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I can be goth, glam or gothiglam, they’re all beautiful in their own way.
“Just be yourself,” she said to her reflection with eyes exuding confidence.
Noticing the girl beside her staring intently, she forced a smile, tussled her locks, then winked. “One drink too many.”
The girl laughed.
Finding the bathroom door with a smile that still lingered from that strange encounter, she stepped aside as two girls, one of which was crying all but knocked her down to get inside. Just as the swinging door closed, a man built like a bull came barreling for the door, his face twisted in rage. “Rachel!” He growled as he pushed past Donja, headed inside the women’s bathroom. Screams penetrated the walls and caught by the events which were startling, Donja backed up as two burly bouncers came plowing through the crowd. People scattered in fear and a guy slammed into her so hard that she lost her balance. A scream escaped her lips and she literally felt herself falling, certain that she would soon be trampled. Just as she was about to have an up close and personal encounter with the floor, she felt someone grab her waist and with incredible speed, move her safely away from the stampeding mob.
Clutching her rescuer, blinded by her hair which had been cast upon her face, she felt him lower her to her feet, back to the wall. “Are you hurt?” A strong masculine voice resonated, shielding her with his massive body as the crowd went ballistic.
“I don’t think so,” she mumbled, pushing at her hair. The first thing she saw was soft blond hair on his chest, visible beneath his open, silk shirt. She rocked her head back and looked up, his massive frame towering over her. Her eyes narrowed. He reeked of masculinity with a thick brow ridge and broad nose. His cheek bones were prominent with a square jaw and though his lips were moving she didn’t hear for her eyes were hypnotically drawn to a scar that ran from his cheek to his right ear.
“It’s from the war. Afghanistan,” he said robbing her of thoughts.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.” Donja said meeting his intense blue eyes.
He raised his hand and gently removed a lock of her hair, stuck to her lip gloss. “I’m, used to it,” he smiled with perfect white teeth, but what I’m not use to, is finding someone as beautiful as you, inches from my face.”
She again met his eyes, which were mystical, yet overtly possessive. She felt a shiver which raced up her spine, and as she stared into his eyes, it came again, something she couldn’t touch or see, but she felt it. She dropped her head briefly then once more met his gaze. They shared a brief tether and amidst the look, a deepening disquiet gripped her soul. She dropped her eyes.
“Well, I had best get back to my party,” she mumbled weakened by his presence.
“Could I join you?” he breathed with a slight accent, inches from her cheek “and perhaps buy you a drink?”
“No, I…thank you for your help,” she stumbled over her words, “but I’m with my sister and, no thanks.” She ducked under one of his massive arms stretched to the wall on both sides of her head and walked away. She paused as the bouncers dragged the intruder from the women’s bathroom and side by side, escorted him away. She glanced back and the man who saved her, the strange man with a scar on his face, was watching her. She caught at her breath, my God he was huge, well over six feet, towering over the crowd with a physique more like a super hero than a normal man. She spun, making her way through the mass of bodies, suddenly nervous for there was something about him, something—sinister.
Finding their table where Makayla and Gage sat waiting, eye to eye, like two star struck lovers, she plopped down her purse and climbed onto her stool.
“What happened back there?” Makayla asked.
“A lover’s quarrel gone bad, and I might have been trampled had some knight in shining armor not rescued me.”
“We’ll have another round of the same,” Gage said as the waitress stopped at the table.
Donja flipped her hair to one side and rubbed the back of her neck thick with tension. She crossed her legs. Suddenly, feeling as if someone was breathing on her exposed neck she spun, and a gasp escaped her. There, inches from her face, she gazed into pitch black eyes, shimmering beneath the darkest thick lashes she had ever seen on a man. She just stared and then with a breath caught in throat, exhaled. Her eyes found his lips, so close, so thick and inviting that her gaze lingered, and they were unbelievable, surely made for thing and one thing only. She raised her eyes, as if in a trance and once more met his penetrating stare. He was the same critically handsome guy she had seen in the V.I.P. section. She tried to pull her eyes from his, tried desperately but by some unseen power, he held her captive. Then with her heart pounding against her ribs so hard, she feared it might burst, he leaned into her ear with his thin manicured mustache brushing her cheek. She caught his intoxicating scent as his breath warmed her skin, and he was close, so dangerously close that she froze, and her heart stopped. “Don’t leave with that man. He’s a killer!” he said over the deafening music.
“Pardon?” she shouted, turning her head. Their cheeks brushed, the sensation of his short-cropped beard forcing a shocking current to race through her veins.
They locked eyes. “Don’t leave with that man!” he said and though she couldn’t be certain, she thought he shuddered and the urgency in his voice sent her heart into a tailspin. Her pulse quickened and as he pulled back from her, his dark, numinous eyes narrowed, sliding over her head to toe.
“Torin!” Gage boomed, from behind her. “Pull up a stool and join us, my friend.”
Torin flashed a harrowing look past Donja to Gage.
Donja turned to Gage and after a moment, the welcoming smile on his face faded. He stood up. “What the hell’s wrong?” he asked, suspicion dancing in his blue eyes.
By no will of her own, as if something was luring her, Donja turned back to the man and his eyes were still upon her. She saw him shudder violently just as Gage, who must have been waiting for a response, shouted. “Torin!”
Torin didn’t respond to Gage, not even a blink. He just stood there, statuesque, eyes locked on Donja with a tightly held jaw.
“What the hell?” Gage roared so loud that Donja winced as he rounded the table with his nervous eyes scanning the crowd. He grabbed Torin’s arm, but even that didn’t pull his eyes from Donja.
Makayla came around the table, strobe lights illuming her face. “Donja,” she cried over the blare of music, her eyes trailing from Torin’s face to Donja’s.
Donja dropped her head, reeling.
Who is this man, my God he can see right through me? What power is this?
