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Talk about territorial foreplay. No one had ever laid such an indisputable, nonverbal claim. She liked it. From his starched collar down to his booted feet, the man was all power and inarguable influence. She took pity on anyone who dared to tell him no.
She wanted—no, needed—him to hit on her so she could deny him just to see how he’d react. Visions of hot flesh flashed through her mind as she imagined pushing him to the brink of losing his self-control and seeing what really lay beneath that gruff exterior. Would he hold her down? Make her beg? She wanted all the possibilities.
He looked at her again, the black of his eyes swallowing the silver. “Are you waiting for something?” His graveled voice tinged with impatience as those strange eyes made a slow perusal of her body.
“Just my drink.”
Another man approached, this one college-age. As he attempted to claim the unoccupied stool, Captain Handsome pants twisted and growled, “Leave.”
The younger man didn’t flinch as he reversed and obeyed the command. The beautifully intense man had an indisputable air of authority. Everything about the territorial bastard called to her on some baser, carnal level.
“You have many admirers here.”
“Hardly.” She snorted.
He leaned closer and his cologne intoxicated her every breath, a mixture of earthy masculinity and savage authority. “I know what these men are thinking, little one.” His warm breath teased the delicate shell of her ear and she shivered. “Their minds are full of sin. You’re not safe here.”
“Um, it’s cool. I know how to keep the creepers at bay. But I appreciate you stepping in like you did.” She pivoted to fully face him. “Did you want to sit?” Flirtatiously waving a hand at the vacant stool, she suggestively lifted a shoulder under her cherry-red, rockabilly dress as she batted her eyes.
He didn’t smile back. Rather, his gaze swept over her and he scowled. His obvious disapproval played into her fantasies—unless that look meant he didn’t find her attractive.
The heat in her belly faded as he continued to study her in a way that triggered an edge of uncertainty. His bright eyes hooded and shadowed as his condemning frown grew. Maybe she misread his interest.
She couldn’t recall ever finding a man so appealing that his opinion of her would carry so much weight. She didn’t like how much she wanted him to find her attractive. Since when was she desperate for other people’s approval?
“Your skin is…”
Great, another critic. She sighed and turned her attention back to the bar. If he wasn’t interested, why the hell did he interfere?
She sighed, irritated by her own desperate desire for a man’s approval. Shoving away her purely hormonal response to a good looking guy, she grabbed her phone. Okay, fine, he was a fucking god, but she didn’t like being attracted to someone who obviously disapproved of her. She spent enough time in her life being someone else’s regrettable circumstance.
She didn’t need judgement. She was just lonely and horny. There were way less complicated men around to help her remedy that.
Her drinks arrived just in time. Tossing a ten on the bar, she flung back the shot, swallowed the tart fiery liquid, and gave her Bettie Page-styled black hair a flip.
Time to move on.
Grabbing the pilsner of beer, she ignored Captain Yummy Pants and moved to find a new place to lurk. When he caught her wrist, the dark frothy beer sloshed and almost fell out of her hand.
Her glare narrowed on Mr. Mixed Message. Pretty or not, she wasn’t down for mind games. “Dude, did I give you the impression that you could touch me?”
He released her arm but the sensation of his firm grip remained. “I’ve made you uncomfortable.”
Her day had been too long to put in this sort of work. “It’s cool. I was leaving.”
He blocked her escape with his body, his broad shoulders sheltering her view. “Allow me to sit with you.”
The formality of his speech had to be the result of a language barrier. Was that German? He’d said he was originally from Portugal, but maybe he was an army brat who moved around a lot.
It didn’t matter anyway, since his initial interest now resonated like disdain. She was definitely attracted to him but also aware of the warning chill teasing up her spine.
Sometimes men wanted her but didn’t like her. Men often saw her as a Freudian rebellion that went against their mother’s version of the perfect woman. She could be that for them—she liked being the bad girl that unleashed a good boy’s fantasies—but not for a man like this. This guy was dangerous. The question was, how dangerous?
“What’s your deal?” she asked, point blank.
“You mistake my curiosity for criticism. I was merely taking in your beauty. Where I’m from, females don’t look like you.”
She frowned, unsure if she should be insulted. “And where is that?” His stilted English was decent enough that she believed he lived in America, just not from anywhere around here.
