I peered at him from under my eyelashes, but I couldn’t tell if he was still looking at me until too late. Until I’d already been caught checking him out.
He turned away, but it wasn’t shyness that averted his gaze. The strong lines of his jaw were softened by his uplifted cheeks and the curl of lips. He smirked, shaking his head.
Realization set in: He was laughing at me.
Heat rushed to my face, leaving me thankful for the club’s dim lighting, dark enough to hide the blush that surely reddened my cheeks.
Staring at my drink would be a safe bet. Drinks don’t stare back. I plucked nervously at the hem of my dress, wondering what the hell had come over me. I didn’t have time for this. I needed to find Adrian.
“Dance with me,” came a husky but gentle voice.
I looked up, and my heartbeat stuttered. It was him. How hadn’t I noticed him take the seat across from me?
The way he stared—his crisp, teal eyes pinning me—sent a current of warmth through my body, pulling the fear under and away. Even in the low lighting of the club, the stark contrast of blue and green in his eyes was evident, like the oceans off the coast of Greece.
Determined to appear unruffled, I tipped my drink against my lips and drew in a sip of my Bordeaux. The earthy wine provided a momentary relief to my rattled nerves.
“Do I know you?” I asked.
A half-smile rumpled the perfect symmetry of his face. He was even more gorgeous up close—fiercely beautiful, from chiseled cheekbones to strong, shaded jaw and attractive Roman nose. “Clearly you recognized me, no?”
“That doesn’t mean we’ve met,” I countered.
He knew he looked good, he knew I thought so, and now he was mocking me. Great.
“You’re funny when you’re angry,” he said.
“Glad you’re amused. Keep it up, and I should be able to keep you laughing all night.”
“All night?” The tumble of his hair obscured the sudden arch of his eyebrow.
I wanted to stay mad, but it was a lost cause. Annoyance had always been my defense against attraction, but his looks and candor were crippling. “You haven’t answered my question.”
He tilted his head to one side and scratched the nape of his neck. A grayish-pink scar lined the inside of his forearm, and I dropped my gaze, as though I’d somehow intruded into his life, though it was more like the other way around.
“Well?” I asked.
“I thought you wanted something. You were staring.”
“No I wasn’t,” I replied too quickly.
He crossed his arms, slouching back, and challenged me with a grin. “No?”
My pulse quickened and my breathing went shallow and I wished I would just disappear. This time, I wasn’t going to respond. He kept his gaze steady against mine, his dark, tangled lashes framing his eyes. Lauren would’ve recommended some special eyelash comb. Thinking of Lauren might help distract me from this gorgeous specimen sitting before me.
The roof of my mouth felt like the shell of a walnut. I wanted to swallow and lick my lips to relieve the dryness, but his staring made me hyper-conscious. His gaze dipped, and I felt a rush in my chest.
Was he checking me out? Was he aware of my erratic breathing or the rapidly beating pulse in my neck?
His gaze continued down.
To his watch.
Not checking me out.
When he lifted his eyes to mine again, my insides filled with a chaotic energy. Attraction or warning, I didn’t know, but I couldn’t break away. The men in Belle Meadow had no interest in me, but this guy—he didn’t know me. He hadn’t heard the rumors, hadn’t heard about my mastery of the dark arts or how I sometimes painted demonic symbols on abandoned grain elevators.
The longer I went without speaking, the more uncertain I became that I’d find my voice again.
I crossed my arms. “So you’re stalking me, or what?”
He chuckled. “Pretty full of yourself, are you? Do all pretty girls think every man in a public place must be stalking them?”
What? “I’m not—” Grrr. I refused to defend myself to his moronic accusations. Even if he had called me pretty. “It’s one thing you saw me through my bedroom window, but are you telling me you just so happened to show up here, too?”
“I must be pretty special to have followed you here but arrived first.” He reached into his pocket and slid a wrist bracelet across the table. The fine marker-script on the side of the band displayed today’s date beneath the club’s logo. “Happy hour discount—starts at eight here. You’d have gotten one if you’d arrived before nine. Now, then, perhaps I might inquire if you are stalking me?”
“Well—”
“Well what?” he asked smugly. “Believe me, darlin’, I’d prefer you weren’t here. It doesn’t bode well of your sensibilities.”
“My sensibilities?”
He smirked. “Tell me why you were watching me, and I will help you get out of whatever you’ve gotten yourself into.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Now he scowled. “Don’t test my patience. I’m offering you an out.”