My fists clench. Please, God, can she stop talking to him?

“I’d love to hear it.”

“I think you should write a blog about beer. You have a lot of insight. You ought to share it with the world. That is, if you don’t blog about it already.”

He strokes his chin. “Actually, I do. But it’s been kind of a hard slog. I want to share my love of beer with the world, but I’d much rather talk about it than write about it.”

“Start a beer podcast, then.”

He snaps his fingers, his eyes lighting up. “That’s a damn good idea. I’ve been looking into ways to expand.”

“Always hustling,” she says, then gestures to me. “That’s what he says.”

“That’s good advice, mate.”

“Thanks. Happy to give it,” I say grudgingly.

I check the time, clearing my throat as if to remind her she has someplace to be.

“One more second,” she says to me, and fantastic, now I’m the annoying dick who’s trying to herd her out of here.

“If you want to talk about it, I’m Truly Goodman. I run Gin Joint in Chelsea.”

He gasps. “I love that place. I was there the other weekend. Heard that guy sing and had a Hush Money. Best gin cocktail I’ve had in ages.”

Truly’s smile hits new levels on the Richter scale of delight, and I want to shove a sock in this guy’s mouth. “That’s my brother. He’s a lounge singer and a veterinarian. Or, I should say, he’s a vet and a lounge singer. And Hush Money is mine.”

“It was delicious. Like heaven in a glass.”

I scrub a hand across the back of my neck, wishing this exchange would stop.

“Thank you. I appreciate that. And the beer was great.”

“No, thank you. Your idea is fantastic. You’re amazing. I could kiss you.”

Every territorial instinct in me snaps to attention, calling up the caveman that lurks within. Draping an arm around Truly, I tug her close. I can’t not. “Sorry, mate. I’ve got dibs on that.”

His eyes pop out like they’re attached to springs. He raises his hands like stop signs, and his voice brims with contrition. “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean anything by that.”

“No worries.” I flash him a grin, even as I bring her closer to me because she fits fucking perfectly there. She fits against me like she belongs.

We leave, and when we reach the street, I let go of her. She swivels to face me, a challenge written across her eyes. “And what if I wanted him to kiss me?”

“Did you? Did you want to kiss Marcus?”

She parks her hands on her hips. “Well, if I did, you just ruined it.”

“I thought you weren’t interested in dating. That was what you said on Sunday.”

“And I meant it. I wasn’t trying to date Marcus, for God’s sake. I was not picking him up. We were talking about work.”

“You two were pretty damn chatty.”

“It was business. I was learning from him. Stop being such a jealous ass.”

“Ass? Now I’m an ass?”

“You are kind of acting like one.”

“Well, pardon me, then. I’ll just leave so you can return to Marcus the soapbox bartender, who looks like he sprang from Central Casting for Movie Stars.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Are you serious?”

I wave a hand in his direction. “Oh, come on now.”

“I didn’t even notice.”

“You didn’t notice he looks like . . . like . . .” Well, I’m not going to point it out to her.

“I told you. I was only interested in talking to him about beer. I was only interested in learning more about the business. This is business for me.” She stabs at her chest with one finger. “Hello? Workaholic here. Just like you.”

I huff sullenly and mutter an apology. “Sorry.” Then, because that’s not how apologies work and I should know better, I man up and meet her gaze. “I’m sorry I acted like a jealous ass. But I still don’t think Marcus is your type.”

She raises her chin. “How do you know?”

Adrenaline courses through me. It’s this argument, Marcus, the whole damned night. I step closer, lift a hand, and run my thumb over her jawline. “Because you are the kind of woman who needs a particular kind of kiss, and he’s not the man who can give it to you.”

“What type of kiss do I need?” she asks, and it comes out breathy. I want to hear that sound again. I want to be the reason she makes it.

I move closer, and she doesn’t back away. I need to get other men out of her head. I need to erase them, so I say, “Hot, hard, deep, and completely consuming.”

She swallows, her voice a little wobbly but still fierce. “How do you know that’s what I need?”

“Because when I kissed you that night, you melted. You turned boneless. You said no one had ever kissed you that way before.”

Her words are some kind of invitation. “Maybe I like it soft and slow now.”

“Do you?”

“Perhaps.” It lasts for five syllables, and with the vibration of each one, I move closer. I run a hand down her arm. Goosebumps trail in my wake, and she doesn’t pull away.

“Perhaps you do,” I repeat. She’s inches from me. Her eyes lock with mine and heat flashes across hers. “Only one way to find out.”

I slide a hand into her hair, then brush my lips over hers, barely kissing her, hardly touching. It’s enough to drive me wild, to make me want more. To make me want her again, want her more than I already do. This woman taunts me, tempts me.

And I want her to feel tempted too.

Her soft lips seal against mine, and even though I’ve kissed her hard and hot and heavy, even though I’ve kissed her like I’m going to fuck her, tonight isn’t for devouring.