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“No.”
His gaze dropped to my mouth. “Then tell me your fantasy.”
Oh. My.
This is hot.
I glanced around. No one was even paying attention to us. Did no one notice that the hottest moment of my life was transpiring here?
Where were my girls to witness this crazy shit?
I tried to keep some semblance of cool as I looked at him. I wasn’t even sure why this was going so well. Chemistry? Or maybe he slipped in the rain and hit his head and could no longer tell how out of my league he was?
“Okay. You’re definitely an athlete, then.”
Athletes had amazing physiques like him, right?
And there was just something about him… athletic and polished, mysterious and commanding… the kind of man who could crush an opponent with his confidence alone. The kind of man I’d never talk to unless he talked to me first.
He’d basically hunted me out across the bar and demanded I talk to him. I still wasn’t sure why.
“And what am I?” I asked him.
“I already told you, little dove.”
“Why do you call me that?”
“It suits you.” His eyes drifted down to my chest. “And you literally have doves on your shirt.”
“Oh.” I glanced down. I did have doves on my shirt. His shirt, however, was blank. “And what should I call you?”
“Whatever you like. Big Daddy has a nice ring to it.”
Hmm. I didn’t like the little spark of disappointment I felt when he didn’t offer me his name. But I tried to hide it. “Okay. If you’re gonna make me guess…”
He sipped his drink and said, “I’m not making you do anything.”
Well, that was cocky as hell. He wasn’t making me do anything, true. But he knew I’d probably lick his abs in the men’s room right now if he asked me to, right?
“Then I’m guessing your name is Maximus,” I said. “You look like a Maximus. Destroyer of enemies, conqueror of worlds, lover of all women… am I on the right track?”
“Almost.”
“Well, nice to meet you, almost Max.” I sucked back the last of my cocktail and slid off my bar stool, maybe just to see if he’d call my bluff. “I’m almost leaving.”
I stopped short when he extended his hand. “Hunter.”
I shook his hand and he tugged me towards him. I ended up between his spread thighs. I took my hand back, but I didn’t back away. Christ, he smelled good.
And he was forward as hell.
I didn’t hate it.
“And your name is?” he prompted.
“Julie,” I breathed. I could’ve told him the truth. Julie was kind of a running joke in my life; so many people just couldn’t seem to wrap their heads around Jolie, plus autocorrect was the enemy of a name like mine.
But for some reason, I didn’t tell him the truth.
