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He’s exactlywhere I knew he’d be.
Propping up the bar of his favourite hotel, the perfect stomping ground to gain an alibi and whatever female decides to spread her legs when he passes a glance their way.
I deliberately wore a deep red dress, one that forces me to tweak the skirt all too often as it hugs my hips and thighs. It looks so much the perfect crimson to be blood that it’ll stain in his memory. I zero in on him and enter the bar area, thriving on the anticipation as it brings my skin out in goosebumps.
First encounters are everything, and I’m not about to let this moment pass again. I left the palace in such a rush; I’ve kept myself awake at night wanting to rectify it. Upon approach, I let my ankle twist, deliberately falling hard against his seat, and he jolts in shock. A curse word hisses from his lips, and he’s immediately on the attack.
“Oh, God!” I round his body so I can face him to apologise. “Shit! I am so sorry!”
My hand grazes his forearm, skin on skin, intimate and foreign all at once.
He looks at me, honey-swirled brown eyes wide, pale lips parting with an oncoming snarl.
“Damn heels,” I grouse, glancing down as I roll my ankle for good measure. “On a good day, I can run in them. On a bad day… well… now you know.”
Slowly, an eyebrow raises, showing every ounce of his disbelief at that statement, and I laugh reflexively. On a very, very good day, I can pretty much get away with murder in these heels. Removing my hand from his arm, I use the back of the seat for balance and test my ankle.
“You look intact,” I muse, surveying him, noting his drink isn’t even spilt. “No harm, no foul, right?”
He’s yet to speak, so I take this as my moment to leave.
“I’ll leave you be… in peace.”
“No, no.” Long, tanned, calloused fingers wrap around my wrist, shockingly delicate for the manner he has. “Sit. Have a drink. Take the weight off that ankle for a moment.”
Guess I’m tonight’s alibi.
“I wouldn’t want to impose,” I respond. “I can wait at the other end of the bar.”
“Sit.”
While his demand is softly spoken, the undertone is enough to have me playing into his hands.
“Sit,” he orders again.
With an eye roll, I react, taking the stall beside him, and I place my purse on the bar before I take a seat.
“What would you like to drink?”
“Whiskey. Neat.”
He fixes me with a look, perplexed and bemused all at once.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he starts, grinning wickedly. “Not a usual drink type for a woman of your class.”
“I’m not like usual women.” I flick a look his way, playing it coy and sexual all at once. “I don’t like to be obvious.”
“That I am very aware of already.”
His smirk glistens in his eyes as the bartender comes over, and I relax a little as I leave his scrutiny for a second.
“Hey, Connor. Make it two neat whiskeys,” he orders, holding up two fingers to emphasize the fact. “And can we get some wrapped ice for her ankle?”
“Oh, it’s fine!” I say, not wanting to be a bother. “I’ve walked off worse.”
“Please. While you’re here, let me help.”
