Temptation.
Damn, this wasn’t going to be good for me.
Chapter 3
An unexpected warm rush of heat spread across my chest as soon as I looked up from concentrating on the bottle of whiskey. I was trying to calm the nausea down from that drunken degenerate’s attempt at manhandling me, counting to twenty in my head and taking deep breaths.
Mother-effin’ twenty.
Son-of-a-bitch nineteen.
Eighteen, seventeen… Calmly closing my eyes, my brain was still screeching at the pot-bellied piss infected Neanderthal. My insides wanted to claw his eyes out and dickkick him for touching me.
Three.
Two, just breathe…one.
My eyes fluttered open and all thoughts about drunken men touching me vanished. Actually, all my thoughts completely faded into oblivion when I noticed a strange man watching me. I heard myself gasp when I saw him. The air just sort of sucked itself right out of my lungs. Not only was he devastatingly handsome, he was staring at me.
Me.
Not Natalie, aka Lace, who was up on the stage wearing only her sparkly little thong and humping a pole.
Not Bree, the blonde bombshell who every man drools over.
Me.
I’m just going to put it out there, right now. I’ve never seen a man watch me like that before. It was personal. Intimate. I mean…I was one of those women who got acknowledged for their brains more often than their looks. And I took pride in myself for that. I liked being intelligent and confident, but that look…
My cheeks heated at the severity of the stare; his gaze was unnerving. It was animalistic and primal. Hot-as-hell; it made me tingle with a damp warmth between my thighs and against the cotton material of my panties.
I was completely embarrassed. Fully flushed and blushing, I was literally reacting like some silly virgin from a cheesy romance novel. Then…then to make matters worse, I started to fan myself a bit with one of the laminated menus.
But, damn, it felt good to be looked at like that, you know? It was a look that made you want to swing your hips a bit more, smile a little wider for, because you knew this man was enjoying the view, appreciating the way you looked. I felt wanted. Desired. Hungered for. Lusted. Preyed on. Was this what Lace was feeling right now on stage with all the men watching her?
I fanned myself faster.
He was leaning back against the red velvet of the booth chair, dressed in an expensive looking tuxedo. His hair was as black as mine, deep inky black, and wildly arranged on his head. His face…all hard angles. His skin was light, pale against the silky darkness of his hair. A jaw carved out of stone, strong cheekbones and full perfect lips. But those weren’t the attractive features of him. Well, they were, but it was more than that. He seemed to wear a deep intelligence and life experience in his expression. Strength and pain. Knowledge, endurance, and raw danger were blatant on the planes and hollows of his skin. Dangerous and unfriendly, an angry outsider looking into the world from some far distant places in his mind. The sort of man that didn’t fit in. The one you would always pick out of the crowd as different, uncomfortable and on edge. Kind of like me.
I stared at him a little too long, holding his gaze, which made my senses, all of them, kick into overdrive. The exchange was maddening and arousing, and like nothing I’d ever felt before, primal and visceral in texture. It was purely mouthwatering.
My eyes diverted to Dylan, who had just sat down next to him and without a doubt, I knew they were brothers. Where Dylan’s features were soft and blond, this man was a chiseled, harder, darker version of him. Serious trouble.
The man’s dark eyebrows were pulled together and light pale-gray, almost colorless eyes, stared fiercely into mine. Raw and primal, as if I was being hunted.
Hunted? For a moment, terror surged through my body. Could this man have been sent to hurt me? Did they find me? As quickly as the thought came, I debunked it. No one was going to be coming after me. There was no way of knowing where I was or that I survived.
No, this man who was staring at me like that wanted me.
Squeezing my thighs together against my moist panties, I shivered uncomfortably. I wanted to gag at the pathetic nature of my discomfort. Whenever I had listened to other women say silly things like, “Oh, it was love at first sight,” or “I felt sparks right away,” I always laughed. I guess I just never felt that. There were other things, more important things than men in my life. There wasn’t such a thing as love at first sight. I didn’t even believe in lust at first sight. I was a true believer of hotness at first sight, but that’s about it. I’ve felt love and lust before. But this, what I felt while this dangerous man fucked me vigorously with his eyes, it was insane. Intense. It might have been the first time in my life that being a woman had made me feel good. Okay, it made me feel like a porn star, and no man had ever made me feel like that. There, I said it. We’re all adults here, right? I mean, I shouldn’t be ashamed. I’ve already told you my panties were wet, so my dignity was out the window.
He was still staring at me. Even though I quickly looked away, I could feel his eyes on me, as if they were burning an impression against my memory. Touching every one of my nerve endings with the rough dangerous caress of his eyes.
Then he just dropped his head down low, spoke to Dylan for another few minutes, ran both his hands through his hair, drained his drink, and stalked out of the bar. My insides ached to run after him and just pretend to bump into him, just to see him up close, and to see those eyes stare at me like that again.
Just watching him walk to the door had my pulse beating harder. His gait and long, strong strides had me biting down on my lip. I smiled to myself thinking that, maybe for the first time in my life, I might have been acting like a normal healthy sexual woman. I shook the thoughts from my head. It was nice to feel good, to feel confident, and to believe in myself again, but I wasn’t ready to deal with men any time soon, especially one that looked like he should have a triple X rating tattooed on his forehead. This was one of those men a woman would probably shrink in heartbreak from, weeping loud and bitterly into their extra-large-super-sized apple martini glasses. What am I talking about? It was silly and immature of me to think I could judge a man by his likeness and not by his character, foolish and naive. I was not by any means a foolish girl, who fluttered away on whims and heady needs. Heady needs? Maybe I needed a vibrator; it had been way too long.
“Hey, Lainey,” Dylan said, as he slid behind the bar and grabbed a bottle of tequila. “What put that smile on your face?”
“Oh, nothing,” I said as I wiped down the bottle of whiskey I was stupidly smiling at. “That gentleman you were sitting next to, just now, that was a relative, right?” Oh Lord, why was I asking questions about him?