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She was absolutely fucking stunning.
With curly, long, dark hair that framed her face like French doors. Icy-blue eyes. Thick, heart-shaped lips, and a dusting of freckles that sat high on her cheeks, light, like whispers.
Our gazes locked.
But I couldn’t help myself.
I had to continue viewing her body.
It wasn’t often that I got to see one as perfect as hers.
I almost moaned as I studied her—her dips and curves, her arches that were emphasized by her skintight red dress.
Why the hell is it so hard to breathe?
“I’m sorry,” she said, her hand gently touching my shoulder. “I’m not the kind of girl who cuts the line, I swear. I just couldn’t tell if the bartender was asking you or me. I promise I wasn’t being rude.”
Her words didn’t register.
I was far too lost.
The iciness of her eyes holding me.
The intensity that roared beneath her stare.
But aside from her irises, there was nothing frosty about this girl.
She was all warmth and fire.
Two things I wanted to feel.
Two things I wanted to taste.
Oh fuck.
The only thing that would tone down these impulses was a drink. I looked at the bartender and said, “I’ll take a whiskey, neat, and add her order to my tab.” I handed him my credit card.
“Oh gosh, you don’t have to do that,” she said. “Please, let me buy you a drink.”
Her hand was suddenly back on my arm—I couldn’t remember the moment it had left—and the feeling of her fingers was like a blast that shot right through me. The heat from each fingertip slipping through my shirt and heading straight for my fucking dick.
“Consider it a perk of cutting me off in line.”
Even her laugh was captivating.
She repositioned, leaning her back against the bar, now giving me a full view as she faced me. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you.” She pulled back her hand, covering her mouth while she yawned. “I can’t tell you how much I need this espresso. I’m beat.”
With her palm gone, I couldn’t take my eyes off her lips. “A long day?”
“A long year.”
I chuckled. “Shit, maybe you should order two.”
Her hair fell into her face, and she instantly pushed it back, exposing both shoulders. Shoulders and a collarbone that showed the tan line of a thin bikini strap.
Damn it, that was sexy.
“One drink should hopefully get me over this jet lag,” she said.
“Let me guess …” My words were only an excuse for me to stare harder, acting as though I could see through her. “Europe?”
Her smile was sensual, beautiful. “London … how did you know?”
“Call me intuitive.”
“Ohhh, then you already know I only just got back this afternoon.”
“Of course I do. But keep talking.”
She laughed. “I was there this time for three months, so to be honest, I’m not sure if it’s today or tomorrow or if my feet are on the ground or still in the air.” She sucked in a mouthful of air. “But your eyes are telling me I’m very much here …”
“You’re here.” I ran my thumb over my lips, wishing they were covered in her scent. “And this isn’t a dream … even if it feels like one.”
First, she gave me a smile, then a slow bite of her bottom lip.
“Your espresso martini,” the bartender said, placing her drink on the counter.
She reached for it and held it in her hands, her eyes returning to me.
“So, you land in LA and head straight for a bar. I like your style.”
She pointed toward a group of girls who were only feet away. “It’s my best friend’s fault. I’ve been gone for the last several years—not just in Europe, but all over. She dragged me out with some other friends to celebrate my return.”
“A wise decision on your friend’s part.” My stare dipped once more. “You landed in the right place.”
A redness moved across her cheeks that even lowered to her chest.
She said nothing for several seconds, finally voicing, “I’m Sydney.” Her fingers extended.
