Page 8
The man is thorough, I’ll give him that.
I sit back in my chair, rolling my neck once, the tension settling deep into my shoulders. I should head out, maybe swing by the club for ten minutes to keep my word to Luke, then disappear back to the suite.
I lift my glass and finish the last of my drink, and that's when I feel it.
Not a sound, but a pull.
Something sharp and instinctive that hooks into the back of my awareness and drags my attention toward the door.
My head turns before I can stop it.
And then—
She walks in.
For a second, the room fades. The music, the voices, everything, and all I see is her.
She’s dressed in red, deep, striking red that clings to her body like flame wrapped around silk.
The dress hugs her curves without apology, fitted through the waist, skimming over her hips, the fabric catching the light with every step she takes, making it impossible not to look.
She looks like fire walking into a room full of dry wood. Beautiful. Dainty.
My eyes follow her without permission as she moves toward the bar and slides onto a stool.
I lean back slightly, studying her, taking in the line of her neck, her face, the soft fall of her strawberry blonde hair.
I glance around the bar and feel my jaw tighten. Other men are staring. Openly. Greedily. Even the ones sitting with dates keep stealing glances, their eyes sliding over her body.
A slow, dangerous heat spreads through my chest. The sudden savage need to gouge out every single pair of eyes in this room so no one else can look at her.
Some stupid, greasy scum-bag decides he’s worthy of her attention. He slides off his stool and saunters over, leaning too close, flashing a smile that makes my teeth grind.
It’s obvious she doesn’t want to talk to him. But the idiot is too drunk on his own ego to take the hint. He keeps talking, leaning in closer, refusing to back off.
The urge to kill him is sudden and blinding. And so, I push off my seat before I even register the decision, and decide to step in.
Present
The look on her face is fucking priceless.
Her eyes go wide the second the words leave her mouth, and her hand flies up to cover her mouth like she can shove them back in. Her cheeks burn red, almost the exact shade of that killer dress hugging her curves.
It’s a Freudian slip. And goddamn if it isn’t the most adorable thing I’ve watched in years.
She finally lowers her hand just enough to speak, voice small and rushed. “Oh God, I didn’t mean to say that out loud. It was supposed to stay in my head.”
I can’t help it. I laugh. A real one. I can’t even remember the last time I laughed like that. In my world, laughter is rare and usually laced with suspicion.
But this woman, this stranger in red, has me laughing like some normal guy in less than an hour.
“Oh, is that so?” I say, leaning in just a fraction closer, letting my voice drop. “Now I wish I really were psychic.”
She blinks up at me, confusion cutting through the embarrassment. “Why?”
“So I could read your mind.” I let my gaze drift slowly over her face, lingering on her mouth. “Find out what other dirty thoughts are running around in there.”
She shakes her head quickly, “No, seriously. Forget I said that. Please. Just… pretend it never happened.”
