“Oh, thanks,” she slurred and sucked the drink back. “Dr. Pepper! My favorite!”
Her face had taken a definite green shade, and it was clear as day she was tipsier than a tick on a hound dog. But I had no remorse offering her the drink. Her friends would look after her. It was my way of thanking her for supper. As I followed the party to the door, I chanced one glance over my shoulder.
And that was when I saw him.
Standing to the side of the booth, the shaft of light from the kitchen fell across one of the most beautiful faces I’d ever seen. To call those hard features beautiful seemed terribly inaccurate, but my scrambled brain didn’t have enough oxygen to find a better word for it.
Dark hair, and even darker eyes, set in a face carved from living stone. His body was no less a work of art. A quick glance showed strong muscles under the tightly fitted black dress shirt that was rolled up his forearms and tucked into the waistband of black dress pants. Something expensive flicked on his wrist as he tucked a hand into his pocket. I was overwhelmed with the sense that this man was the unforgiving type, and I was the little hairbrained idiot who’d refused his offering.
I gulped.
It wasn’t my fault. It would be a terrible mistake to have accepted, to have consumed the drink. Yet there was a small part of me, a sinful, wicked part that wished I had.
If only to give myself an excuse to go and talk to him.
The man was hot. So sue me.
“Hey, Maggie, um, the guy over there asked me to tell you he’d like his turn having a drink with you,” Pat stuttered.
The bartender was a beefy guy. With a fuzzy red beard and shaggy blond hair, he looked like he would fit in the defensive line of a college match. But to see him uneasy to deliver the request confirmed my initial urge not to venture into the shadows.
“I’m good, thanks.” I tore my eyes away from the specter and focused on the bartender. “Thanks for everything tonight, Pat.”
The bartender shifted. He rubbed a thick bicep with his opposite hand. “It wasn’t a suggestion. I’m sorry, Maggie.”
Panic twanged through my gut.
“He’s not up to anything!” Pat rushed to add. “And I’ll watch from the bar. But could you please, um, just go over and say hi? My boss would really appreciate it.”
“Your boss?” I repeated and frowned.What the actual fuck?
“Yeah, that’s one of his…friends. A special guest,” Pat stammered. “I’ll bring another round of drinks and stop by the table often to check on you.”
The poor bartender was a good person. I didn’t want to get him into hot water. But more than that, there was a derisive urge in my mind to see this thing play out.
Plus, the bachelorette party was long gone.
It was the huff of the hostess, fluffing her pretty gold hair and tugging at the emerald dress to make her fake tits look bigger, that settled me.
I marched across the pub, weaving through tables, eyes locked on the stranger in black.
Chapter 3 – Nico
Her chintipped up, and I knew in that moment she made up her mind to join me before her feet even moved. For the last few hours, I’d watched her. At first, it was discreet glances so as not to tip off the Irish that that ball of pure hellfire piqued my interest. The Irish prince never showed, which meant I would have to hunt his ass down later—the fucker. But at least there was entertainment to watch while I wasted my time.
Now my patience paid off, because she was storming right to me.
How the hell I managed to keep a straight face as her combat boots carved a path through the chaos of drunks was a miracle.
“I’ve been summoned. To what do I owe the pleasure?” She stopped short, only a few feet in front of me.
I took my time looking her over. Back here, it was dark. But I was close enough to see details like the fact that she probably had just as many tattoos as I did and that her smile was a little bit crooked. Brown curls escaped the loose binder to fall around her pixie face. Determination flashed deep in her eyes.
I dropped my gaze to take her in and shifted in my seat. Cavolo, she was gorgeous. A black and yellow flannel was tied high on her waist. The camisole was pulled low, putting her gorgeous breasts on full display, and it hugged her thin stomach before disappearing into the denim cut-offs which were held on her wide hips by a chunky belt. Patterns of ink decorated her gloriously long legs. But it was more than the odd and completely out of place clothing that painted the picture. It was the fire in her hazel eyes. It was the way her chest heaved, unable to hide her nerves. And most of all, it was the way she’d hunted tonight.
Because there was no other way to describe what she’d done.
This woman had stepped into the bar and made short work of every soul she encountered. Smiles and laughter hid the cunning. She picked each guest with care, taking what she wanted from them and giving nothing back in turn.
