The instant his fingers loosened and dropped away, I missed their heat. Not that I intended to unpack that ridiculous notion.
“My apologies.” He sounded like he meant it.
“None needed.” The bottom of my belly contracted and I licked my lips. “I actually liked it.”
“Strangely, me too.”
My neck and cheeks heated at his admission, but his brows were drawn together.
I reached for my pendant, the cool metal settling like lava against my fingertips. His eyes locked on it as he took a sip of his strange drink, ice clinking in the fancy glass.
“What is that?” I asked, gesturing at his drink. “What’s ouzo?”
I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed the last of it, drawing out the movement as if he knew I was watching.
“It’s Greek,” he said, setting the glass down with a soft clink. “An anise-flavored spirit.” One corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “Would you like to try it?”
I shook my head, wrapping both hands around my teacup. “It probably won’t go with my tea.”
“It goes with everything.”
The confidence in his voice made me laugh under my breath. “Okay, then. Maybe it’ll lift my mood.”
“It’s lifting mine.” He motioned toward the bartender without looking away from me, wordlessly ordering another two.
The bartender nodded and moved down the bar.
“Or maybe it’s the company,” he added, so low I almost didn’t hear him.
I felt my throat tighten. Was I supposed to laugh? Thank him? Pretend I hadn’t heard? I was suddenly aware of the warmth creeping up my neck.
Maybe the alcohol was loosening his tongue.
Or maybe something was wrong with me, because I wanted him to keep talking.
The bartender returned and placed two short glasses on the sticky wood surface. The liquid inside was pale and milky, like fog trapped in crystal.
“Careful,” he said lightly. “It’s stronger than it looks.”
“That sounds like a warning.”
“It’s more of a promise.”
I picked up the glass, turning it slightly between my fingers. The scent of licorice drifted up and I hesitated for half a second before bringing it to my lips.
The moment the ouzo touched my tongue, heat burst across my mouth. I jerked back, coughing violently.
“Holy… crap,” I croaked.
He laughed low. “Told you.”
I wiped at my watering eyes, trying to reclaim my dignity. “That tastes like someone liquefied a bag of black licorice and set it on fire.”
His smile widened.
“And yet,” he said, lifting his own glass in a slow toast, “you’re still going to take another sip.”
Lykos placed his elbow on the bar, the motion drawing him closer. My head swam, finding the scent of his cologne a thousand times more potent than the alcohol.
