She was talking about him leaving for three months to oversee the job site in BC, which they’d talked about on the drive to the bar. Or maybe she was talking about the two of them hooking up. Regardless, Mitch downed the shot in one swallow. The tequila warmed his chest and settled hard in the pit of his stomach. Heat rushing all through his belly, he set the glass down. Before he could say anything, Lara laughed. To the bartender, she said, “Another.”

Voices and music echoed around him. The combination of beer and vodka and tequila was definitely spiraling to his head. When Lara chuckled at Mitch’s facial expression after the second shot, he realized her laugh wasn’t all that bad. And her hand still resting on his thigh, slowly stroking the soft denim, was absolutely having some kind of impact on his libido, even if it wasn’t the shot of wicked-hot desire he always felt whenever Simone barely touched him.

Simone…

His chest squeezed tight, and that same ache he’d been living with the last two days reformed right beneath his breastbone, stealing his breath.

Shit. She doesn’t need you. She doesn’t want you. If she regretted anything, she could have tried to talk to you at the airport, but she didn’t. Don’t think about her. Just focus on the hot bod all but sitting in your lap, offering to fuck your brains out right this very second.

He slid his arm around Lara’s waist and pulled her in closer. Her hair tickled his nose and some floral scent filled his senses. “You wanna get out of here?”

She eased back and smiled a sexy, I’m-gonna-rock-your-world grin. “Oh yeah. After one more.”

She hollered at the bartender, and the guy lined the glasses up again. This time doubles. A little voice in the back of Mitch’s head said this was a bad idea, that Mara or Lara or whatever her name was could obviously drink him under the table and that he should be careful, but he ignored it. Reaching for the glass, he downed the double in one long swallow.

Before he’d even set the glass down, she closed her hand over his on the bar. “Let’s go.”

He let her lead him out of the bar. His head spun as he stepped through the open door into the cool November air, reminding him hard alcohol wasn’t his friend. Beer he could do. And wine. But shots had a history of getting him in trouble.

He must have swayed, because Lara plucked the keys from his hand. “I’ll drive. We have to go to your place, though, because my roommate will be at mine.”

For a split second, Mitch considered calling a cab, but Lara was already pushing him toward his Land Rover. He slid into the passenger seat and shoved it back to make room for his long legs. Lara climbed into the driver’s side and closed the door. The floral scent of her perfume filled the interior of the vehicle, sending a shot of nausea through his stomach.

“Where to?” she asked.

He didn’t trust his direction skills after the Patron. Tugging the smart phone from his jeans pocket, he opened the navigation app and squinted until all the little boxes stopped spinning. “You don’t know where I live? Would’a thought with your access to the personnel files, you’d be able to tell me.”

She shoved the gearshift into Reverse and slowly backed out of the parking space. “I might’a had a crush on you for weeks, but I haven’t stalked you. Yet.”

The “yet” brought his head up, but the wicked smile across her lips told him she was playing. Or so he hoped.

He typed in his address and set the phone on the front of the console. She flipped on the radio, fiddled with the station, then shoved the stick shift into first.

Pop music echoed out of the speakers, some boy band he couldn’t name and didn’t want to listen to. But instead of switching the station, he leaned his head back against the seat. “Careful. This’ing sticks in second.”

“I’ve got it.” She shoved the clutch down and tried to shift gears. The grind of metal echoed through the small space.

At one point, Mitch might have cared that she was hurting his baby—he rarely let anyone drive the old 1990 Defender, especially someone who wasn’t good with a stick shift—but tonight the alcohol was doing its job. Tonight he had only one thought in his mind: oblivion. Pure, sweet, blessed oblivion. And if this blonde chick whose name he could barely remember could take him there, he didn’t even care if she trashed the transmission of his pride and joy.

She hummed along to the music, slid one hand across the console and onto his thigh. He tensed for a second, then forced himself to relax as she drew her fingers up and down the denim, working her way higher with every pass.

He’d fooled around with Simone in this car only a week or so ago, just before she’d left on that trip to DC, when he’d driven her home after their date. Shannon had been with a babysitter, and he’d tried to get Simone to invite him in for the night, but Simone always had those strict rules about no overnights when Shannon was around. So instead he’d settled for making it to second base in the driveway of her house right here in this car before he’d finally let go, sweaty and aching for more as he’d watched her disappear into her big old Victorian house.

The arousal he’d been starting to feel from Mara’s—no, Lara’s—teasing fizzled and died. That damn ache resettled beneath his ribs. He was still sober enough to realize they needed to get to his house fast before he changed his mind or before the alcohol wore off for good.

Lara turned onto his street, then pointed toward his house, completely dark and silent. “This one?”

“Yeah,” he managed. “Driveway’s on the other side.”

She pulled into the drive and shoved the car into first. Metal ground against metal once more, and Mitch cringed. After stepping on the parking brake, she shut off the ignition. He reached for the door handle but was surprised when she whipped his way, grasped the front of his shirt, and dragged his mouth toward hers.

Her lips were cold, a little too firm, and tasted like that strawberry lip balm Shannon had made him buy for her last week. The scent of her perfume wafted around him—not really roses, but not citrusy either. Actually, it reminded him of his grandmother’s house. A little too old-fashioned, a lot too nauseating.

She pulled her mouth from his. “Mm, I’ve been wanting to do that for weeks.” She reached for the door handle. “Come on. Let’s take this inside.”

Mitch’s stomach rolled, but his head was still light enough where he wasn’t paying attention. Or was trying hard not to.

Don’t think. You want this…

He opened the door and swayed. Lara laughed and ran up to his side. Her arm slid around his waist. “Come on, big guy.”

She led him toward the house and used his keys to unlock the door. In the entry, she stopped and looked around at all the old wood paneling he’d restored. “Wow. This place is awesome.”

“Thanks.” He took the keys from her, tossed them on the entry table, and shut the door. The room spun, and he braced a hand against the solid wood to hold himself up.

Maybe three—or had it been four?—shots of Patron was a little much. He’d been able to hold his own back in college, but these days he rarely had more than a couple of beers in one sitting.

She grasped his hand before he could catch his bearings and dragged him down the hall. “Your bedroom’s through here, right?”

His stomach tightened. Thoughts of Simone pinged around in his fuzzy head. What had seemed like a great idea moments before was suddenly turning his stomach.

Lara drew up short at his open bedroom door, grasped his shirt at the front, and shoved him up against the door. Shock registered, but before he could react, her mouth closed over his. A little too forcefully. A lot too wet. He tasted the fruity drink she’d sucked back earlier and what was left of the Patron.

Don’t think. Just feel.

The fingers of her free hand slid into his hair, and she pulled his mouth more firmly down onto hers, kissing him deeper. She didn’t kiss at all like Simone. This wasn’t sweet or sexy or even arousing. It felt…forced, and a little bit brutal.

She pulled him away from the door. The room spun again, and he stumbled. Air whooshed over his back, and he felt himself going down. Then the soft cushion of his mattress met his spine, and the dominatrix at his front landed on top of him.

This wasn’t right. He wasn’t into it. And dammit, how fucked was he that he couldn’t even screw a hot chick climbing all over him?

He rolled her to her back to get her claws off him, and told himself it was the alcohol. That was the reason he wasn’t the least bit turned-on. It had to be, because he wasn’t going to let this be about Simone.

Mitch pulled his mouth from hers. “Lara, you’re hot and everything, but I don’t think this is going to work tonight.”

Excitement flared in her eyes. “You think I’m hot?”

Good God. Of all the things for her to get stuck on. Mitch’s mouth fell open to try to smooth things over, but before he could, she flipped him to his back again.

The mattress bounced. He grunted. A predatory glint sparked in her eyes. She climbed over him like a lioness ready to devour her prey, and Mitch tensed.

“The name’s Clara, by the way, not Lara. Get it right.” She lowered her mouth to his throat. “But don’t worry. Whatever’s broken, I can totally make it work. I’m good at that. Trust me, I’m very, very good.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Mitch’s car was parked in the drive of his house when Simone arrived. Relief spiraled through her—that he hadn’t left for BC yet, that he was home, that she still had a chance, even if that chance was only a meager explanation.