Resisting Mr. Kane (London Mister #2)(6)

His eyes crinkle slightly at the corners. “Don’t bother. I’m not sure the next one would be any better. No offence.”

“That’s true.” I let out a nervous laugh and hand over the beer that looks more like a cappuccino. “I’ve been on the island for three weeks with my friend Megan, and I’ve already gone through three jobs. I’m not cut out for hospitality. I worked in a bookshop back home.”

“A bookshop?” He smiles slightly. “I would never have guessed.” His gaze travels down my body, lingering on my breasts, then back up again. “Sorry. Your outfit is…distracting.”

I roll my eyes. “I think that’s the intention.”

“Maybe I need to visit more bookshops.”

Was that…an expression of interest? Speaking of books, he’s hard to read.

“I don’t want to work in a bookstore forever though. It was just to get me through university,” I explain, leaning in close to hear him.

His eyes flicker with a hint of interest. “What are you studying?”

“I’m just finished. Law with Criminology. Just waiting on results now and graduation.”

“Huh.” His forearm brushes mine as he lifts the whiskey chaser. It was only a slight touch but it made my breath trip. “I guess you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. You’re a multilingual law student who works in a bookshop but masquerades as a provocative bartender at night.”

I've never heard a sexier way to describe myself. “Only in Greece, where I have the luxury of anonymity. It’s either this or kidnap tourists onto boats.”

“Ah yes, anonymity.” He takes a sip of the beer and fails to hide a grimace. “So why did you choose law for your degree?”

He actually looks interested in my answer.

“When I was younger, I witnessed a hit-and-run. I ended up going to court to testify and it was the most thrilling ten days of my life. After that, I always wanted to be a criminal lawyer and work on exciting court cases, but I guess that's what everyone says.” I laugh, feeling like I’m a babbling idiot. “I’m not gonna deny the prestige and money sounds nice too. Stupid reasons.”

He scans my face as if trying to figure something out.

“It’s so hard to know what degree to pick,” I continue babbling. “I mean how can you tell what you want to do for the next few decades or whether you’ll be any good at it if you haven’t done it before? But I enjoyed the law degree for the most part. Right now, I’d do anything just to get a foot in the door at one of the top law firms.”

Still, he gives me a funny look. “What do you do, Tristan?” I ask, ignoring the angry drinkers desperate for attention.

“I own a few businesses and invest in property,” he says after a beat. “You can pour me another or you’ll get in trouble for talking to me too long.”

“Oh.” I have no idea what questions to ask a property investor. Ungracefully I lift the bottle down off the shelf. “What type of property?”

"Hotels and apartment blocks mostly," he replies, a hint of weariness in his voice that makes me wonder if he's worried about me being a gold-digger.

“Where do you live?” I probe.

His eyes drop to my chest and a muscle in his jaw jumps. When he meets my gaze, it’s less apologetic this time. My stomach tightens.

“London.”

His voice makes me want to have sex. It’s a good thing he’s not a newsreader. “Do people say you have a really nice voice? It’s so posh. Are you from London?”

“Thanks, I’ll take that as a compliment.” His eyes crinkle with the hint of a smile. “I’m from the Midlands originally but my parents are Irish so I had a mix of accents growing up. Apparently, I’ve lost any identifiable regional dialect. It’s not deliberate.”

I grin. “How very British.”

He reaches for the Scotch as I hand it to him, brushing his fingers against mine. “It’s got nothing on your beautiful Welsh lilt. It’s very endearing. My name sounds good when you say it.”

Fuck.

“I’m hoping to live in London soon,” I explain with a dry mouth. “It’s just so damn expensive. Megan and I are going to look for a house-share. That’s Megan over there.” I point to her for no reason.

He nods like a man who hasn’t understood what expensive means for years and hands me over twenty euros without asking how much the drinks cost. “What are you, twenty-three? You have your whole life to make money.”

“Twenty-four. Nearly twenty-five,” I add quickly. “I worked for a few years before starting uni. Why are you in Mykonos, Tristan?”

“I’ve been asking myself that since I arrived,” he replies darkly.

I frown but don’t probe anymore. The guy is a closed book.

Someone heckles me further down the bar. “I better serve the other customers.”

I move about the bar serving customers. Every now and then, I glance over at Tristan. Most of the time he is reading something on his phone, scowling. But sometimes, his gaze is fixed firmly on me. I never took myself for an exhibitionist, but there’s something highly sexual about Tristan watching me in little more than underwear. Like a private show I’m doing just for him. It’s distracting, which isn’t good when you’re as bad a bartender as I am.