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Dazzling hazel eyes studied her. Framed by thick dark lashes and brows that were a sexy-as-hell contrast to his hair. A crooked smile appeared, along with one evident dimple in the short scruff covering his face.
Christ. Just like that she was a goner.
“Sammi makes the foo-foo drinks. She’s tending inside.”
“I know.” She placed her empty glass on the counter. “But it’s nicer out here. The band. The woods. I just figured …”
“Did you? Are those your friends on the dance floor?” His eyes traveled to Edie, Poppy, Haven, and Tilly.
Her eyes followed his. Her friends were indeed dancing, each partnered with a man, she noticed. That was quick.
“Yes. I’m Julia.”
“Nice to meet you, Julia.” He grabbed her glass and put it in the sink to soak. “Plastic out here. What’s in your French drink? Guide me,” he said seductively, the smile broadening and displaying even white teeth.
What she wanted was to take him by the hand and ravage him, guide him all over her body, slowly. All night.
“Gin, lemon juice, simple syrup. Shaken with ice and strained. Topped with prosecco and a lemon twist. Can you do that?”
“Yup,” he said, popping the P. “I have some orders to fill first. Then yours.”
He was older than her, maybe ten years or so, if she had to guess, and packed with muscle, but he moved with a grace that was admirable. Few big men did. The black tee prominently featuring the logo of the bar—Rhett's Wake—clung to him, displaying the flat corded muscles of his pecs and abs in the low lighting and he did the well-worn jeans proud.
The bartender turned to pull some drafts, treating Julia to his back side. She pushed up on her toes, bracing herself on the bar to better appreciate what she was seeing, completely missing the fact that he also watched her. He was perfectly proportioned—broad shoulders and back tapering into a lean waist. Her inspection halted at his ass. It was perfect. She had never considered herself an ass-woman until this very moment. Her heart pounded in her mouth, and she swallowed. She was practically drooling.
Julia snapped back up and onto her heels as he was turning toward her. Shit, she had almost been caught gawking.
An impish smirk covered his face as he made her drink. He poured it into a plastic cup, topped it off with the prosecco, added the twist, and placed it in front of her. He didn’t wear a ring.
“How’d I do?” His eyes locked on hers, full of amusement and … heat.
What the hell. She averted her eyes and sipped. “It’s good.”
“Julia,” he said quietly.
That deep timbre vibrated in her cells. Her eyes rose to his and was at a loss for words. She could get lost in those eyes.
He placed his forearms on the counter and leaned in. “I’m available.”
A mixture of soap and the wood wafted over her, his scent. Ink covered his skin from above the wrists, snaking upward along his arms and disappearing under short sleeves stretching to accommodate the bulging biceps and triceps. Within the multitude of black and gray art, she picked out geometric patterns that looked tribal, as well as a dragon on an inner forearm, and a part of a phoenix on an outside upper arm.
She wanted to trace that ink with her fingers. Mm, like a decadent treasure hunt.
“You’re here for a bit of the rough.”
“What do you mean, rough?”
“A man from the wrong side of town. A taste of bad boy.” He cocked his head and motioned it at the shelves of liquor behind him. “You were checking me out, Julia.”
The mirrors behind them. How had she not seen them? Shit, shit, shit. “No, I was just watching you work.”
His voice dropped even lower as he spoke, mesmerizing her. “You’re beautiful. And I bet you’re smart. But you’re a fuckin' awful liar, says the blush on your skin.”
She was mortified to be caught so obviously ogling him. She took a long sip from her drink and almost choked.
“We get a lot of you Cliff Bunnies here for the thrill.”
“Here?”
