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I watch, the urge to pummel the guy rising every second, as they talk. The man's laughter rumbles, and my hands curl into fists.
I want to be the one making her smile. I also want to drag the guy off that barstool and show him what happens when he tries to elbow in on what I've suddenly decided is mine.
“You're unbelievable.” My date finally sounds angry, and shows some unexpected backbone. “Are you staring at that bartender?”
I turn back to face her, my expression tight, unreadable, silently reminding her who I am and what I’m capable of.
For a moment, there is nothing else—just the quiet warning in my eyes and the slow realization dawning in hers.
“Sorry,” she whispers after a few tense moments, her indignation crumbling under the weight of my stare. In her eyes, there's a flicker of something indefinable that could be fear, or some quiet understanding of the power imbalance between us. I don’t give a damn either way.
I give a sharp nod, accepting her apology without a word, but my mind is already miles away from her. It's back to memorizing every detail of Isla's face, her gestures, the soft sound of her voice. She's someone I want to possess, to have, to make mine. And I always get what I want, one way or another.
I lean back against the booth’s back, putting both arms on the back, a smirk on my face.
My date's apology seems to have reverted her to the annoying creature she’d been before, and she’s just an irritating buzz at the edge of my world once again.
The other bartender drops off our drinks, and I quickly down the scotch as my date fiddles with her fruity cocktail, still talking. I shift my focus away from the nuisance beside me and fix back on Isla as the burning hot liquor warms my insides.
There's a different kind of intoxication I'm craving tonight, and it’s not the kind found in the bottom of a bottle. No, I want to get drunk on Isla.
I watch her move, the way her fingers twist the top of a bottle and send my thoughts to a darker place. Those thoughts don’t ease as I study the way her lips move as she talks, the subtle dip of her collarbone as she leans forward on the bar to hear someone better.
“Do you want another one?” my date asks, her tone timid.
My jaw clenches at the interruption, but I don't bother looking her direction. “No,” I say, with a dismissive flick of my hand that looks like I’m telling her to go away. Maybe I am.
But my gaze doesn't waver from Isla. Her hand curves around the back of her neck and tugs as if stretching away some pain there. I can’t stop looking at the delicate curve of her neck and wondering how she’d react if I put my lips on the soft skin there.
I wonder if she’s unaware of the predatory interest she’s brought to life in me, or if she’s just good at ignoring the effect she has on men.
But every part of me needs to have her attention, to break through her polite exterior and see what lies beneath.
I watch as she leans in to hear a regular’s order. She lets out a genuine laugh and gives a playful gesture that has dark jealousy gnawing at my insides, a dark, possessive force that demands I claim her for my own. But I keep calm. I've built an empire by playing the long game, and I know better than to rush this.
“Enjoying the view?” My date’s sarcastic tone borders on disrespectful.
“Immensely,” I say, without sparing her a glance. Hasn’t she figured out that she’s just a distraction? Just a cover so that I’m not just the creepy guy staring at a girl across the bar? Women see men with women on their arms as safer - and I want Isla to think I’m safe. I’m not, but I want her to think I am.
But my date is merely a distraction—and a poor one at that. There's only one thing I want tonight, and she's not it.
My response seems to surprise her, and I assume she expected me to lie or make some excuse for my behavior. But I’m not ashamed, and I feel no need to dodge accountability. I want Isla, and I’m going to stop at nothing to have her.
As if sensing my attention, Isla looks up, meeting my gaze across the crowded room. Time seems to slow down, and the world around us fades into nothing. For a heartbeat, it feels like we're the only two people in the bar. Her cheeks flush, and I can tell she's caught off guard by the hunger she sees in my eyes.
She glances away, her face red and her breathing quick - judging by the fast rise and fall of her chest. I see a slight tremble in her hands and know that she feels it. The connection between us, this static charge that tickles every time we acknowledge one another.
I lean forward, hands clasped together on the table, a wolfish grin spreading across my face.
Oh, Isla ... She may not know it yet, but she’s already starting to fall into my trap - and I haven’t even made a plan yet.
But I won't rest until she’s mine—all mine.
Chapter Four
Isla
I can feel his gaze like physical contact.
