Blow - Kim Karr Page 0,8

dimly lit, glowing with soft white light. There was a steady pulse of music. A small dance floor was filled with people. Most were standing close and talking, others were already dancing. The DJ booth was already manned and larger than the dance floor. Still, the bar was the showpiece. Glass lit shelves displayed bottle after bottle of liquor, in addition to glasses in every shape and size.

The space was eclectic. The dark paneling and old-fashioned parquet wood floors flowed into the modern space from the vestibule. I liked it.

The pub, as it was called, was more like a club, and it was jam-packed with the happy hour crowd. I considered leaving but decided against it.

It had been a long week, and one drink was deserved.

As if moving in slow motion, I tried to push through the crowd.

I wasn’t dressed like the other women. Wearing leggings, boots, and a simple long-sleeved cream-colored blouse that buttoned up the front, I was dressed for winter even though it was spring. Most of these women had stripped out of their work jackets and sweaters to reveal sexy camisoles or sheer tops. They had planned for their night out.

The large bar was so crowded that I had to squeeze my way through to it. A shove, a push, another shove, and I’d been turned around. That’s when I saw another room that was also dimly lit, but seemed a lot calmer.

Unbuttoning my coat, I made a beeline for the space, ignoring the men who stared and women who leered. Booths lined the walls and there was a smaller bar with dozens of beer taps behind it. Still crowded, but nothing like the other side; I could at least move without being jostled. Luckily, a space opened up at the bar, and as I walked toward it, the female bartender glanced up from the person she was talking with.

It wasn’t her I was looking at, though; instead my eyes landed on the patron sitting at the bar. I knew who it was immediately. I’d studied his backside no more than thirty minutes ago. It was the younger McPherson. He appeared to be sitting alone, chatting with the bartender.

My heart skipped a beat and I automatically slowed my approach.

Obviously curious, he twisted his head around when the bartender’s eyes lingered on me a little too long. And when he saw me, he gave me a small smile.

That smile.

Wild, gorgeous, sexy.

Heart-stopping.

The current I felt surging between us earlier now reappeared with a jolt. It was unsettling. It made me think I should turn around, but I couldn’t.

The magnetic pull was too strong to ignore. This was a dangerous situation. Uncharted waters. In the past, I’d never felt a strong enough attraction toward anyone to worry what it might mean. There had never been sexual chemistry for me with anyone else.

I never really cared.

It was better that way.

If there had been, I would have fought it.

But, right now, I couldn’t.

Ignoring my intuition, I took off my hat. I immediately regretted it. The bottom half of my hair hung sodden against my partially unbuttoned flimsy raincoat while the top half sprang to life. I was certain my normally ginger-colored locks looked tangerine.

The younger McPherson didn’t seem to care. He stood and pulled out the empty bar stool next to his, motioning me toward him.

While my body urged me forward, my mind fought it every step of the way.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, and the sound of his voice made my spine tingle.

I wanted to be offended, but his tone wasn’t in the least bit harsh. “Following you.” I tried to sound nonchalant but I think my voice was more raspy than matter-of-fact, and I let out a slight laugh.

He didn’t seem to notice that I was joking and I saw his jaw tense.

I sat down. “Relax. I’m kidding, just kidding.”

Relief softened his features and he offered me his hand. “We haven’t officially met. I’m Logan.”

Logan. The young McPherson had a nice name. It suited him. He seemed formal in his choice of words but informal in his dress. And the hard lines of his body contradicted the softness of his voice.

I shook his hand. “Elle.”

“So, Elle, where are O’Shea and the baby?”

Odd question, I thought, but answered anyway. “They went home.”

With a raised brow, he asked, “What brings you into Molly’s?” He paused for a second and the corners of his mouth quirked. “Besides following me,” he said with a slight laugh of his own.

I withheld my