Page 17 of Naked Coffee Guy
I do the latter.
I back the car up and pull around him, hightailing it to the main road that leads to work, my heart pounding the whole way. All the while, the image of his chest up close is seared in my mind, and I’m just as breathless by that mind souvenir as I am about the fact that I almost killed him. By the time I’ve reached the parking lot, I’ve called myself every form of the word idiot that I can think of, then include a few Spanish words my father was fond of saying in my presence. Estúpida. Imbécil. Tonta. Idiota. I bang my hand on the steering wheel, wishing I’d taken Nina up on her offer. Sure, we’d both be late and Susan would blow a gasket. My job might even be in jeopardy since it’s apparent Susan likes Nina more, even if my roommate is a flake. But if I’d gone with Nina, Mac probably wouldn’t have seen me.
It’s barely been a day since I learned I live in the same neighborhood as the Viking, and I’ve already failed to keep my living quarters unknown. I’d be a terrible secret agent. My only consolation is that he doesn’t know the exact house I live in, and I plan to keep it that way.
True to my prediction, Nina strolls in exactly one hour after she was supposed to clock in. Susan tells her she’s late—again—and Nina offers a thin excuse of an unexplained emergency that I know has everything to do with the new shade of blue hair she’s sporting. I’m actually impressed she had time for the hue exchange, though experience has taught me to never underestimate Nina. She may suck as a barista and is disorganized as fuck, but when it comes to fashion, she’s nothing but focused. Her robin’s egg hair isn’t vastly different from the mermaid hair she had when I left this morning, but the green undertones make the blue a beautiful shade of turquoise.
“Nice hair,” I murmur.
“Nice chest,” she says in return. I look down, checking to see if there’s been a nip slip. When I see nothing, I start to ask what she’s talking about, but she’s not even looking at me. She nods at the door, and my stomach drops.
So do I—literally to my knees—hiding behind the counter.
“Take the register,” I squeak, then crawl to the coffee station where the machines are tall enough to hide me.
Because Mac Dermot, with his piercing blue eyes and sexy as fuck beard, is in the building. Fully clothed in his white button-up shirt and panty-soaking slacks. But here.
Nina somehow composes herself as Mac approaches the register, but I know she recognizes him by the way she fidgets with the hem of her super short skirt. When he turns to see the pastry choices, she looks at me and mouths “Oh my god,” her eyes wide as cinnamon rolls. At least her freakout is distracting her from my own, because I am ready to plummet through the floor.
“I’ll take a morning bun and a black eye coffee, no cream,” he says.
A black eye coffee. I freeze, absorbing the reality of his coffee order. A black eye is a coffee with two strong shots of espresso. If my calculations are correct, his coffee order would make him the kind of lover who would take me in the…
“Buns, Maren. Can you check in the back to see if we have more morning buns?” The look on Nina’s face makes it apparent she’s been trying to get my attention for a while. Worse, I see Mac craning his neck, then relaxing into a full grin when he takes in my shocked face.
“Ah, the girl with the killer car,” he says, then rubs the hand that landed on my hood for emphasis. But damn if the motion doesn’t have a double entendre, because I’m suddenly thinking of other things he could be rubbing, which makes me even more flustered than when I received his coffee order. It doesn’t help that his shirt sleeves are rolled up his forearms, revealing his muscular tan arms covered in tattoos. It’s the kind of look that makes me think he’s about to get down to business. I want to be that business.
“Maren?”
Morning buns. Right.
“On it,” I squeak to Nina, then flee to the back. We never have extra morning buns, but today must be Mac Dermot’s lucky day because there’s the second box I ordered. I bring the whole box out and shove it into Nina’s arms, purposely avoiding Mac’s face as I scurry back to my coffee station to fill his drink order.
Why am I flustered? I hate this man. He stole my home.
But fuck me, he looks so good dressed for work. I’ve seen him so many times half naked, which by the way, I’m not complaining about. But something about his business attire is inspiring a whole new set of fantasies I never knew I had. My eyes trace the outline of his chiseled chest. His tatted arms make me want to run my hands over them as I feel the curve of his muscles, and the way his body tapers down into those slacks that skim the slope of his ass…
I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.
I place the drink on the bar, about to call his name, when his fingers brush over mine. I look up just as he takes the drink, his blue eyes fixed on mine.
“Take a break,” he murmurs. Then he turns, exiting the shop as I stand there frozen in place.
“That was Naked Coffee Guy, wasn’t it?” Nina hisses beside me, snapping me out of my stupor. I offer an awkward laugh, hiding the fact that my whole entire body is a heartbeat, and I cannot seem to form two thoughts, let alone words.
“Looks a lot different with clothes on,” I finally bite out. “I need a break, take over?”
I don’t wait for her answer when I disappear into the back room. I pause for a moment, trying to muster up a reason to not go outside. But nothing is strong enough to keep me from opening the staff door and slipping into the back alley. The door has barely closed behind me when Mac has me up against the wall, his body pressed to mine. One hand holds his hot coffee while the other is at my neck, lightly pressing as he cups my face.
“Maren,” he breathes, then he consumes me with a kiss. All reason is lost as my mouth searches his, the heat of his body setting me on fire. In spite of everything this man is, I have never wanted anyone more than I want Mac Dermot. I tell him this without words, my hands clutching his shirt, glancing off his flushed skin underneath. His mouth breaks from mine as he hisses, then he presses even more forcefully against me.
“I want you,” he says in between kisses. I can’t even respond, I’m so ready to devour him. If he took me right here, I’d let him.
He pulls away but keeps me in place against the wall. I whimper under his stare, internally begging him to keep going. Instead, he brushes the back of his hand over the side of my face. Just that one tender motion has me closing my eyes against the sting of tears, which I manage to keep at bay.
I’m shaken by the sudden emotion he pulls from me, and I push him off as I pull myself together. “Why are you here?” I ask.
“I could ask the same of you this morning. Why were you in my neighborhood? Are you stalking me?”