I’ve had enough and you . . . well, you’ve had more than enough.’
She looked at him open-mouthed. ‘I’m the boss. You can’t . . . deny me . . . drink.’
He gave her a superior look. ‘And I’m a responsible employee. I don’t serve people when they’ve had too much to drink. Sorry.’
Isla huffed in frustration as he deftly removed the empty glass from her hand, walked back behind the bar and began to load the few remaining glasses into the glasswasher.
She managed, after several aborted attempts, to sit up. She was swaying precariously, even in that position. ‘Just one, Deano. Pretty please?’ She tried to flutter her eyelashes but her efforts were hampered by enormous hiccups that began to emit from deep inside her. ‘Oops! Pardon.’
Switching the machine on, he turned and looked at the inebriated state of her. ‘Nope. If you want another drink, you’ll have to get it yourself. The bar is now closed.’
He began to wipe down the bar, ignoring the rude remarks she was uttering, punctuated by hiccups. She made one attempt to get up but swiftly abandoned it. Then she gave crawling a go but fell flat on her face. Dean turned away to switch off the bar’s concealed lighting and couldn’t hide his smile, although with a face full of carpet, she wouldn’t have seen it.
He walked out from behind the bar to find her seemingly asleep. He sighed, knowing that getting her upstairs was not going to be easy.
He crouched down next to her. ‘Come on, Sleeping Beauty. Let’s get you up to bed.’
Nothing.
He shook her shoulder gently but all that achieved was a turn of her head so that her cheek lay on the carpet. Her face was obscured by auburn waves. He tenderly swept them from her face, resisting the urge to caress her skin with his fingertips. His heart began to beat heavily in his chest, making him squeeze his eyes shut for a couple of seconds. When he opened them again, he had a newfound sense of purpose.
He shook her more forcefully and spoke much louder. ‘Isla, wake up. I need to get you up to bed.’
She grinned and muttered, ‘Naughty boy.’ But her eyes remained closed and the grin quickly vanished as she slept on.
He slid his arms under her midriff and lifted her but she muttered something unintelligible and pushed away from him, almost causing them both to fall to the ground. He tried again but she attempted to roll over and push him away; he very nearly dropped her. His daily gym workouts meant that he was more than strong enough but she just refused to remain still enough for him to lift her safely.
‘Fucking hell, Isla,’ he cursed in frustration. ‘Why can’t you just keep still?’
He managed to roll her on to her back and then, planting his feet either side of her legs, he reached down, grasped her wrists and pulled her up. He managed to lift her upper body off the floor but he couldn’t get her to put her feet flat on the floor, no matter how loudly and insistently he urged her. She appeared to be firmly slumped in a drunken stupor. Growling in sheer frustration, he let go of one wrist and clamped his hand under her bottom, quickly following suit with the other and managed to pull her up and against his body.
He wrapped one arm around her back, lest she push away from him again and checked that her feet were properly flat on the floor. Her chin was pressed against his pectoral muscle and he could feel the warmth of her breath through his thin cotton shirt. His thoughts trailed away when he registered how her full breasts were also pressed against him . . . and that he had a handful of her arse . . .
‘Why the fuck does this happen to me?’ he muttered, registering the irony of the situation. He’d waited so long to have her in his arms and when it finally happened, she was comatose. ‘Fucking typical.’
She stirred and her head fell back. He found himself looking down at her, resolutely ignoring the curve of her neck and how he could dip his head and graze his
She looked at him open-mouthed. ‘I’m the boss. You can’t . . . deny me . . . drink.’
He gave her a superior look. ‘And I’m a responsible employee. I don’t serve people when they’ve had too much to drink. Sorry.’
Isla huffed in frustration as he deftly removed the empty glass from her hand, walked back behind the bar and began to load the few remaining glasses into the glasswasher.
She managed, after several aborted attempts, to sit up. She was swaying precariously, even in that position. ‘Just one, Deano. Pretty please?’ She tried to flutter her eyelashes but her efforts were hampered by enormous hiccups that began to emit from deep inside her. ‘Oops! Pardon.’
Switching the machine on, he turned and looked at the inebriated state of her. ‘Nope. If you want another drink, you’ll have to get it yourself. The bar is now closed.’
He began to wipe down the bar, ignoring the rude remarks she was uttering, punctuated by hiccups. She made one attempt to get up but swiftly abandoned it. Then she gave crawling a go but fell flat on her face. Dean turned away to switch off the bar’s concealed lighting and couldn’t hide his smile, although with a face full of carpet, she wouldn’t have seen it.
He walked out from behind the bar to find her seemingly asleep. He sighed, knowing that getting her upstairs was not going to be easy.
He crouched down next to her. ‘Come on, Sleeping Beauty. Let’s get you up to bed.’
Nothing.
He shook her shoulder gently but all that achieved was a turn of her head so that her cheek lay on the carpet. Her face was obscured by auburn waves. He tenderly swept them from her face, resisting the urge to caress her skin with his fingertips. His heart began to beat heavily in his chest, making him squeeze his eyes shut for a couple of seconds. When he opened them again, he had a newfound sense of purpose.
He shook her more forcefully and spoke much louder. ‘Isla, wake up. I need to get you up to bed.’
She grinned and muttered, ‘Naughty boy.’ But her eyes remained closed and the grin quickly vanished as she slept on.
He slid his arms under her midriff and lifted her but she muttered something unintelligible and pushed away from him, almost causing them both to fall to the ground. He tried again but she attempted to roll over and push him away; he very nearly dropped her. His daily gym workouts meant that he was more than strong enough but she just refused to remain still enough for him to lift her safely.
‘Fucking hell, Isla,’ he cursed in frustration. ‘Why can’t you just keep still?’
He managed to roll her on to her back and then, planting his feet either side of her legs, he reached down, grasped her wrists and pulled her up. He managed to lift her upper body off the floor but he couldn’t get her to put her feet flat on the floor, no matter how loudly and insistently he urged her. She appeared to be firmly slumped in a drunken stupor. Growling in sheer frustration, he let go of one wrist and clamped his hand under her bottom, quickly following suit with the other and managed to pull her up and against his body.
He wrapped one arm around her back, lest she push away from him again and checked that her feet were properly flat on the floor. Her chin was pressed against his pectoral muscle and he could feel the warmth of her breath through his thin cotton shirt. His thoughts trailed away when he registered how her full breasts were also pressed against him . . . and that he had a handful of her arse . . .
‘Why the fuck does this happen to me?’ he muttered, registering the irony of the situation. He’d waited so long to have her in his arms and when it finally happened, she was comatose. ‘Fucking typical.’
She stirred and her head fell back. He found himself looking down at her, resolutely ignoring the curve of her neck and how he could dip his head and graze his
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