Seduced The Unexpected Virgin - By Emily McKay Page 0,23
do. Forget stripping her naked and lavishing her body with kisses.
Now, she was looking at him suspiciously. Little wonder since he was taking so long to respond. Instead of replying right away, he crossed into the kitchenette and pulled another tumbler from the cabinet.
He held it up in a gesture. “Do you drink tequila?”
She gave him a you’re-an-idiot look, followed by a brief nod. “I mean, I don’t do shots on a regular basis or anything. But I’ve lived most of my life in Southern California. Pretty much everyone drinks tequila on occasion.”
“Good point.” He poured himself a finger and then one for her. He nudged hers across the counter.
She took a ladylike sip, a testament to her previous experience with Gran Patron. It was a sipping tequila.
He nodded in approval, then raised the glass in a silent toast and took a drink of his own, relishing the sharp burn down his throat. Then he set the tumbler down.
There was a part of him that wanted to tell her outright how much he wanted her. It was the same part of him that wanted to bend her over the table and plow into her right now. But he didn’t think either technique would fully satisfy him. Instead, he started talking. Doing what he did best. Seducing her with the sound of his voice and his ability to weave a story.
“When you’re a musician,” he began. “Everybody wants to buy you drinks. Club owners, fans, other musicians. Right or wrong, I’ve been drinking tequila since I was fifteen. A lot of it is pretty nasty stuff. It’s why you do shots, with salt and lime.” He picked up his tumbler again and held it up so the light from the pendant over the bar shone through the glass. The liquid was as clear as water. Only the astringent sting of it in his nose indicated its seductive power. “But Gran Patron, it’s the best sipping tequila in the world. You don’t drink it in shots. You linger over it. You savor it.”
In turn, she lifted her glass, took another sip and let it slide down her throat. He watched the delicate muscles in her neck shift beneath her skin as she swallowed. There was something innately erotic about watching her drink. Something about just being with her that soothed him.
Yes, she got in his face about Hannah’s Hope, but he never felt like she was desperate for a chunk of him, the way he sometimes felt with people. That only added to her appeal. Only reinforced the gut-wrenching desire he felt for her.
Since she didn’t say anything, he kept talking. “I’ve found women are a lot like tequila. When you’re a musician, there’s a lot of them around. Like cheap tequila, sometimes you indulge without lingering over them. Something you do just because it’s there and it’s available.” He rolled the tumbler between his palms. “I loved my wife and I never once cheated on her, I was never even tempted. Why would I drink a shot of cheap tequila just because someone handed it to me when I had something worth savoring back at home.”
He looked at her then, his expression darkening. He took another drink of the Patron and then asked as if it was only just now occurring to him, “Does that analogy offend you?”
She thought about it for a second, tilting her head to the side as she considered. While she could see how it might offend some people, it didn’t bother her. “My father used to say that women are like Eskimos. You’ve heard the myth about Eskimos having forty words for snow? He said women were like that. We have hundreds of words for emotions. But men don’t. They describe women like possessions because they have no other way to convey how desperately they need them.”
Funny, she hadn’t thought about that in a long time. Growing up, her parents lectured her endlessly about staying out of trouble. They were so afraid of her messing up her life and her future by doing drugs or having sex and getting pregnant. Her mother’s lectures had been frequent, redundant and sometimes infuriating. But her father’s words had stuck with her.
Don’t sleep with a boy just because he says he loves you, he’d told her. That’s just a word boys will use to get you into bed. Wait for the boy who wants you enough that he’s willing to wait. Wait for the boy who can’t tell you how