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  • Home > Samantha Young > On Dublin Street Series > Before Jamaica Lane (Page 19)     
  • Before Jamaica Lane(On Dublin Street #3)(19) by Samantha Young
  • In my head I was panting and in reality I was really close to panting, so when he pulled back abruptly it was almost like he’d thrown a bucket of ice water over me.

    Thank you. I needed that. I shook myself, giving my cheek an inner slap. Snap out of it!

    ‘Now,’ Nate began, his voice all controlled and back to normal, ‘I’m a man, and as you know, I don’t say shit I don’t mean. So here’s what I see.’

    Oh, God.

    ‘Great hair, stunning eyes, gorgeous skin, f**king knockout smile, great tits, nice arse, and long, sexy legs. Fuckable. Very, very f**kable.’

    My lips twitched with laughter, and I had to admit to feeling a rush of real pleasure sweep over me at his analysis. ‘Succinct.’

    Nate shrugged as he took in my bright-eyed expression. ‘Just trying to get the point across that there are not very many men who wouldn’t want to f**k you. And this is from a man many women find attractive.’ He flashed a quick, arrogant grin.

    I rolled my eyes at him. He knew damn well how good-looking he was. I imagined that when you looked like a movie star it was almost impossible not to know how good-looking you were. ‘Of course you’re attractive.’

    ‘Really?’ He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the footboard of my bed as his eyebrows dipped together in consternation. ‘I thought you got tongue-tied around men you found attractive?’

    Is his vanity pricked?

    Inside I was gleefully guffawing at the idea. On the outside I was a lot nicer. ‘You cocky bastard, you know every straight woman on the planet finds you attractive.’

    He rewarded me with another arrogant smile, his dimples popping in that delightfully sexy way that could be really distracting. ‘So you don’t get tongue-tied all the time?’

    ‘You’re different. You and I are friends, so I try not to think about you that way.’

    ‘Back at you, babe.’

    Hmm. Nice. I immediately plummeted from the high I’d been on. I didn’t know what to say to that.

    Nate looked like he wanted to laugh. ‘It doesn’t mean I don’t.’

    ‘Don’t what?’ I frowned.

    His eyes drifted slowly over my body in a way that had me clamping my legs together in denial. ‘Think about you that way.’

    My heart slammed against my chest. ‘Really?’

    He snorted. ‘Last time I checked, I’m a man and you’re an attractive woman. Just because we don’t f**k doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about it. That’s how men work.’

    Unsuccessfully hiding a smile, I nodded casually. ‘Back at you. But,’ I hurried to explain, ‘because you’re my friend … I don’t know. I’m just comfortable with you. There’s no sexual pressure, so I can just be me around you.’

    Nate took this in and then straightened from his position against the footboard. ‘I’m working the next few days, but on Thursday night I’ll come back over and we’ll continue.’

    I bobbed my head in agreement.

    ‘I hope you’re feeling more confident.’ He shot me another cocky smile.

    Sighing, I looked back at the mirror. ‘It’s nice to know there are guys out there who might think how you think, Nate. But not all guys are like you. I’ve seen you.’ I smiled sadly back at him. ‘You find women, in general, attractive. It’s not a bad thing. It’s a great thing. I wish all men were as easy to please.’

    Nate shook his head, looking a little impatient. ‘I’m not attracted to all women. Believe me.’ He took a step closer to me, so close I had to tilt my head back a little to meet his eyes, eyes that now smoldered in a way that caused the breath to hitch in my throat. ‘If you were just some woman in a bar, I’d pick you out from all the others, take you home, and f**k you so hard you wouldn’t be able to walk straight in the morning.’

    I gulped.

    In fact, I think I might have had a little mini-orgasm.


    ‘Got it.’ I managed a whisper. ‘You think I’m attractive.’

    His lips twitched again, his dark eyes bright with amusement. ‘But do you?’

    Eyes wide, I nodded rapidly. ‘Oh, I’m definitely getting there now.’

    Breaking out into a huge grin, Nate smacked my ass playfully before heading for the door. ‘Good. See you Thursday, babe.’


    Great hair, stunning eyes, gorgeous skin, f**king knockout smile, great tits, nice arse, and long, sexy legs. Fuckable. Very, very f**kable.

    Nate’s voice kept ringing in my head during quiet moments. It had ever since Monday night. Every time I remembered his compliments I flushed with pleasure, smiling goofily, and then overanalyzed whether or not he meant it. Something I’m sure he’d be pissed off to learn. I couldn’t help it. It wasn’t like my confidence in my looks was suddenly going to grow overnight because the gorgeous Nate Sawyer said he found me attractive.

    Okay, so I wasn’t lying when I told him it helped.

    It definitely helped.

    Or at least it put me in a good mood for the next few days.

    ‘Did you hear that Jude and Mari from Special Collections are getting married?’ Ronan, one of my colleagues, asked me as we sat eating lunch in the staff room together.

    Thinking about that harridan Mari, I replied dryly, ‘How nice for them.’

    ‘Jesus, you can hold a grudge,’ he chuckled, munching his sandwich while he texted his wife. I knew he was texting his wife because the two of them were addicted to texting each other throughout the workday. They’d been married five years and still acted like newlyweds.

    My mouth parted in indignation. ‘She was horrible to me.’

    Special Collections was on the sixth floor of the library and could be accessed only by appointment. It was run by the rare-books staff – Jude, Mari, and a small group of colleagues who were trained in dealing with old and rare books. It was a pretty cool job, and by all accounts a pretty cool place. When I’d first started working at the library I’d asked Mari for a tour. I was promptly told that ordinary staff were not allowed in unless they had an appointment, and the appointment had to be for a legitimate reason.

    ‘This isn’t a small-town library, Miss Holloway,’ she’d sneered over her glasses at me. ‘And even if it was, what would a provincial like you find of merit in Special Collections?’

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