“Excuse me!” I called to the bartenders who were currently enamored with a trio of cage dancers on a break. “Paying customer here.”
That was when I felt him. Nothing actually touched me, but I knew he was there all the same.
I’d felt his eyes on me all night even though I still hadn’t looked for him. Megan had assured me he was there, still hot, still watching. And I believed her. Maybe it was just my imagination. Maybe it was the tequila. But there was an energy emanating from across the room that I couldn’t quite put my finger on, and as the night progressed, it seemed to hum with need.
To my surprise, I was open to it. Delaney Fisher, would-be archaeologist, mild-mannered shopkeeper, and eternal sweater enthusiast, would never have entertained such a thing. But Not Laney Fisher had just watched two of the three bridesmaids make out with strangers on the dance floor while Megan snuck away to send her fiancé a dirty text. Not Laney Fisher was finally ready for a kiss of her own. In fact, she was ready for a whole lot more.
And just as Megan promised, my admirer had figured that out.
A pair of hands found the edge of the bar, caging me to the steel surface. But despite being trapped, I didn’t feel unsafe. If anything, I was comforted by the mild scent of cognac, vanilla, and oak, oddly refreshing in the heaviness of the club’s atmosphere.
Comforted and… excited.
That was a new combination.
“You know, it’s poor manners to put on a show like that and walk away, little maenad.”
My breath caught. The voice was as deep and smooth as dark chocolate. Refined, but tinged with a roughness that betrayed a life in which not everything came easily.
“Maenad?” I had to wonder.
I could feel the stranger’s smile behind me rather than see it. “Dionysus’s handmaidens? From the Greekmaínomai—it means ‘dancers.’ They revel, they rage, they drink.” One of the hands on the bar drew a finger up my arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. “They dance.”
I knew this, of course, as a former student of ancient Greek culture. Better than him, since I happened to know his translation was off.Maínomaiactually translated to “the raving ones,” not dancers. They were insane. They were angry.
But he was right about one thing—they also partied like no one’s business.
There was something hypnotic about his voice, reverberating through me deeper than the bass vibrating through the floors.
“If you think I’m a maenad, then what does that make you?”
“You don’t know?”
“You’re the Greek scholar, not me.”
Another lie, of course. But I wasn’t a scholar. Not anymore.
I started to twist around to get a glimpse of my admirer, but the hand on my arm moved to my hip, stopping me. Gentle but firm. There was no question who was in charge here.
“Not yet. It’s more fun this way, I think.”
A zip of electricity traveled from that hand straight through my belly and up to my heart, which gave an uncharacteristically strong thump. He was right. It was more fun drawing it out. My heart was pounding, my skin tingled, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this alive. This wanted.
Not in the last two years. Maybe never.
One of the bartenders scurried—that was the only word for it once the guy spotted whoever was standing behind me—over to us. “Hello, Mr. Bl?—”
“Water the for the lady,” the stranger cut him off. “And two more tequilas. The Asombroso, extra añejo.”
My water materialized, and then the bartender practically ran to get our drinks, probably because the stranger had just ordered the most expensive tequila in the bar.
“Important, are you?” I gulped down the water, then another half a pint when it was refilled. My heart had calmed down a bit, and thank God, since I wasn’t ready to stop having fun. Not by a long shot.
A low, deep laugh vibrated against my back. “Not even a little bit.”
I frowned. That was clearly a lie.
“So, little nymph, do you make a habit of driving men insane on dance floors, or is tonight special?”
