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I peer up to the man that not only caused the problem but saved me from face-planting on the hardwood. Thank you is on the tip of my tongue, ready to spill from my lips, but my mouth refuses to open. Instead, I gawk at the man. Stare into his shimmering brown irises and lose all train of thought.
Who am I right now?
Straightening my spine, pain shoots up my leg as I add weight to the injured ankle. “Shit!” I lift my foot and reach for his bicep. “Ow, ow, ow.”
Tall Mature and Mysterious shifts his weight, snakes an arm around my waist, and practically carries me off the dance floor. Instinct screams at me to protest his help, rip his arm off me, and hobble to a chair on my own. I don’t know this man, don’t know if he’s some creeper who preys on younger women, then murders them on desolate highways.
Stone Bay has its share of dark back roads. Plenty of places for people to go missing.
That said, I cling to him. Curl my fingers tighter around his bicep. Salivate over the girth beneath his sleeve. Tell instinct to shut it while attraction works her magic. Because this man has definitely been conjured by the gods.
He parks me on a stool and drops his hand from my waist. My lower lip pops out for one, two, three heartbeats before my lips part and I gasp. The semicoherence I gained from sitting is stolen by Mr. Magic as his hand drifts down my hip, along the outside of my thigh. His nails gingerly bite my skin as he passes the hem of my dress and slides down, down, down to my ankle. My thighs clamp together and a wicked smile dons his face.
“Should take these off.”
His words drift past me as I stare at him. “Sorry, what?”
My leg is cradled in one of his hands while he caresses my ankle with the other. “The shoes. You should take them off.”
Oh. Right. The shoes. I curse whoever made these heels—probably a man—then thank him. Without them, I wouldn’t be in this predicament.
“Uh…” I bite my bottom lip as the man remains crouched at my feet. “I don’t have anything else to wear.” And there is no way in hell I am walking barefoot in this bar. Or any bar, for that matter. Who the hell knows what is on the floor.
As if he senses my dilemma, he rises and steps forward, wedging one leg between mine as he cages me in with his arms on the stool back. My pulse doubles and breath quickens as his stubbled jaw grazes my cheek. Breath hot on my ear.
“I’ll carry you.”
Oh, I bet you will.
When I don’t answer him, he leans back enough to make eye contact. A breath between us, I silently beg for his lips. Anywhere. Everywhere.
What is it about him that has me compromising every boundary, every ounce of self-preservation? I would shove aside any other man. Tell them I don’t need their help. Declare my independence as a woman. But minutes with this guy and my brain goes rubbery.
“Thanks for the offer.” I inch forward, a silent signal I want to stand, but the man doesn’t budge. “Do you mind?” Pointing past him, I indicate my desire to leave.
And once again, he stands his ground. Alarms and flashing lights should be going off in my head. Red flags should be flying high everywhere I look.
Obviously, my internal security system is malfunctioning.
“You’re in no shape to walk. Allow me to help. Please.”
Where the hell is Kirsten?
I peer around Mr. Magic and spot my friend, her ass grinding against an anonymous groin. Which means girls’ night is officially over. No doubt she assumes I plan to go home with the man ogling me the last hour. Wouldn’t be the first time we came to the pub together and left separately.
Tonight feels different, though. He is different. Older. Darker. Edgier.
He makes my pulse pound and breath stutter. Equal parts desire and fear.
How many times have I picked up a guy in the pub? More than I can count on one hand. Not saying I’m easy, but I enjoy life. Do what I want. And if one of those things happens to be sex with strangers, so be it. If guys get to hook up with whoever they please and not be judged, so can I. But the guys of the past were a little softer around the edges. Quieter. Kind of like me until I get to know someone.
“Fine,” I huff out as my eyes come back to his. The corners of his mouth and eyes perk up. “But” —I hold up a finger— “what’s your name?”
“Law.”
“Law?” He cocks a brow and nods. “What kind of name is Law? Your parents work in criminal justice or something?”
It’s a joke. A way for me to lighten the mood. But it does nothing of the sort. Instead, he steps into me and purses his lips as his eyes shift left, then right, then left again.
