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.
My back straightens, my breath hitching a little. “How d’you mean?” I ask quietly, trying to weave interest through my words. I try. All that’s woven through every word I’m speaking to this man is intrigue. And desire.
“I mean”—he starts, leaning in a bit—“you’ve clearly never been consumed by a man.” He pauses, giving me a moment to agree, but I don’t. I’m fixated on him. “But one day a man will come along and he’ll swallow you up, Annie. Blindside you.” There’s suggestion in his words that I’m finding hard not to be curious about. And I’m still just staring at him.
My pulse pounds in my ears as he pulls away and turns back toward the bar, calling the barman over. I don’t hear what he orders. My surroundings have been reduced to a blur of activity, the loud sounds of the bar now a distant white noise. There’s a magnetic appeal to Jack—not just his looks, but his persona, his voice…his words.
“Here.” He takes my limp hand and removes the water, handing me a shot glass. The contact wrenches me from my trance, and I glance around, finding the world is still happening around me. Chinking glasses with me, he smiles that lovely smile—the one that had me hooked the moment I saw him. “Here’s to being blindsided,” he says, raising his glass.
He knocks his drink back, then slams the glass on the bar and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. My eyes follow every single movement as I try to read between the lines, try to unravel his words and form any sense out of them. Of course, they make perfect sense as they are, but something is telling me there’s more to it. Maybe the slight harshness of his tone. Maybe the way he’s looking at me.
“Drink up.” His fingertip meets the bottom of my glass and encourages it up to my lips, and he watches me as I slowly tip the liquid down my throat, caught in a massive state of conflict.
I want him.
For the first time in my life, I really, really want a man. I can feel…something.
“What do you do, Jack?” I ask, following my instinct to find out more about this man who’s got me all hot and bothered.
“I have many talents.”
I hold back my grin. “Such as?”