Book Extract: Smut for Chocoholics

Smut for Chocoholics

Hilary left the pub feeling downcast. It was the second time she’d been in that week—dressed to the nines—and still he’d barely noticed her. Aside from cleaning her table when all the waiting-on staff were busy, and saying “Thanks! Good night” as she left, he’d paid her little attention. It was clear that her tight clothes, bold eye contact and wicked smiles were not getting through to him. Despite her best efforts, he still saw her as just another customer. It spoke volumes for his commendable professional attitude, but showed that his sex radar was way off. She’d been making it blatantly obvious she fancied him for months, and yet…  nothing.

Of course, it could just be that he didn’t find her attractive and was therefore ignoring her advances. But on the occasions where they did exchange a few words or a glance, she was sure there was a flicker of interest there. And she wasn’t going to stop until she found out one way or the other. But how could she get—and retain—his attention for long enough?

The question troubled her over the next few days. There were answers—obvious ones—but they weren’t right for her. She couldn’t give him a note, or leave one on the table, with her phone number on it. That would be supremely embarrassing. Plus there was a chance that it could fall into the wrong hands—she’d noticed the sleazy waiter eyeing her up a few times. She supposed she could ask to speak to the manager—he didn’t wear a name badge, so she didn’t know what his name was—as if to complain about something. But she’d seen people do it before. They had the conversation right there at the table, or across the bar, for everyone to hear. Not in a private place, like his office. There was no way in hell she was going to try and chat him up with people eavesdropping on them.

Bollocks. What the hell could she do? She’d been checking him out for quite some time now—his firm-looking arse, slim hips, bright blue eyes and smile to die for. He even had dimples—one of her weaknesses. He was seriously sexy. And that was before you even took into consideration his work attire. The rest of the staff wore black trousers and a uniform t-shirt with the pub’s logo emblazoned on it. He too, wore black trousers—which were not so tight as to be obscene, but tight enough to give the perfect view of his rear end—and a smart white shirt. Hilary was a sucker for a white shirt, too. Thankfully she didn’t go to too many funerals—crushing on someone while at a church service or burial would be wildly inappropriate.

The perfect plan finally came to her just as she was nodding off to sleep a couple of nights later. It was so fantastic that she sat up in bed, excitedly wondering when she could execute her idea. And what she would wear while she did it.

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