Page 64 of Cozen

That voice.

That fucking voice.

Spinning around, she found the owner of that voice sitting at the very far end of the bar. Sargon lifted a brow in her direction, and offered her a smile. If you could call it that. It was more like a smirk, of sorts.

Suddenly, that strange sensation that Cozen had been feeling all day—the one where someone was looking at her—disappeared. She had a sneaking suspicion that she knew exactly why it was gone, now, too.

Because she found her culprit.

She knew who it was.

Sargon.

“Well?” he asked again. “Are you supposed to be drinking on your shift, Cozen?”

“Not that it matters to you,” she said, lifting her messenger bag higher in to view, and then dropping it on the bar, “but I am officially off the time clock.”

Then, she turned to the male bartender again, “Seriously, make my drink.”

“You got it, Cozen.”

“Come and sit with me,” Sargon murmured.

A flash of heat burst in Cozen’s lower regions. Her muscles clenched at his demand, too. Like her body had no fucking control over what it did or wanted when he was close by. It was definitely a problem she was going to have to handle at some point.

Sargon stared at Cozen when she didn’t move. “Well?”

She didn’t move around the bar to sit, and instead, crossed her arms over her chest. “What do you want?”

He gave her a look, and then waved a finger at the item sitting in front of him on the bar. It was a large black velvet box. Possibly a jewelry box—Cozen had seen more than enough of those in her lifetime to know what they look like.

“You brought me a gift?” she asked.

She didn’t mean for her tone to soften as much as it did, but it seemed she didn’t have control of that, either.

Sargon chuckled deeply.

A rough, lovely sound that rocked Cozen to her very core. It didn’t seem to matter what this man did—stand still, smile, or scowl; he looked like a fucking God regardless. All bronzed skin, dark eyes, and clothes that molded perfectly to his toned, fit frame.

They could make statues of him.

It was disgusting.

“No,” he said, tilting his head to the side a bit, “I was sent to bring it to you. Seems you’ve taken to me, apparently. Or you don’t run screaming from me.”

Sargon flashed a sexy smile and added, “Well, not yet, anyway.”

Jesus.

Bad all around.

This man was bad news.

Bad for her.

Bad, bad, bad.

“Sit,” he demanded again.