She flushed, the temporary trance inspired by his voice and touch fracturing. She knew she looked younger than her age, especially with her makeup faded from the mist and her hair curling around her face like a dark cloud. Besides, she was young for the position she held at Noble Enterprises as Ian’s right-hand woman. She was used to the observation, although it typically didn’t fluster as much as it did at the moment.
“I’m hardly a minor. Ian seems to find me capable enough for all my duties,” she said smoothly, arching her brows in a mild, amused remonstrance.
“No doubt.” She blinked at the steel of certainty in his tone. His finger moved on her wrist, and she suddenly pulled her hand away, afraid he’d notice the leap in her pulse.
“Actually, I’m twenty-eight,” she said.
“Isn’t that young for the position you hold at Noble Enterprises? I’ve heard the stories from Ian and Lucien and Francesca. He can’t seem to function without you,” he said.
She flushed at the compliment. “You might say I was groomed for the role. My grandmother was the vice president of finance for Noble. She got me regular summer internships during college and graduate school.”
“And one day you ended up in Ian’s lap?” he asked, silvery-gray eyes gleaming with what appeared to be a mixture of humor and interest. “Does your grandmother still work for Ian?”
“No. She passed two years ago this Christmas.”
Her breath stuck when he reached around her waist. Was he going to touch her? She jumped slightly when a chair leg made a scraping sound on the wood floor. She exhaled when she realized he was pulling back on the chair next to him so that she could sit.
“Our table is ready,” she explained.
“I’d rather eat at the bar.”
“Of course,” she said, refusing to be flustered. She set down her briefcase in the seat next to her and reached for her chair. A frown creased his brow and he stood. “Thank you,” she murmured, surprised when she realized he’d grudgingly stood to seat her. Maybe he wasn’t so rough around the edges, after all.
“You’re a cool one,” he said as he sat back down next to her, his jean-covered knees brushing her hip and thigh.
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged slightly, his eyes gleaming as he fixed her with his stare. “I thought you’d take offense to sitting at the bar.”
“Don’t you mean you’d hoped I would?” she challenged quietly. She transferred her gaze to Victor when the bartender approached, speaking before Kam had a chance to refute her. “Victor often serves me at the bar when I stumble in after a long day’s work. He takes good care of me,” she said.
“And it’s always a pleasure. The usual, Ms. Soong?” Victor asked.
“Yes, thank you. And will you please let Richard know he can give our table to someone else?”
Victor nodded, giving Kam a nervous, covetous glance before he walked away.
“Goodness, what did you do to that poor man?” Lin asked in a hushed tone, leaning her elbows against the bar and meeting Kam’s gaze with amusement.
“Nothing. I asked him to give me a beer.”
“That’s all?” Lin asked doubtfully.
He shrugged unconcernedly. “Maybe not. Might have said something like, ‘Forget all that crap and just give me a damn beer.’” He noticed her raised eyebrows. “He was trying to get me to buy some fancy drinks and two bites of food and a sprinkle on a plate.”
“Imagine him suggesting you eat and drink in a restaurant.”
Much to her surprise, he grinned widely, white teeth flashing against his dark skin. “The guy’s got balls, doesn’t he?”
Lin forced herself to look away from the magnetic sight of Kam Reardon’s smile. It was a tad devilish, no doubt, and full-out sexy, but there was also just a hint of shyness to him in that moment, as if his interest was unexpectedly piqued in meeting her. And like her, he hadn’t been prepared for it. It was potent stuff. Perhaps she could forgive Ian for not giving her warning about his half brother, but surely his new wife, Francesca—as a fellow female—should have hinted at something that might prepare her for the impact of Kam.
“Most people who belly up to the bar expect a friendly chat with the bartender,” she chided lightly.
“I’m not most people,” he said, watching her as he also placed his elbows on the bar and leaned forward, matching her pose.
“Yes. I think we’ve established that,” she murmured humorously, studying him with her chin brushing her shoulder. They sat close. Much closer than they would have if they’d been seated at a table. Their elbows touched lightly; their poses were intimate. Too much so for having just met. She instinctively glanced downward, taking in his crotch and strong, jean-covered thighs.
Heat flooded her cheeks. She fixed her gaze blindly on the glassware hanging behind the bar.