The Dare Collection June 2019. Rachael Stewart
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like a drooling fool.
I sipped my cocktail, hoping the pleasant burn would calm the butterflies flailing in my belly. All it did was awaken impulses that had gone dormant in the hunt of fulfilling dreams.
The bartender murmured something to him. The stranger shook his head and waved him away with a flick of an elegant hand.
My gaze dropped to that hand. To delicious possibilities. To stepping further out of my comfort zone.
I cleared my throat, even then unsure whether I sought to attract his attention or steady my own nerves.
He tensed slightly, his movement slowing. It was the only indication that he’d noticed me. After a moment, he lifted his glass and gulped down half his water.
The bartender sauntered over to me. ‘You want another?’ He nodded to my glass.
I looked down, a little startled to see my almost empty glass. ‘Yes, thanks.’ He was back moments later with a fresh drink. On the wildest whim, I said, ‘A shot of your best whiskey for him too on my tab.’ I cocked my head at the stranger. He looked like a single-malt-savoured-slowly kind of guy.
The bartender hesitated. ‘You sure about that?’ he asked in a low, concerned voice.
I wavered for the tiniest fraction. ‘Of course, I’m sure.’
Trepidation and...yes, anticipation scrambled through me as the bartender reached for the bottle from the top shelf, poured a shot and set it in front of the stranger.
He stared at the expensive amber-coloured drink as if it were poison. As if it were his worst enemy and he were moments away from pummelling it into oblivion with his bare fist. After an eternity, long after the bartender had gestured at me and taken a step back, that sexy head swung my way and I was caught in the headlights of his mesmerising stare.
Sharp hazel eyes widened as if, despite sensing me a moment ago, he was surprised by my presence. For one indecent moment, something hot and filthy and carnal twisted in that gaze, firing up the blaze in my belly, conjuring a fleeting burst of feminine satisfaction.
Far from the look he’d given the glass, he stared at me as if he wanted to devour me, stark hunger I’d never glimpsed before stealing over his face for several blistering seconds.
Right before his jaw clenched tight. ‘Thanks but no, thanks. I don’t pick up women in bars,’ he said.
Momentarily dumbfounded, I couldn’t speak. Not when I was confronted by further potent scrutiny from his unique, piercing hazel eyes and the cut-glass English accent that sent a pulse of heat straight to my clit.
I relocated my tongue. Assembled enough composure to swivel to face him. ‘Great. Neither do I.’
My comeback triggered a twisted smile. Only to disappear seconds later beneath the quiet carnage of whatever was eating him up. I should’ve left him alone then. Should’ve listened to instincts I’d trusted above all else thus far. Ones that warned that tangling with this man would be extremely thrilling, but also deadly.
But he was rising from his seat, nudging the glass of whiskey along the counter as he sauntered towards me. Two stools away, he stopped. Stared with a blatant heated interest I felt to the tips of my toes.
‘I also don’t accept drinks from strangers.’ His second delivery wasn’t drenched in ice but it was still cool enough to draw a shiver.
For the first time in a long time, I ploughed ahead despite the warnings to retreat. Despite wondering how on earth my mother went back for more of this kind of treatment when the tops of my ears were already burning from one rejection. ‘Now I think you’re just trying to hurt my feelings.’
One lean shoulder rose and fell. ‘You’ll get over it, I’m sure,’ he said.
His gaze lingered, dropped to my crossed legs, then back up, pausing for longer than was polite on my cleavage, then up to rest on my lips.
The pulse between my legs throbbed harder, my breath fracturing the longer he stared.
Maybe it was his inability to look away, despite his words, that bolstered my confidence. Or maybe I was making excuses.
But for whatever reason I wanted to draw him out of the funk eating him up. I was in a celebratory mood and wanted someone to celebrate with. And he intrigued me. A lot. Enough for me to slide off my stool and venture closer, accepting that my motives weren’t wholly altruistic.
Long before my last boyfriend, Gray, had tossed his bags into the back of his Chevy and made a false promise to call when he reached his new job in Chicago eight months ago, I knew the relationship was as dead as the lacklustre sex we’d been having. When he’d failed to call, my primary emotion had been relief.
I hadn’t been fucked to anywhere near my satisfaction for longer than I could remember.
This stranger, with the harsh, handsome face, brooding eyes and wickedly sexy hands, could cure me of the ache between my legs. Barring that, he could make it so my evening wasn’t wracked with the last-minute doubts plaguing me. Doubts that had fuelled my decision to come down to the bar instead of celebrating solo in my room.
He watched me with a dark gleam in his eyes, his nostrils flaring as I paused with one stool between us. Slowly, he blinked, a slightly bewildered look whispering over his features, as if he couldn’t make up his mind whether I was friend or foe.
Walk away. Return to the safety of your suite.
My feet had other ideas though. They stayed put, compelled by that look in his eyes.
Time slowly ticked by, the atmosphere thickening as we stared at one another, acknowledged the dirty desire eddying around us.
‘You shouldn’t let it go to waste.’ He tapped a fingernail against the whiskey glass without taking his eyes off me.
‘It won’t if you drink it.’
His mouth firmed. ‘Do you make a habit of buying four-hundred-dollar shots for strangers?’ he asked, one eyebrow quirked.
This time eighteen months ago, that price tag would’ve made my eyes water. Not any more. Pride swelled inside me for all I’d achieved and I shrugged. ‘I can afford it. And you look like you need it.’
He stared at me for a beat, shifted closer and leaned down until his lips brushed my ear. ‘You don’t have the faintest clue what I need,’ he breathed, sending a wild shiver down my spine.
I swallowed as his scent—rich and earthy and mouth-watering—engulfed me. ‘Don’t I?’ I challenged faintly.
Hazel eyes ringed with darkness clashed with mine. ‘You’re looking for someone to tangle with. Nothing wrong with that. But I’m not your man.’ Despite his words, I heard the throb of betraying lust in his voice.
He wanted me, and that dark, torrid longing stopped me from calling quits to this strange but exhilarating exchange. I’d never done this before. But I’d never pulled a multimillion-dollar deal together before either.
His dark intensity was a little scary but that only amped up my buzz.
‘You take yourself far too seriously.’
His sensual lips twisted as he straightened. ‘You have no idea.’
‘Go on, enlighten me,’ I invited, aware that he hadn’t moved away. If anything, he’d leaned closer.
He stared at me for an age, myriad expressions flitting across his face. A few too fast to catch. Others lingered. Interest. Lust. Bleakness. Hard-edged determination.
‘It’s private,’ he finally said in a tone that reeked of deep, dark secrets.
‘If you want privacy, you shouldn’t have come to a bar.’
From close by, I heard the bartender’s swift intake