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No, just looking down at her, I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from saying something that might scare the hell out of her and send her screaming in the opposite direction from the crazy guy standing in front of her, already planning her future.
Our future.
And she still hadn’t told me her name.
“I’m Lyric,” I told her when she didn’t answer my question about what it would take to get her to cause some trouble with me, and I offered her my hand.
She stared at it for a few seconds before finally placing her considerably smaller one in mine. As soon as her warmth touched my palm, I felt a zap of electricity shoot through my body, shocking my heart and going straight for my cock.
Fuck, this girl was potent. Just the touch of her hand on mine was enough to have my cock leaking against my thigh.
“Mila,” she said, her eyes narrowing on our hands as if she felt exactly what I’d just felt and couldn’t figure out what was going on.
“What’s your favorite color, Mila?” I asked, lowering my head so I could see her eyes better, wanting to memorize where the small lighter flecks of blue were in her irises.
Her gaze snapped to mine, and she inhaled once deeply before slowly letting it out. “Right now? Russet. No, wait. Amber. Yeah, amber.”
I was expecting purple or blue or even black—considering that was the color her nails were painted and her hair was dyed a glossy jet black that suited her skin tone. Surprised at her answer, I grinned. “What’s your second favorite color?”
Her brow pinched as she studied my eyes. “I can’t decide. Why do you want to know?”
Because my next tattoo was going to have her favorite colors incorporated into it. But I didn’t tell her that. Instead, I tore my gaze from her and looked at the bartender. “One shot of the Spirytus.” She said three would get her wasted and I wanted her clearheaded, but I wouldn’t deny her one shot.
The bartender muttered something but lined up the shot. I tossed down some cash, but Mila pushed it back to me. “I’m here with Volkov,” she told the guy for the third time, and a bolt of jealousy hit me, making me want to punch whoever the hell Volkov was.
“She’s here with me,” I snarled at the bartender, pushing the cash at him. “Whatever she drinks, I pay for it. Understand?”
“Yeah, dude, relax.” He took the money and then started to hand over the change, but I shook my head.
“Keep it.” Picking up the shot, I handed it to Mila, then picked up my tall glass of draft. “Here’s to causing trouble,” I told her as I tapped my pint glass against the shot glass.
A grin tilted up one side of her mouth. Fuck, she was beautiful. “Causing trouble is my full-time job,” she said with a sassy little wink before tossing back the shot.
She swallowed it without flinching, and I swear to all my aunt’s gods I almost came right then. I reached out, clutching the edge of the bar top, praying for control, yet at the same time, all too happy to give every ounce of it over to her.
Stephen coughed beside me, and when I looked at him, I saw he was watching her with a hunger that matched my own. Jealousy, something I couldn’t ever remember feeling before setting eyes on Mila, pushed down on me like a tsunami, and I was seconds away from punching my friend in the face.
As if sensing how close to death he was, Stephen turned his face neutral. “Think I’m gonna call it a night, man. You… Yeah, you have fun.” His lips tilted up in a ghost of a smile, and he saluted me as he backed away. “Call me tomorrow. We’ll go looking for an apartment for you or whatever.”
I didn’t return the smile. Just watched him go until the crowd swallowed him up.
“I don’t like the color of your eyes when you’re pissed,” Mila commented, placing her glass on the bar top. “All the other colors are pretty, some even beautiful, but this murky brown isn’t my favorite at all.”
Forgetting all about Stephen, I focused on her. The tension leaving my body, I found myself fighting a grin. “My eyes? Is that why you said amber was your favorite color?”
Her even, white teeth sank into her bottom lip for just a flash of a moment before she released it and shrugged. “Guilty. Ah, they’re back to being russet. Damn. I’m leaning more toward that than the amber now…” She lifted her hand and traced her thumb under my left eye in a butterfly-soft caress that gave me serious jelly-leg.
What the actual hell? I’d never been weak-kneed in my life, yet one barely there touch of her soft-as-a-rose-petal skin and I was having to hold on for dear life to keep myself upright.
And I fucking liked it.
“Damn it. They’re back to being amber. I love that color.” She sighed dramatically, and we both grinned. “What does it mean when your eyes are amber?” she demanded in the next moment, stepping closer and looking up at me through her lashes.
Catching her hand, I placed her palm flat against the center of my chest, letting her feel how hard my heart was pounding, and lowered my head until my lips skimmed her ear. “What do you think it means, my Mila?”
I felt her heart rate jack up before she shivered, heard her sharp inhale that made her amazing rack press up against the low neckline of her top. I caught her gaze, saw the simmering hunger banked in the depths of her gray eyes, and knew I wasn’t ever going to be the same again.
All these years, I’d been skeptical of my brother’s claim that he’d always known Violet was the one for him. Even when we were all little kids, he’d gone on and on about her being his other half from the moment he set eyes on her.
