewhere deep in those eyes, there still lurked a dangerous invitation to play. He had a quality of masculine confidence that was a thousand times more potent than mere handsomeness. Perfect good looks could leave you cold, but this kind of sexy charisma went straight to your knees. I had no doubt every available woman at the bar had been drooling over him.

In fact, just beyond the outline of his shoulder, I saw the leggy blonde in the next chair glaring at me. I had stumbled, literally, into the middle of their conversation.

"Miss Travis." Hardy looked at me as if he couldn't quite believe I was there. "Pardon. I mean Mrs. Tanner."

"No, I'm . . . it's Travis again." Aware that I was stammering, I said baldly, "I'm divorced."

There was no change in his expression except for a slight widening of those blue-on-blue eyes. He picked up his drink and tossed back a swallow. When his gaze returned to mine, he seemed to be looking right inside me. I flushed hard, remembering the wine cellar again.

The blonde was still giving me the evil eye. I gestured to her awkwardly and babbled, "I'm sorry to interrupt. I didn't mean to . . . please, you go on with your . . . it was nice seeing you, Mr. — "

"Hardy. You're not interrupting anything. We're not together." He glanced over his shoulder, the yellow bar light sliding over the layers of his shiny dark hair. "Excuse me," he said to the woman. "I have to catch up with an old friend."

"Sure," she said with a dimpled smile.

Hardy turned back to me, and the woman's face changed. From the look she gave me, I should have dropped dead on the spot.

"I'm not going to take your chair," I said, beginning to slide off the barstool. "I was just heading out. It's so crowded in here — " My breath caught as my legs touched his, and I scooted up onto the stool again.

"Give it a minute," Hardy said. "It'll thin out soon." He gestured for a bartender, who appeared with miraculous speed.

"Yes, Mr. Cates?"

Hardy looked at me, one brow lifting. "What'll you have?"

I've really got to go, I wanted to tell him, but it came out as, "Dr Pepper, please."

"Dr Pepper — extra cherries," he told the bartender.

Surprised, I asked, "How did you know I like maraschinos?" His mouth curved with a slow burn of a smile. For a moment I forgot how to breathe. "Just figured you for the type who likes extra."

He was too big. Too close. I still hadn't rid myself of the habit of assessing a man in terms of how much damage he could do to me.

Nick had left bruises and fractures — but this guy could kill a normal person with a swipe of his hand. I knew that someone like me, with all my baggage and my possible case of sexophobia had no business being around Hardy Cates.

His hands were still on either side of me, braced on the chair arm and the countertop. I felt the tension of opposing urges, the desire to shrink away from him, and an attraction that prickled like sparks in-side me. His silver-gray tie had been loosened and the top button of his shirt was unfastened, revealing the hint of a white undershirt beneath. The skin of his throat was smooth and brown. I wondered for a second what his body felt like beneath the layers of thin cotton and broadcloth, if he was as hard as I remembered. A tumult of curiosity and dread caused me to fidget on the chair.

I turned gratefully as the bartender brought my drink, a highball of sparkling Dr Pepper. Bright red cherries bobbed on the surface. I plucked one from the drink and pulled the fruit from its stem with my teeth. It was plump and sticky, rolling sweetly on my tongue.

"Did you come here alone, Miss Travis?" Hardy asked. So many men his size had incongruously high voices, but he had a deep voice, made to fill a big chest.

I considered telling him to call me by my first name, but I needed to keep every possible barrier between us, no matter how slight.

"I came with my brother Jack and his girlfriend," I said. "I work for him now. He has a property management company. We were celebrating my first week." I picked out another cherry and ate it slowly, and found that Hardy was watching me with an absorbed, slightly glazed expression.