Shit, I'm staring.
His eyes meet mine and I realize he knows I'm staring. Heat floods my cheeks and I clear my throat in a futile attempt to cover my embarrassment.
"Don't pretend like you're not glad to see me." The corners of his mouth turn up under his beard.
"It's the highlight of my day," I say sarcastically. Except I'm not sure how sarcastic I meant that statement to be.
Opal brings out a tray of blueberry muffins from the back. I set my bag behind the counter and take the tray from her, setting them inside the display case. When I look up, Opal gives me a bemused look. "You look nice today. Are you wearing makeup?"
"What? Do I normally look that bad?" So I wore a little eye shadow today. And lipstick. It has nothing whatsoever to do with the guy in the work boots.
Opal sidesteps my question. "That boy wanted to wait for his coffee."
"What boy?" I ask, even though I know full well who she's talking about.
"The good-looking one. Don't pretend like you don't see him over there, either."
"I see him just fine." I tamp down ground coffee in the portafilter and slide it into the espresso machine, then turn to fill a glass with coffee ice cubes. I toss a long spoon inside so the glass doesn't crack when I pour the espresso over the ice. "What?"
Opal is giving me a look. "Fine is exactly what I was thinking."
"You're a dirty old woman," I say, my voice hushed. I dispose of the grounds and make another double shot of espresso. "And I have no idea what you're talking about."
Opal shakes her head and tsks me. "Sure you don't."
"He's a customer," I hiss, finishing up the coffee and grabbing a bowl of sweetener and a little metal carafe of cream. I set them onto a tray.
"He seems to be hoping for more than the coffee." Opal raises her eyebrows. "Might be good for you to go over there and see what else he's interested in."
I can feel my face color without even seeing my reflection in a mirror. "I'm not concerned about what anyone is interested in, and definitely not him."
"Sure you're not."
I huff away with the tray in my hand, and when I get to his table, I set the glass down harder than I intended, irritated by Opal's insinuation. "I assume this is what you were waiting for?"
He looks up at me, amusement in his eyes. "Okay. Let's go with that."
"Opal is capable of making you a cup of coffee, you know."
He counts out five packets of sugar and tears the tops off the packets before dumping them into the glass. "But that would deprive me of these special moments, Lily."
"Are we using names now? Do I get yours or should I just keep calling you caveman?"
"Caveman works."
I narrow my eyes, watching him suck down half his coffee in a few gulps, entirely too distracted by his lips. "Jackass might be more accurate."
"Probably true." He sucks down the other half of his coffee. "It's Killian."
"Killian." I speak his name aloud and that same image from my fantasy the other night flashes in my mind. Killian fucking me hard against the wall. My name rolling off his tongue.
Me breathing his name when I come.
I push the image out of my head, averting my eyes as heat surges through my body. What I thought just then has to be written all over my face.
Killian rises from his seat, standing far too close to me to be appropriate. My legs refuse to move. I'm planted right there with my feet in the ground and my heart beating furiously in my chest, and suddenly it's like there's only two of us in the room. I think I stop breathing for a minute, feeling that same inextricable pull between us that I felt when he kissed me before.
When he looks down at me, his eyes are dark. The intensity of his expression sends a shiver through me. He's standing so close to me that all he would have to do is lean down and kiss me the way he did the other day.
I can show you a real kiss, if you'd like.
"Say it again." His voice is rough, more gravely than before, and the words are an order, not a suggestion. They make me think about what else he'd order me to do, and arousal floods my body, settling between my legs.
"Killian," I whisper.
He makes a sound under his breath, low in his throat, and I swear it sounds like a growl. He leans toward me, his lips near my ear. His breath is hot against my skin, and he's so close that if I turned my face just slightly toward him my lips would be on his. "I want to hear you moan it."
My breath hitches in my throat. The logical reasonable part of me knows I should be appalled by the sheer arrogance of the Caveman's statement. I should be embarrassed by the way that statement made me wet.
That logical reasonable part of me forces disgust into my tone. "Not likely." I barely choke the words out, and they sound just as lame and insincere as they are.