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It’s terribly unnerving.
And fucking hot.
Luckily for me, all he has to do is open that beautiful mouth of his for him to lose all his appeal.
Because Trent Nichols is a cold-blooded cunt.
Yeah, I said it.
Girls can call guys cunts when they act like one.
And Trent is one grade-A cunt.
He’s the kind of man who, growing up, probably used a magnifying glass on innocent ants on a hill just to watch them burn alive.
The man has no heart.
None.
But he does have style.
Except for parties like these, where he has to wear the expected tuxedo, I’ve never seen him in anything else than his traditional three-piece suits. The only thing that distinguishes Trent from the rest of the party’s elite crowd is the ink he tries to hide under his expensive clothes. I’ve drooled over his large, muscled forearms enough times to have memorized the Celtic ink on them. It’s the tattoo of black flames that peeks from under his white-collar shirt and kisses the nape of his neck that I have yet to fully admire. But knowing Trent, I wouldn’t be surprised if he has Satan himself sitting on his throne tattooed on his back.
It’s only when the bartender returns to us with Trent’s drink that I realize I’ve been staring at the side of his neck just as blatantly as he had been checking out my legs.
“Whiskey on the rocks. Just like you ordered, sir,” she announces with a pep while, not so discreetly, flashing her big brown eyes at me with a come-hither look.
“Thank you,” Trent retorts arcticly. “That will be all.”
She nods and retreats to the other side of the bar where a few other guests have congregated, but not before throwing a flirty wink my way.
She’s unashamedly persistent. I’ll give her that.
And if I didn’t have the one man—who makes me wet just by merely existing—sitting on the stool right beside me, I might have taken her home tonight. Though it would be enjoyable for the both of us, it wouldn’t be fair to sleep with her with Trent on my mind.
“So, are you entertaining her offer?” Trent asks inquisitively as he runs his thumb over the rim of his whiskey glass while keeping his penetrating gaze cinched to mine.
“I might,” I lie.
“Shame. And here I was hoping you’d be open to consider a better offer.”
“A better offer?”
“Yes. If I’m not mistaken, I overheard you say that you have a busy day tomorrow and that time is of the essence.”
“And what if I did?” I retort, noting how he doesn’t even care to apologize for eavesdropping on a private conversation.
“I’m pretty sure she said she doesn’t clock out for another half hour or so.”
I suppress a smile.
“You have quite an ear.”
“Believe me, Piper, good hearing is not my only strong suit.”
“Very well. You have my attention. What else did you hear?”
“That she could get you off in forty minutes,” he says before leaning closer towards me. “But I can do it in five.”
