“I taste good,” he whispers.
I’ve no doubt. It takes everything in me and more to take his hand and bring it to my mouth, and when my tongue slips free, I close my eyes and brace myself. I taste no salt. I taste him. And it might well be the most intoxicating taste I’ve ever experienced. I swallow, keeping hold of his hand while I take the tequila and throw it back, not even wincing as it burns its way down my throat.
He nods approvingly. “Told you,” he murmurs, pulling his hand away.
I fight my way back to life, looking away from him before I self-combust. “It was nice playing with you,” I breathe, turning away. I need the ladies’. Quickly.
“Whoa!” He slips his hand around my wrist and stills me. My whole body locks up again. After being clued in to his pathetic man-game of getting me bent over the bar, all bodily reactions to him should have been halted in their annoying tracks. Then he licked me. And I licked him. The tingles engulfing me are so fierce I’m having to refrain from brushing them off. “Don’t go just yet,” he says gently.
I look up at him, cocking my head, trying to wrestle some sensibility through my cloud of lust. I haven’t been with a man in a long, long while. About one year, two months, and one week ago, to be precise. Jason’s friend of a friend.
“And what are you planning on doing with me if I stay?” I ask, taking a quick scan of his hand in search of a ring, just to be sure. No ring. How a woman hasn’t staked a claim on him yet is beyond me.
“I plan on talking to you,” he says softly, watching me with a hint of curiosity.
“As opposed to licking me?”
“You didn’t like my game?” he asks evenly, seriously, something lingering behind his eyes. Something tempting. Something that makes me a little…cautious. And a lot hot.
His grasp, still circling my wrist, gives me a moment’s pause. The heat of our combined skin isn’t to be ignored. I’m intrigued by him, if only because he’s captured my attention and kept it, even after his sly stunt. Talk. He wants to talk.
I gently pull my arm away and he releases me slowly, never removing his eyes from mine. Then he blindly pulls a bar stool forward, indicating for me to take a seat. “Drink? Or have you had enough?”
I rest my bum on the stool and flick him a tired look, but I really don’t think I should be drinking any more. Especially not now, when I should probably keep my wits about me. “I’ll have a water, please.”
He signals the barman over, ordering my water and another beer. I look across to my friends, and find none of them looking this way. Except Micky. He cocks his head in question, and I nod my reassurance. I’m fine. Totally fine.
The man with no name lowers to a stool before me, one foot resting on the floor, the other on a footrest, his elbow propped on the bar. His shirt crinkles around his midriff a little. It looks like there could be abs beneath that crisp white material. And his bent arm is hinting to some pretty solid biceps.
“What’s your name?” he asks, pulling my eyes back up to his face. He still looks serious, a distinct contrast from the cocky grin that was fixed to his face when I first clapped eyes on him.
“Annie,” I answer. “Yours?”
“Jack.” He presents me with his hand, still watching me as I decide whether I should touch him again. It’s definitely not a good idea. If anything, I should be retreating, moving away, possibly even leaving right this minute. There are intentions in his serious eyes that I can read perfectly; intentions that should frighten me—so why I reach forward and place my hand gently in his is beyond my ability to analyze right now. I’m rapt. Enthralled. It’s a revelation, and I quite like it.
As soon as contact is made, skin on skin, he seizes my hand quickly, shocking me. My eyes fly up to his, expecting to find a cheeky grin, but he’s still looking at me seriously. “Gotcha,” he murmurs, squeezing his big palm around mine. I lose my breath. My heart gallops. My skin heats. Holy shit, he certainly has.
He starts to slowly shake my hand, up and down, taking a long time about it, too. I swallow repeatedly, my throat as dry as a bone as he controls my movements.
Gotcha?
His lips slowly curve, as if he knows my thoughts, and I’m faced with that sparkly-eyed smile again. “I licked it, so it’s mine,” he says around his smile.
His declaration has me shaking my head in wonder as he lowers my held hand to my bare leg, taking advantage of his position and dragging his fingers down my thigh as he pulls away. I jerk on my stool and make a grab for my water.
“Do you lick many women?” I ask, and immediately kick myself for it. That’s none of my business, and I honestly don’t want to know.
His face is suddenly serious. “Licking women in bars isn’t usually my thing.”
“What about bending them over bars?”
A mild smile ghosts his lips, as if he’s reading my thoughts. “I don’t know what came over me,” he admits on a mild laugh, bringing his hand to his jaw and stroking over his bristle. I’m glad, because I don’t know what came over me, either. “What do you do, Annie?”
“I’m an architect,” I answer swiftly. Talk. Just talk. “Mainly domestic projects, but I’m slowly moving my business into the commercial sector.”
“You have your own firm?” he asks, and I nod. “That’s impressive for someone in her…” Jack fades off, cocking his head in question.
I smile at his cute ploy to extract my age. “I’m twenty-nine.”
“Wow, that really is impressive. Congratulations. I like seeing people succeeding.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you mar—”
“No.” I laugh.
“Taken?”
I’m not so quick to answer this time. I don’t know why. Probably because my answer will open the path to…what? “No.”
There’s relief in his eyes. There’s definitely relief. “You’re a good-time girl?” he asks, a suggestive edge to his tone.
“Well, I don’t usually let strange men bend me over bars and lick me, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“I’m honored.” Jack smiles, satisfied. “So what do you usually do for fun? I mean, when I’m not around to bend and lick you.”
I match his smile and take a sip of water to moisten my increasingly dry mouth. “I work hard. I have good friends. I have my good times with them.”
“Through choice or because of a bad experience?”
“We’re getting a bit personal, aren’t we?” I cock him a questioning look, and he smiles on a shrug.
“Just trying to figure you out.”
His jean-clad knee brushes mine, and I whip my leg away on a skip of my pathetic heart. He won’t need to figure out anything. I’m happy to tell him. “I have no interest in men right now.” I don’t know why, but I find myself biting my lip and watching closely for his reaction.
He nods slowly. “That could change,” he muses—out of the blue, shocking me.