Holy crap, what if he thought she was a hooker?
Sure, she wasn’t wearing provocative clothes—her loose black pants, cold-shouldered matching top, and high heeled red boots screamed city chic, but escorts were classy now. Except with this man, if she was an escort, she’d offer him a freebie.
Sierra waited, and wondered if she’d just give in. He was male perfection, and though she wasn’t comfortable with one-night stands, she’d come here to escape her tangled thoughts and insecurities.
This man would remove both.
He treated her to a full grin, bringing a roguish Irish charm her sister, Aspen, would have written about in her novels. “You’re very welcome. Enjoy your drink.”
Then with a graceful tip of his chin, he headed to the opposite end of the bar and settled on the chair.
He ordered a drink and Sierra spun back around toward her own cocktail.
Well, dayum. That was embarrassing.
Caught between shame from the rejection and laughter at her ego, she chose humor. Aspen would never let her forget this moment. Her sister was always whining that Sierra could get any guy she wanted, so she’d crack up at this bold turn-down.
Lifting her glass, she sipped her Cabernet and allowed herself to grin.
“That seemed too amusing not to share.”
Her nerve endings shimmered with awareness. His voice stroked all the places inside her that hadn’t been stroked in way too long. She ignored her body and cocked her head. “Just remembering all those witty jokes from my previous companion.”
A sexy snort echoed across the bar. He lifted his glass—looked like whiskey—and took a sip. “If the first ones were as bad as the one I caught, I’m concerned about your sense of humor.”
“Be more concerned about Sylvester and Sara. You’re on duty tonight.”
A grin curved his lips. “You’re funny.”
A sigh escaped her. “Not really. My sister terms it “dry wit.” A nice way to say I’m sarcastic.”
“Nothing wrong with sarcasm.”
Sierra shrugged, then went back to her wine. The hushed sounds of the bartender moving glasses and a low conversation from out in the hall added to the feeling of intimacy. Rich wood, glass bottles, soft music, and dim lights made it a good place to escape a cold, rainy night. Her phone lay on the gleaming mahogany, on silent, untouched. She didn’t want the outside world to invade her bubble.
The silence stretched to fill the room. Curiosity spiked. Was he grabbing a drink before going home to his wife? Was he meeting someone? Was he drowning his sorrows in liquor? Was he hoping for an easy pick up?
His phone was perched on the bar but he wasn’t scrolling, either. His fingers tapped the polished counter absently, seemingly deep in thought.
She jolted when he spoke up. “I’m celebrating. Closed a deal and had a good day.”
“Congrats.”
Another graceful nod. More tapping of fingers. “Thanks.”
Sierra paused. “I’m celebrating, too.”
“Yeah? For what?”
“Getting through a shit day. A few glasses of wine are my reward.”
He turned in his chair to study her. That lush lower lip quirked. Her fingers itched to touch his mouth so she made a fist instead. “I’m sorry you had a bad day.”
She blinked. “Thanks.”
“Feels kinda weird talking to you from way over here. Can I get you another wine? Or I can stop talking if you just want to chill by yourself.”
He sounded sincere, which threw her off. “I’m not a hooker.”
