Her Last Wild Ride. Эбби Грин

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      Johnny curbed the urge to point out that it hadn’t looked like that a few moments ago when she’d been on the other side of the bar and looking as if she was about to climb over it to get to him. He’d had to bloody focus enough to remember why he was here. Again.

      I’m not interested. The words hung between them, and something dark pierced him. “Are you going out with someone?”

      Ashling’s expression became hard. “No. Not that it’s any of your business.”

      Tightness eased inside Johnny, and he didn’t like it. He wasn’t an angel by any means, but he’d never felt as if he couldn’t walk away if a woman was taken—drawing the line at seducing attached lovers. Which was about as noble as he got.

      Except here, now, with Ashling, he wasn’t so sure he would have found it so easy. And that had never happened before.

      Johnny’s voice lowered. It was very much game on now. “I’d say it’s my business when I know you want me as much as I want you.”

      Her eyes flashed momentarily, as if with panic, but then she hitched her chin up belligerently. “Haven’t you ever heard the expression ‘I’m just not that into you’?”

      Man, she was cute. Johnny’s libido surged. He stepped closer and saw how the pulse at the base of her neck jumped. She was into him, all right.

      “Where I come from,” he drawled, “that’s called fighting talk. And if it eases your mind any, I’m not with anyone either.”

      He crossed his arms and saw the way her eyes dropped for a moment before coming back up. Some of the ice was melting, he could see it. Lust kicked hard in his solar plexus.

      Ashling rolled her eyes. “Whatever, Johnny. The fact is that whether you’re single or a cheating bastard, I’ve had my fill. So when I say I’m not interested, I mean it.”