Page 105 of Vicious Betrayal

He tips the glass up to his lips. "Guy buys a girl a drink, he usually wants something. Same thing the other way around?"

The bluntness of it surprises me, but it's also refreshing. "Maybe," I murmur, putting a slight teasing note into my voice. "You looked lonely. I've been feeling a little lonely too. Maybe we could do something about that."

I feel so awkward as the words come out. I'm not good at flirting. But as I say it, I see his jaw tighten, hear a quick intake of breath. He looks sideways at me.

"Can't say I wasn't hoping I might find someone interested in company tonight, when I came out."

"I wasn't looking for anything," I admit. "But… you caught my eye."

"Oh?" He takes another swallow of whiskey and turns toward me. "I can't say I noticed you."

It's almost rude, and it makes me go silent for a second. His jaw works, as if he realizes he shouldn't have said that, but he doesn't take it back. He seems… out of practice, I realize. Like he hasn't had a conversation like this in a while. It's odd. If he wasn't so fucking hot, I'd leave. But my brain is scrambled, it seems. The muscles and tattoos and jawline have me not thinking straight.

"Are you from here?" I venture.

"No, but I lived here for a long time. Recently got back into town." I watch his throat work as he swallows. "Been gone a while."

"How long?" I ask curiously.

He hesitates, and my curiosity spikes. He looks like he doesn't necessarily want to answer the question, and I wonder what could make a man so hesitant to say something so simple. He looks like he's thinking about brushing me off, but he finally answers.

"Eight years."

"That's a long time." I take a sip of my whiskey.

"Yeah." He's staring at his drink again, jaw tight. "It is."

"I just got back after ten years away at school, though," I offer. "What about you? Why'd you leave?"

He looks up at me then, and the expression in his eyes makes my breath catch. It's not anger. It's not even pain, exactly. It looks like resignation, I realize… like he expects this conversation to be over as soon as he gives the answer.

"Prison," he says flatly. "Just got out today."

I flinch. I can't help it. Suddenly everything clicks—the look in his eyes, the hunger there, the awkwardness of the conversation, the way it seems like he's out of practice at all of this.

He's a convict who just got out today. He hasn't been to a bar or talked to a woman… or had sex in God knows how long.

That should not thrill me. It shouldn't send a flood of heat and a fresh wave of arousal through me. But all I can think is that this man has to be positively feral, after eight years. He needs this. Needs me. He's got to be ravenous, and I never knew that was a turn-on for me, but suddenly I'm desperate to get us both out of this bar and our clothes off.

I realize that my taste for dangerous men didn't disappear. I just buried it. And this man is making me feel ravenous, too. I want him, and I'm not prepared to go home alone any longer.

Feeling like I'm outside of my own body, I shrug. "So?"

He blinks. "What do you mean, 'so'?"

I pick up my glass and finish my whiskey. I see him watching my mouth, the way my throat works as I swallow, his jaw clenching as that heat behind his eyes builds. He is ravenous. And even though deep down I know he'd be this hungry for any woman who approached him, after eight years, having this kind of attention and need on me is intoxicating. "I mean… maybe I don't care."

"You're not—" He stops, shakes his head. "Most people would be running right about now." His jaw clenches. "Are you always this stupid?"

The memory of Rian setting me back in the kitchen, a hint of pity in his gentle eyes as he turned me down, and the flood of humiliation that followed, comes back, and I narrow my eyes.

"Are you always this rude to women who want to fuck you?"

His eyes widen, and I hear that intake of breath again. I wonder if he's hard right now, thinking about taking me home, and that hot thrill runs through me again.

"Christ, woman," he breathes. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Maybe I want to live on the edge a little." I swallow hard, feeling my pulse pound in my throat. "What were you in for?"