“Are you following me?”
The corner of his mouth moves in a way that makes my stomach dip, and my hands grip the bar to keep from toppling toward him.
“No.” He drops some cash on the bar just as the bartender delivers his beer, and then Cameron brings the bottle to his lips.
Damn, his hands are huge. I wonder what it would feel like to have those hands on my body, touching, protecting, possessing. A shiver of need runs up my spine, and I go back to my atomic tea. Gulp after gulp, I swallow straight booze, holding my breath like a kid with cough syrup. This guy is a dick. A huge one. Does he have a huge—no! No, no. I shake my head, wanting to kick my own ass for being such a slut, even if only in my head.
“Which lucky stiff bought you that, doll?” He nods to my drink.
Doll? That was sorta sweet, but I hold my scowl and refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing I bought my own drink. “It was the guy down there.” I tilt my head to motion down the bar. “The one with the red shirt on.”
He turns and spots the random dude I just pointed out about four stools down, and then turns back to me. “Oh yeah?”
“Mm-hm.” I take a long pull from my tea and stifle the urge to recoil from the liquid fire.
“Hope his girlfriend doesn’t mind him buyin’ drinks for other women.” I hear the chuckle he tries to hide in his bottle as he takes a sip of his beer.
Leaning forward, I peer down the bar and—shit, he’s right—the guy in the red shirt has a beautiful brunette on his lap and his hands all over her.
I shrug and drop my lips back to my drink to hide my hot cheeks.
“You know.” He leans down to speak into my ear, and the spicy sweet scent of his aftershave filters to my nose. “It’s pretty fucked up to let guys buy you drinks, especially if you’re not interested in men.”
The heat of his breath against my ear paints goose bumps down my arm, and I fight the urge to groan. He’s like a light switch to my sexuality, turning me on by simply talking.
“I might be interested. I’m just . . . undeclared.”
He turns his big shoulders toward me and leans an elbow on the bar. “Explain that.”
“It’s none of your business, but if it means you’ll leave me alone”—Please don’t leave me alone—“then I’ll tell you.”
Void of any playful expression he nods for me to continue. Does this guy ever smile?
“I’m not attracted to men or women.” Such. A. Lie.
His eyebrows drop low over his already tight eyes. “I don’t believe you.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that?”
“You don’t give off the vibe.” He tips his chin back to take a long swig off his bottle, and I watch the powerful cords of his neck contract as he swallows.
Act unaffected.
I shrug and slug down another gulp of my tea. Funny, I hardly taste the booze at all now. “If I were into men, I’d be throwing myself at a guy like you.” What? Why would I say that? Challenging a man like this is lunacy. I’m drunk. That’s got to be it.
“Maybe you’re playing hard to get.” The set of his eyes makes it look as if he’s glaring, but the corner of his mouth is pulled up just enough to contradict. Not a smile, but a taunting. It’s predatory, dangerous with just enough soft to lure in his prey. His eyes drop to my mouth. My cheeks flame and I look away.
“Or maybe I actually am hard to get.” Oh my gawd! It’s as if I’ve been taken over by a phone sex operator. Why do I insist on poking the bear?
“Sounds like a dare, Eve.”
Is it just me, or was there a growl in the way he said my name?
I take a deep breath, hold my head high, and swivel my barstool to face him. My knee brushes against his rock hard thigh, and another wave of arousal washes over me. I need to stay away from this guy. He’s fishing with superhuman pheromones.
This is the moment, the line drawn in the sand and a choice to make. But how do I turn and leave when every cell in my body screams for me to plow through and right into bed with this charming asshole.
My chest aches, my heart’s memory clearly stronger than my libido’s. One-night stands. All the men I hoped would fill that black gaping hole in my chest and never did. Even now, as fucked up as it is, I still hold out hope that this guy, every new guy, could be the one. What is wrong with me?
I swing my gaze to his. That mouth. Those eyes. I’m screwed. I wish. Ugh!
“Well, I better get going. It’s late and I have to work tomorrow.” Or more accurately, if I don’t get out of here soon, I’ll get him on his back and climb aboard begging. I slide off my stool to land on unsteady legs.
His hand grips my elbow to hold me up. “Easy, there.” He eyes my tea. “Long Island?”
“Yeah, but I’m fine, just lost my footing.” Or lost my mind in his presence.
He leans down, eyes fixed on mine. “Fuck, Eve. You drivin’?”
“Yeah, or . . .” Wait. I came with Raven. I press my fingertips to my forehead. “I didn’t drive. I was going to take a—”