“What can I get you, sir?”

Adam’s gaze dropped to the bar and then came back to me in question.

“Harvey Wallbanger,” I answered his unspoken query.

“Come again?”

“My drink. Orange juice, vodka, and Galliano. Oh, and cherries and orange slices to garnish.”

“You’re drinking a Wallbanger?”

My eyes dramatically rolled to the ceiling and when they came back, he was smirking.

No, it wasn’t a smirk—it was a sinful, wolfish smile that did what it was meant to do. Which was to make me draw up the mental picture of getting a wall bang. And that was exactly what I was picturing—in vivid technicolor. And in that mental picture Adam’s naked, sculpted ass was on full display. As were his shoulders, and his biceps were flexed since his big hands were holding me under the ass as his cock—

“Sloane?”

“Hm?”

“You good, sweetness?”

Yowza.

I felt that “sweetness” in my nipples—and other places besides if I was being truthful. But I wasn’t being honest with myself or Adam and since I was already a big honkin’ liar, I continued on down that path and pretended I hadn’t felt my pussy contract.

God, this was not going to work.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Right.”

Another smile. This one was not hungry like a wolf but full of arrogance. He totally knew his silky-smooth voice had caused a mini orgasm. My only hope was that my heated cheeks gave it away and in my stupor, I hadn’t moaned.

Suddenly a drink was placed on the bar next to a half-full one and I lost Adam’s attention.

“Charge it to the table. The lady’s, as well.”

“Sure thing.” I heard the bartender say.

Before we had a chance to get the uncomfortable idle chitchat that ensues on a first date at the bar while waiting for your name to get called, since no one wants to get into a deep conversation knowing they’ll be momentarily interrupted, the Hostess With the Mostest appeared.

Okay, that was catty, but seriously she was beautiful with flawless skin and sparkling eyes, and she’d given Adam a nice, long once-over. And as mentioned, I don’t play well with others.

“Your table’s ready,” she told Adam.

Not me. Not us. Adam.

“Sweetness, grab your drink.”

The hostess lost some of her spunk and I fought a spiteful smile.

Well, I didn’t fight it too hard, so it wasn’t full-on-spiteful, but it was mildly spiteful.

I grabbed my drink, slid off the stool, and Adam was right there. Right. There. In my space. His woodsy cologne that I’d come to think of as his signature scent invaded my senses, which was bad. I was a sucker for smells—the good kinds, that was. And Adam always smelled divine, like whiskey and cedar.

I had yet to recover from that when I felt his hand on my lower back—dangerously low. I felt a tingle shift through me, that was dangerous, too. So very, very, very dangerous. But when Adam’s head tipped down and his mouth went to my ear things went from dangerous to DEFCON one.