Boiling Point (Crossing the Line #3)(28)

Yeah, right. He could dress as a clown and she’d be itching to get him naked.

On second thought. She picked up the wineglass and drained the contents, giving the bartender a thumbs-up when he lifted the bottle up. More?

Yes. Oh, yes, there was going to be more tonight. With a man she’d despised on sight. After the last forty-eight hours, however, she’d begun to question that dislike, wondering if it stemmed from the stirring he inspired beneath her belly button and between her thighs. The way he challenged her mind at every turn. The way he seemed to crave her challenging him back.

Thinking past tonight wasn’t an option. She’d made that decision on the seemingly endless walk home from Austin’s apartment. Already she was overwhelmed by the role she’d taken on in their relationship. Total control. She felt the power all the way down to her fingertips where they brushed back and forth over the smooth bar. Perhaps it was unwise to approach tonight without an exit strategy. What if she enjoyed what took place between her and Austin so much that she couldn’t stop? They worked together. And as of this morning, he was helping her with Reitman. A sexual relationship could jeopardize both of those situations, and nothing could get in the way of getting justice for Kevin. Justice had driven her since childhood, had dictated every decision that had brought her to the present, and she wouldn’t let the importance of her mission fade one iota.

Polly got lost in the clear liquid sloshing into her wineglass, courtesy of the chatty bartender. She was only half listening, nodding during the brief pauses, as seemed appropriate. But she ceased all movement, inside and out, when Austin walked into the hotel. Sounds grew heavy in the bar, the lights seeming to dim. Immediately, she knew he’d been watching her, maybe from across the street or just outside the window. His gaze was locked on her before he was fully inside the lobby. He wore the suit, but no prosthetics on his face, a fact she found herself relieved about, but didn’t care to explore why. He’d paired the suit with a fedora, pulled low over his forehead. His mannerisms and walk were different. Polly found herself marveling at his skill in becoming an entirely different person, but as he approached, her thoughts fled, replaced with the image of him, hands braced on the doorframe as they’d been that morning. Waiting. Was that an order, sweet?

She took a gulp of her wine, the cool, crisp liquid getting caught in her throat when Austin sat at the opposite end of the bar, hanging his hat on the stool’s wooden back. When he ordered a gin and tonic from the bartender, Polly heard his American accent and narrowed her eyes. Taunting her? But when he thanked the bartender, she heard notes of the South. And even though she knew it wasn’t authentic, the smoky tone of his voice enlivened the desire left over from that morning. No, it had never gone away; it had only quieted in his absence, hadn’t it? Why was he sitting on the other side of the bar?

Austin regarded her steadily, his attention unwavering as his fingers drummed in a hypnotic rhythm on the bar. Drum, drum, drum. Impatience had Polly squirming in her seat, but her attention refused to stray from his compelling masculinity. And after a moment, she realized her heartbeat had begun to match the drumming of his fingers. Her breathing followed shortly after. In, out, in, out. The volume in the bar lifted in pitch…or was that all in her mind? She couldn’t decide. The sounds his fingers made and her body’s corresponding reactions only got louder to compete with the music. The tip of his tongue skated along the inside of his top lip, slowly, so slowly, from one end to the other, and Polly’s thighs shot together.

“The gentleman sends you a drink,” said the bartender, jolting Polly out of her stupor. Look alive, Banks. She hadn’t even heard the girl approach. “Would you like to accept it?”

“Um. Yes,” Polly answered, cupping the back of her neck with a hand, hoping to cool her temperature enough to function like a normal human being. When she glanced back across the bar, Austin had stood, heading toward her with unhurried steps, that golden gaze still fastened on her, far hungrier this time, wreaking the worst kind of destruction on her concentration.

Austin stopped beside her, entirely too close for the stranger he was pretending to be. So close, his slow exhale moved the hair covering her ear. “Beg pardon.” He spoke just above a whisper, but his tone was laced with concrete. “But I’d like to know just what you’re looking at, ma’am.”

His bluntness piqued her temper, somehow elevating her awareness of him right along with it. “Excuse me?”

His hand gripped the chair supporting her back, making it creak. “I came in for a quiet drink and you’re staring. Is there something you want?”

It was a dare. An Austin-style dare. Are you going to back out, Banks? She could practically read his thoughts, knew damn well she was being goaded. And didn’t care. His challenge was working right when she needed to be pushed. Her middle was twisted in knots, had been for six months, and she wouldn’t let this opportunity to lessen her suffering slip away. Nor could she pass up the chance to learn more about herself. “Yes, there is something I want.”

She sensed his relief even though he didn’t move a muscle. “I’m going to need specifics, ma’am. I’m not terribly gifted in mind reading,” he drawled.

“What are you gifted in?”

Polly couldn’t believe the purr that had emerged from her throat, but once it was liberated into the dim bar, the moment changed, became shinier and more manageable. Her nerves calmed little by little, until it felt entirely natural to turn her head and meet Austin’s intensity head-on. It pulled her under like a swirling eddy, but her legs kicked, allowing her to tread water.