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A snort of laughter escapes me at the ridiculous thought, and those eyes pin me with a scrutinizing look, like I’m some weirdo he doesn’t quite understand. Which is par for the course for me as far as reactions from others go.
With exaggerated patience, he repeats, “So, you’re Mac?”
“Yep.”
“Huh.” Again with the scrutinizing gaze. At least until it’s time to do his routine visual sweep of the place and all its inhabitants.
I raise my eyebrows. “And you’re looking for me because you think I might somehow have information about your sister?” I pause for a beat before lowering my voice dramatically. “Orrrr you’ve been sent back in time to kill me.”
He rakes a hand over his dark stubbled jaw before his gaze collides with mine once again.
I have to give the man credit. Aside from his initial perusal of my entire face, his attention hasn’t been riveted to my left side. He looks me dead in the eyes, and I appreciate that more than I’d care to admit.
Dark brows furrow, a crease forming between them. “Sent back in time?”
If he’s simply stalling, I’m not planning to stop peppering him with questions until I get some of my own.
I lean in toward him a fraction, my voice hushed. “The way you scan the place is a lot like that Terminator dude. So, you’re either here to start the war against the machines or you’re an assassin.”
“Isn’t the Terminator technically an assassin?” He poses this nonchalantly as he does—you guessed it—another scan of the place.
“What exactly do you keep looking for? Some nefarious activity in the Freebird? Because I hate to break it to you, but the worst thing that happens here is when Duffy drinks more than his quota, starts playing darts, and puts more holes in the wall than the board.”
My expression sours as I survey the crowd tonight. Without meaning to expose so much, the admission rolls from my lips before I realize it. “Or when Randy pounds the beers and harasses me to sleep with him so he can bag what he calls ‘the town’s token scarred-up freak.’”
“He what?”
His tone is so dark and steely; it has my eyes colliding with his now icy ones. Long fingers, with tattooed designs along the knuckles, curl into fists. The others covering his forearms dance with the play of tensing muscles and tendons.
Annnnd, there it is. Something I haven’t had the pleasure of witnessing before: that undeniable alpha male protectiveness.
Sure, at least one of the guys will intervene if Randy increases his assholery to an epic level with me, but it’s not the same.
Two simple words—the way Daniel spoke them—combined with his fisted hands and the anticipatory tension radiating from him tells me he’d have no issue introducing Randy’s face to his fists.
Multiple times over.
What’s more impressive is that this man—this stranger—is outraged on my behalf. And it damn sure isn’t because he’s trying to get in my pants. He hasn’t once given me that impression.
I wave dismissively, hoping he’ll chill out. “Easy, tiger. It’s nothing new.”
“Doesn’t make it right.” He practically glares a hole through Randy’s back before returning his attention to me.
“Okay, so here’s a quick rundown.” I lift a finger to punctuate my first point. “It’s highly inadvisable to hurt Randy unless you want a ton of dipshits coming after you along with a lawsuit. Not worth it. Trust me.”
Fury gradually dwindles from the depths of his gaze.
I raise another finger. “Second, you haven’t told me what it is you actually do for a living, so that needs to be remedied. And three”—another raised finger—“I should also mention that I’m not sleeping with you.”
Those dark shadows that lie beneath his eyes appear to fade a bit, edging away to curiosity. He scrapes a hand down his face, and the way his palm lingers over his mouth gives me the impression he’s hiding a smile. But when he drops that hand, his features are placid, his gaze holding the same intensity.
“Wasn’t aware I was givin’ off that kinda message.”
“Didn’t say you were. I just like to be up front.” Especially since my instincts are screaming at me that he’s not like the others.
I’m not looking to get attached—I can’t afford to—and Daniel Madrano could easily make me want more than one night. He already makes me want to stop time and study him unabashedly. I’ve never had the urge to do that before.
Plus, that’s super fucking creepy. Even I can admit as much.
