Unless he was performing, she highly doubted he gave a damn how he looked. But even dressed carelessly in a pair of jeans that had obviously seen some wear, and topped with a light-blue fisherman’s sweater, he still wore those clothes confidently. If she was being completely honest, casual was a good look on him. If she added his frequently spiking blond hair that made him look like he had just rolled out of bed—but in a sexy, totally unfair, hot kind of way—and his expressive blue eyes, she didn’t doubt that women all over the world wanted to be the one to catch his attention.
Tearing her eyes away from the tempting sight of his big body lounging casually on the seat, she asked, “Why do you care if I jump out of the car? I haven’t even figured out why you’re here.”
“I told you why I’m here. Mara said she couldn’t persuade you to come, so I decided to swing by and pick you up.” He paused before adding, “Turns out I had to pick you up literally.”
Smartass, cocky bastard!
“You didn’t pick me up. You kidnapped me,” she accused, still feeling like everything that was happening was surreal. “And you left my parents’ livelihood in the hands of a man in loud shorts and flip-flops.”
“Carl thinks they’re sexy. He likes to impress the ladies. I don’t think you saw his ‘signature shake,’ but customers seem to love it. And in all fairness, I did tell him we were going to the coast. He just didn’t realize which one until he and Sandie got into the jet.”
Kristin crossed her arms over her breasts and shot Julian a stubborn look. “He’s married. He shouldn’t care about the ladies.”
“He doesn’t mess around. He just likes to attract attention. He’s actually the best bartender in the country. By the time we get back, he’ll have increased your parents’ business tenfold. Between Sandie’s culinary skills and Carl’s bartending expertise, you’ll have a line waiting to get into Shamrock’s. Look, Sandie and Carl are friends. They’re doing me a big favor. Can’t you just let go of your pride and admit you wanted to go to the wedding? You look exhausted.”
Julian lifted a brow in question. “Maybe I wanted you to be at the wedding. Maybe I didn’t want to be the only guy present without a date. Maybe I never forgot how it felt to kiss those adorable, pouty lips of yours, or the chemistry between us.” He hesitated for a few seconds before adding, “After I had a taste, you had to know I’d be back for more.”
Kristin opened her mouth and then closed it again, letting what he said sink in. “It was just a kiss. It was nothing.”
Sweet baby Jesus! Did he really need to mention that day in the bar—not so long ago—when he’d had her moaning for more as he claimed her with an embrace she’d certainly never forgotten?
The car seemed to be getting warmer and warmer as she recalled exactly how she’d felt that day.
Desperate.
Wanting.
Free . . . if only for a moment in time.
A sigh escaped her lips unchecked, and she chastised herself as Julian searched her face, as though he was looking for something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
“It wasn’t nothing,” Julian replied huskily. “It was something.”
Kristin didn’t want to recall that heated encounter. She needed to focus on the fact that he’d bodily hauled her away from her parents’ bar and tossed her into the back of the limo like he had every right to do so.
She took a deep breath, unable to stop her body from reacting to his scent. It was everywhere in the vehicle, a tantalizing aroma that made her think of mint, musky sandalwood, and pure, unadulterated sex.
Not. Going. There.
She wrestled with her instinct to cross the space between them, straddle his body, and find out how intoxicating it would be to have full-body contact with a man who probably knew exactly how to please a woman.
“You really expect me to believe that you detoured all the way to the East Coast just so you could have a date? You have women falling all over you in California. Why couldn’t you just pick one of them? I’m not your type, and I’m certainly not a woman you’d want to be seen and photographed with, Hotshot.”
She resorted to using the nickname she’d given him from the first day they’d met. He’d nonchalantly referred to her as “Red,” a nickname she’d always hated. So she’d come up with one to sling back at him. Not so much because he’d been arrogant—although he definitely was—but it reminded her that she had nothing in common with him.
She wasn’t rich.
She wasn’t a movie star.
And she definitely was not an adoring fan.
Kristin worked from early morning until late at night to keep her family afloat. She didn’t have time to think about hot kisses from a movie star. She and Julian might cross paths occasionally, but they were from different universes.
Kristin wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans, resisting an attempt to straighten out her messy ponytail, and wishing she had donned a nice shirt instead of the sweatshirt she was wearing with the Shamrock’s logo.
It doesn’t matter how I look. I’m not out to impress Julian Sinclair.
“Yes, I detoured here for you, and no, I don’t want us photographed. The last thing I want is for you to have to live the way I do.”
He sounded so forlorn that he had Kristin’s attention now. Julian Sinclair had everything a man could ever dream about. He’d been a Sinclair billionaire long before he’d risen to stardom. What could be so bad about that?