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"Interactions?" I laugh. "I don’t plan on seeing you ever again."
"The feeling’s mutual." He reaches past me and scoops up both glasses of grappa. The spicy masculine scent of him is in my nostrils; I drag it into my lungs and my entire body seems to light up. My thighs clench and my toes curl. No, no, no. This kind of a visceral reaction to a man is exactly what I’ve been trying to avoid.
He holds out one of the tulip shaped glasses, and I snatch it from him. Before he’s raised his own glass, I’ve tossed mine back. The alcohol leaves a trail of heat in its wake. It hits my stomach, and a ball of heat radiates out from the point of contact. I cough as my eyes water. "Jesus, what is that? Paint remover?" I glance up through my spiky eyelashes to find him watching me with something like disdain.
"What?" I sputter. "Never seen a grown woman act like a wuss?"
He merely tosses his own drink back—the action is so elegant I want to lean in and follow his every move, with my tongue—then places it on the table with a controlled snap. The kind that manages to be authoritative and demanding. Bloody hell, how can one man convey all of that with such a small gesture?
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot the bartender hurrying to refill his drink.
Seb takes the glass from me, and his fingertips brush mine. A current of electricity shoots out from the point of contact.Oh, shit.Not good, not good. Don’t want to have this kind of a reaction to this man.
"I’m not going to sleep with you. Even if you were the last man on earth," I blurt out.
A touch of humor sparks in his eyes. "We’ll see." He tilts his head. "You’re a little thing, aren’t you?" He frowns, as if only now noticing my lack of height. Well, I’m five-feet-four-inches, which is pretty decent, or so I’d thought until I stood before this monster of a man.
"You’re a big, mean alphahole, aren’t you?" I scoff.
His jaw drops, but he recovers quickly; I’ll give him that much credit. "That’s not a word in the English language," he says in a tone that could have chilled my grappa if I were still holding it in my hand, which I’m not. More’s the pity. I would have dumped it on him, just for the satisfaction of taking him by surprise again.
"It is now," I inform him, "and by the way, I may be small, but I pack a punch."
"Somehow I don’t doubt that." He lowers his head until we share breath, then murmurs, "But whatever it is you’re offering, I'm not interested."
It’s my turn to gape. "What the—?" I sputter. "I’m not offering you anything. I’m not sure what makes you think—"
He chuckles, the sound so deep, it seems to reach all the way to my toes.
"Jerk," I snarl. "Stop laughing at me. I don’t know who you think you are, but—"
"I have to admit, your response was most satisfying.” He smirks. And damn it, that shouldn’t be so hot. And I shouldn’t still be staring at that beautiful face of his. But honestly, while I’ve only heard of men being referred to as fallen angels before, now I get where the phrase comes from. If that description fits anyone, it’s this larger-than-life guy who’s looking at me like he’s the most superior thing ever to have walked this planet.
"Only because you caught me by surprise." I poke my finger in his chest. "I’ll have you know, normally, I am far cooler and more collected."
"No doubt, it’s my presence that unnerves you," he drawls.
"It’s your presence that makes me want to leave this bar," I retort.
"No one’s stopping you." He raises his hand in a dismissive gesture, much like the one I used on him earlier. "In fact, I’ll give you a drink to go." He jerks his chin at the bartender.
For the second time in a few minutes, I gape at him.
"And I thought Italian men were such charmers."
"Only with the right kind of women," he shoots back.
"Which I am not—when it comes to you— thank god." I pretend to wipe my forehead. "I wouldn’t be interested in you if you were the last man on this planet."
He yawns. "I believe you already mentioned that. Are you done with your childish tantrum?"
I resist the urge to stamp my foot; that would only confirm his misogynistic remark, and I amnotgoing to validate his misplaced perception.
"I’ll have a beer," I say in a casual voice.
"Eh?" A line appears between his eyebrows, marring the expanse of that gorgeous forehead.
"A beer." I stab my thumb over my shoulder. "Tell him I want a beer to go."
