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“Hi, I’m Ken. What’s your name?”
It took a lot of effort to hold back both the epic eye roll and the annoyed huff I so badly wanted to unleash. I had to remember it wasn't Ken’s fault. I should be flattered he found me attractive. The irritation was on me, not him. Like the good girl I was pretending to be, I whipped up an insincere smile and let him down gently, just as I did the two men previous.
“Kylie. And no, thank you. I'm waiting for someone.”
Ken smiled, and wow, he was beautiful. Two perfect rows of gleaming white teeth framed by adorable dimples that gave him a playful look. One that likely got him any woman he wanted. When you took his bright green eyes and dirty blonde hair into consideration, plus the tailored suit that showed off his fit body, Ken was a walking dream. Only, he came across as nice. And lucky me, because I’m completely depraved, nice turned me off.
“That's too bad. I'm in town for a convention and could use some company.”
My mouth fell open and my face heated up. Maybe Ken wasn't all that nice, because that sounded a lot like a proposition. And yes, the only reason I was sitting at this bar was due to a proposition made by Sebastien St. Clair. I was well aware my judgment made me a hypocrite. Ken, who had to be some kind of mind reader, knew what I was thinking, and did damage control by holding up his hands and letting out a deep chuckle, though he looked somewhat horrified.
“Wait! No. I mean, I wasn't looking for… that, necessarily.” He checked me out again, gaze flicking up and down, and my face burst into flames. “Though I wouldn’t say no. But seriously, I’m just looking for company as in someone to talk to.”
Okay, so maybe he was nice. Mostly. I opened my mouth to politely decline, but someone beat me to it. Someone not so polite. Someone with a slight French accent that made my insides quiver.
“Hey, asshole, you're sitting in my seat.”
Ken and I turned at the same time. When I got a look at the newcomer, I nearly swallowed my tongue. Standing next to me, closer than friends, yet not as close as I would have liked, was Sebastien St. Clair in all his tall, athletic, and muscled glory. His black suit hugged every inch of his impressive frame. Paired with a charcoal gray shirt and black tie, the look came across as sleek and refined. I'd seen the man out of his hockey gear before, talking at press conferences on the television, but damn, TV does not do him justice. Sebastien St. Clair is stunning. With his dark hair slicked back and the matching dark suit, his light eyes popped. And at the moment, those brilliant blues were laser-focused on Ken, shooting him a withering glare.
If looks could kill, poor Ken would be six feet under.
“It's okay,” I said to Sebastien to cut off a confrontation before it started. “We were just —”
“I said, fuck off.” Sebastien growled, ignoring me as he continued to glower at a bewildered Ken. Hostility poured off Sebastien in thick, suffocating waves. Ken steeled his jaw and slid off the barstool, ready to exchange words with the boorish interloper, except, when he got to his feet, poor Ken got a good look at how many inches Sebastien towered over him and how much broader he was across the shoulders. Ken gulped and his defiance slid away.
“My mistake,” Ken said calmly. He glanced at me to make sure I was okay, and I appreciated the gesture. I gave him an almost imperceptible nod. “Then I was just leaving.” The man took off as fast as his feet would take him, and I didn't blame him one bit.
My 'date’—what a joke. We both knew why we were here and it wasn’t for a date—seated himself on Ken’s vacated stool, pleased as punch, as if he hadn't just scared a man shitless. Then, agonizingly slow, he ran his hungry gaze from my head down to my toes, giving me a thorough once-over that was more of an eye-fuck than anything else. Never in my life had I been so ecstatic to have dressed up for a hockey game. With zero idea of what was to come, I put on my best jeans and a cute off-the-shoulder shirt. The only change I made between the arena and that moment was to strip off the generic Comets jersey and stash it in my car.
“Great first impression,” I said as I leveled a flat look at an unapologetic Sebastien. “That wasn't very nice.”
Sebastien waved off the approaching bartender. While doing so, his piercing gaze never once strayed from my face. “He was trying to take what was mine. That doesn't go over well with me.”
Was this guy for real?
“Yours?” I scoffed. “I’m not yours.” I didn’t know why, but that wasn’t exactly true. The thought of being ‘his’ sent my pulse racing and made every muscle in my body clench tight with anticipation. Yeah, part of me absolutely loved the idea belonging to Sebastien St. Clair.
He leaned in close—the scent of his aftershave made me swoon, light and crisp and masculine— and whispered. His voice was all raspy and seductive and went straight between my thighs.
“I promise, after tonight you'll beg to be mine.”
The assumption that I was a sure thing offended me, yet I couldn't deny that I came to the hotel knowing exactly what he expected.
“I don't beg.”
Another lie. Well, maybe not quite. I would happily beg… For the right man. I just wasn’t sure I’d met him yet.
Sebastien shifted even closer and his breath ghosted across my ear. “There's a first time for everything. What’s your name, gorgeous?”
I shuddered. Such unrepentant cockiness should be a turnoff. And to most people it would be. So far, Sebastien was rude, arrogant, and to be honest, kind of intimidating. But I’m not most people. I loved every single second of it. Ate up his attitude with a spoon like I was a lonely cat-lady and it was a pint of mint chocolate chip Häagen-Dazs. My mouth watered and my nipples pulled tight. I had no idea what to say.
Yeah, I’d totally beg.
“Kylie.”
“I’m Seb.” As if I didn’t know that. Seb casually produced a room key and held it up between two fingers. “Care to get out of here…” His heated gaze felt like a physical caress and I had to bite my lip to keep from moaning and embarrassing myself. “Kylie?”
