Not taking his eyes from her, the man responded with a hint of invitation, “Not all I want, but all that appears to be available.”
Appalled, Cassidy’s eyes flew to him, her heart jumping into her throat at his audacity.
He was smirking, a brow raised in silent question, the epitome of arrogance, as though he expected her to correct his assumption and proclaim she was available. Right there, right now, if it should please him. His eyes narrowed, assessing her reaction, his humor unaffected.
Misunderstanding, Lonnie offered, “We got more than Miller.”
The man pushed off the counter and turned to face Lonnie, propping himself up on his outstretched arms, leaning forward. The man liked to lean; he didn’t look terrible doing it, but she suspected that was why he did it—again, he knew how he looked. Confidence to spare. Everything else was lacking.
“Taking the Miller. And a coupla packs of Trojans. Magnum. XL.”
Now Cassidy scoffed. The sound earned her a slow swivel in her direction; his hands still braced on the counter, his grin over his broad shoulder, and another raised brow welcoming her to challenge his claim. Her cheeks heating, she rolled her eyes and turned away—vainglorious prick.
For the remainder of the transaction, she actively ignored him and Lonnie. Instead, she took great interest in her basket, her beige boat shoes, and the fluorescent lights overhead, one of which was beginning to give out with a slight flicker. When the exchange was complete and the beer hoisted onto the man’s shoulder—she missed where the condoms ended up—she was relieved he would take his imposing and unwanted presence elsewhere.
But instead of heading toward the door, he took the few steps separating them, walking right up on her, shoulder to shoulder, staring down at her. Cassidy fought to stand her ground, her heart rate once again jacking up as she gawked at him, incredulous and wary, uncertain as to his motivation, though she could feel the heat rolling off him.
“Mac Boyer, sweetheart.”
She simply stared, attempting not to go slack-jawed. She fought the urge to look over at Lonnie with anare you kidding me?expression. His manner, his overwhelming aura, had her adrenaline racing through her.
“You are?” he demanded, tone implacable and seductive at the same time.
After a beat, she found her wits and responded, “Perplexed.”
His brown eyes heated. “Just gonna wait for you to find me then; let you work that out.”
Blaming her delayed reaction on the pulse pounding in her ears, she frowned back at him. “That’s… presumptuous.” She wondered if she needed to explain the word.
He chuckled, his gaze giving no mercy. “You’re a married woman crying in public.” Without needing to look, he reached into her basket and tapped the beer. “And that’s a message for me. Tell me I’m wrong.”
Cassidy opened her mouth to tell him as much, but the words never came out because her shock strangled her ability to speak.
“Uh-huh. You aren’t a beer girl. You have Pinot Noir written all over you.”
Baffled, she looked down at herself as though he was referring to a literal sign before she looked back. Now her jaw did go slack.
“That’s all right, darling,” he assured her in his low, arrogant, sexy cadence. “I’ve got a feeling you’ll be worth the chase.”
Cassidy choked out, “You’re delusional!”
He winked, his expression smug as he shifted away. “See you around.”
Watching him stroll away as though he’d just banged her against the candy counter, she stuttered without a lot of bite to it, “Uh… not!” Lousiest comeback ever.
His laugh followed him out the door.
Face blazing, Cassidy frowned over at Lonnie slightly panicked, a sense of inevitability sweeping over her. The man—Mac—making her feel powerless like never before. As insane as the thought was, she felt an obligation to please him. What the hell?
It wasn’t as though she hadn’t been hit on before—she’d worked in a bar. She’d been propositioned in every possible manner she could have imagined. This hadn’t been a proposition. This had been an… appointment? Premonition? Demand?
She didn’t know what to call it or how to combat it emotionally.
Shaking her head, she approached the counter. She’d never see him again, the conceited cad. He’d gotten his rocks off by entertaining himself with her reaction. She wasn’t going to spend time thinking about her still-pounding heart or the fact this was the most emotion she had felt in months that didn’t revolve around grief.
And she couldn’t even define what it was; anger, definitely. She was insulted. He’d been disgusting.
Right?