She gets my beer and squeezes the lime into it, setting it on a coaster.
The gods might as well have just squeezed magical unicorn elixir into my beer.
She touched the lime.
I take a sip.Fuck, it’s good.
She’s absolutely stunning, but there are hints that life isn’t easy for her. There are faint shadows under her eyes, like she hasn’t been getting enough sleep. Her hotel uniform is faded and looks like it’s been washed a million times. Her shoes are worn.
These details light a match under the spark of my simmering new obsession.
She needs me.“What’s your name?”
She blinks at me coyly with those outrageous lashes, making me wait. “Amelie,” she finally says.
Amelie. Even her name is perfect. I hold out my hand. “Dallas.”
Her eyes barely narrow at me. “You’re not Texan,” she reads correctly. Like this detail about me is something I should be glad about.
“No. New York, by way of L.A. and Boston. My mother used to say she liked cowboy names. I guess she thought Dallas sounded like one.”
She smiles, sliding her cool, soft hand into mine for the briefest moment. It’s enough. To lock a savagely single-minded craving into place. “Well, then, Dallas, since you’re not Texan, you can stay.”
Her smile lingers but she walks down the bar to serve another customer.
I take another long sip of my beer, watching her, barely hearing the music and the conversation going on in the background as I adjust to my new reality. For the first time in my life, I have no intention of hedging. I amall fucking in.
And there’s no way in hell I’m going back to New York this week.
8
She’s here.The dream girl is here.
She’s on the other side of the conference room, serving drinks.
My fucking keynote speech is over. People are crowding around me, staring at me with that same cloying neediness in their eyes, like vultures getting ready to feast.
The angel looks out of place. She shouldn’t be serving people. Her hair is made of light. She shines as bright as the sun.
I need to drink in the sight of her like I’m dying of thirst. I need to shield her and protect her with my life.My need for her infuses me with a longing so feverish it surges through my veins like wildfire, scalding me.
I try to reach her but the people are holding me. They’re trying to rip me apart.
With raging effort, I break free of them.
The glittering, ethereal mirage of her is disappearing.
No.
I follow her onto Bourbon Street. She’s lit with the reflected neon of Mardi Gras.
She’s the music and the laughter. She’s my thirst and my hunger, so unbearably beautiful I can feel myself going mad with it. I want to put my mouth on her.
I need to taste her.
I’ll die if I can’t have her.
She smiles and blinks at me with those long, curved lashes. Her eyes glow with a thousand fire-branded colors.
