In the kitchen, after teasing her full lips and kissing her breathless, Mitch had felt her lose herself and become a part of him. Her muscles had went limp, like a marionette whose strings had been cut. With a reaction like that from a kiss, he was confident that if he brought her to orgasm, he’d be able to get her to agree to come to Seattle. He needed to get her to taste his world, want his world, and want him.
Shit! Damn-it to hell! He didn’t seduce women. But this was sounding a-hell-of-a-lot like seduction, even to him. He sighed, turned off the water, and reached for a towel.
Mindi had sex appeal. She made a tank top and tattered jeans look sexy. No silk, no lace, nothing edible, nothing see-through, no thigh showing. Yet dick-hardening sexy.
But other women were sexy, so what was it about her?
Disgusted with himself, he pulled a T-shirt over his head and buttoned his faded blues as he headed for the door, leaving his jacket on the chair, hoping the chilly night air would hit him and snap him out of it as he walked to the pub next door.
Lights from the water fountain lit the piazza as his feet moved over the stone walkway. To his right was the Boise River; to his left, the parking lot.
The pub was packed and the acoustics were terrible. He walked across the hardwood floor to the bar trimmed in brass. Overhead lights reflected off the mirrors, glasses, and bottles. Couples dined by the large stone fireplace. Women huddled in groups at raised tables that divided the bar from the dining area. Men stood at the bar gawking at the women. Women wore one-size-too-small, look-at-me outfits. It was a singles bar and first-date joint.
Although it was a brewery, Mitch ordered two Beck’s in a bottle. He wanted his beers and to get-the-hell out.
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Barefoot and Breathless 