Flirting Under a Full Moon - By Ashlyn Chase Page 0,1
to wonder why I didn’t. A lot of guys do. I treat a woman to an awesome night she’ll never forget. I’m just not interested in getting tied down right now.”
She lowered her voice. “Look, I’m not saying I want to get married either. But casual sex isn’t my style.”
He feigned shock, then boomed in his baritone, “Who said anything about sex? Of course if that’s what you want, I’d be happy to oblige.”
“Oh, my Playboy penthouse… Lower your voice, dammit.” She glanced around, but people seemed to have lost interest in her. They continued their own conversations or preoccupation with the football game. Thank you, Tom Brady.
“What’s your penthouse got to do with anything?”
She chuckled. “I don’t live in a penthouse. I live over the bar. That’s just something I do when I’m shocked. Instead of saying, “Oh my God—I substitute some other word or words for God.”
“Are you religious? Don’t want to take the Lord’s name in vain or something?”
“Heck no. It’s just way overused. I don’t want to wear it out.” She faced Sadie, who she knew took an interest in all the waitresses’ love lives. Sadie shuffled her tarot cards with a knowing smile on her face.
He chuckled. “I’m not going to lie to you, Brandee. I think you’re sexy as hell, and redheads are my weakness, but if you can’t allow yourself a night of fun without some damn commitment…”
She sighed. “It’s not like that.”
“Then what is it?”
She couldn’t put her feelings into words. Sure she’d like to have a good time, but was one night worth the trouble and expense of getting a full body wax and a mani-pedi and buying a new outfit? She needed her tips to pay for her photography supplies. A night with the handsome cop would probably steal her breath away, but she didn’t want to risk losing her heart too.
He waved and walked away. “Forget it.”
By the time he had retaken his stool and started watching the game, Brandee regretted her hesitancy. Damn it all, Nick was hot. His blond hair was growing out just enough to curl around his ears, and his sapphire blue eyes were impossible to ignore. A suspect wouldn’t stand a chance against that intense stare. Hell. She didn’t stand a chance when he looked at her with those gorgeous eyes.
Still, “No casual sex, no matter how tempting the guy might be” was a good policy. She did want to fall in love and get married some day. Even a protected one-night stand could result in a life-altering “accident.” And if that happened, it would not be with a playboy like Nick Wolfensen.
A man who only dated to have a night of fun with a different woman each time must be extremely superficial. How satisfying could that be? What would make someone do that? Had he been hurt so badly he didn’t want to risk it again? She couldn’t think of any other reason.
Sadie caught her attention and held up her empty glass, calling for another.
Oh my pickled herring…that woman can put them away. But her nephew owned the bar and he’d told the staff to keep her happy. Not only did Anthony seem genuinely fond of his aunt, but she was good for business. To sit at her booth and have a tarot card reading, the patron had to meet the one-drink minimum.
When Brandee delivered Sadie’s fourth White Russian, the fortune-teller said, “You know, my Dmitri was like that once.”
“Like what?”
She smirked. “You should know better than to feign innocence with a psychic.”
Brandee rolled her eyes. “Fine. So, you had a commitment-phobic boyfriend.”
Sadie shuffled the cards again. “It wasn’t that as much as he wanted to be free when the right woman came along. He really didn’t like the idea of hurting anyone.” She flipped over a card. “I think your Nick is doing the same thing.”
“First of all, he’s not my Nick.”
Sadie pushed the card across the table toward her. “If you say so.”
Brandee glanced at the card, then stared more closely. It was the same one. A man and a woman entwined in a passionate embrace. The Lovers.
Oh, my heartbreak…I’m toast.
***
“What’s got your jockstrap in a twist?” Konrad asked.
Nick sat across from his twin brother, with a big mahogany desk between them. “It’s nothing.” He reached out and ran his hand over the polished surface, glancing at the gleaming brass plate that read Dean Konrad Wolfensen. “Jeez, I can’t visit you without feeling like I’ve been sent to the principal’s office.”