Black Obsidian (Obsidian 1)

“Now what?” he said. “We hit up the bar? Or we take our seats for dinner? There’s gonna be steak, right?”

Of course, that’s all he cared about—food and booze. “Let’s find our seats before we crash the bar and you clean them out.”

“Sounds like a good idea.”

I looked across the sea of tables for my number. They assigned our seating beforehand, and after we found the correct table number, our names were placed on a card on the china plate. As I glanced around for my seat, I felt a pair of heated eyes sear right through my skin and to my heart. It burned me from the inside out, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up straight. Like prey on the plains, I felt my predator watch me before he struck.

My eyes finally found the culprit. Standing on the other side of the room in a fitted black suit was the man I’d slapped so many times his cheek had turned red. His intense eyes were exactly the same as they were on that night, scorching and ice-blue. He stared me down like he knew exactly who I was—hadn’t forgotten the way my palm felt against his face. Humiliation washed over me like the tide and blanketed me with sheer terror. I’d never felt so embarrassed in my life, and I never got out of hand like that. The one time I did, I pretty much assaulted an innocent man. Now I was getting an award for helping people, something he probably thought I didn’t deserve. “Motherfucker.”

Christopher turned his gaze on me, his eyes the size of melons. “Whoa…where did that come from?”

I quickly turned away from the man I had assaulted just a few days before. “Shit. Is he looking at me?”

“Who?”

“The guy in the black suit. He’s near the stage.”

“Uh…” Christopher’s eyes scanned the opposite side of the room. “I think I see a pretty handsome dude checking you out.”

I rolled my eyes. “Believe me, he’s not checking me out.”

“Ro, I’m a guy. I know what we look like when we’re picturing a woman naked.”

“So he is looking at me?” I asked in horror.

“What’s the big deal? I’m totally straight, but this guy makes Clint Eastwood look like a troll.”

I quickly told him the story of what happened at the bar a few nights ago, keeping my back to my predator and trying to make it look natural.

“You slapped him? Three times?” His voice rose with his incredulity.

“I thought he was Taylor’s ex, okay?”

“And it took three slaps to figure out it wasn’t him?”

“I was in the moment. I was pissed and in the zone… I wasn’t paying attention.”

Christopher kept eyeing him across the room. “Well, he hasn’t blinked since he first looked at you. But I still think he’s checking you out.”

“No. He’s picturing how he’s going to murder me.” I tucked my hair behind my ear, showing weakness for the first time.

Christopher glanced at the ground and lowered his voice. “Incoming.”

“Shit.” I straightened my shoulders and held myself high, knowing I couldn’t back down from a confrontation. I was the one who assaulted the guy, so I should pay the price. The awkwardness fell on me like a weight, and I deserved the pressure. I turned toward him and finally looked at him just as he reached me.

First, he sized up Christopher, giving him a quick glance like he was beneath him. His superiority rang through the air, and if he could have pushed Christopher to the side, he would’ve. His hostility emerged from nowhere. I wasn’t even sure where it came from.

Then he looked at me, his blue eyes bright and crystal clear. Like a remote cove in Fiji, it was virgin and untouched. His soul was a blank canvas underneath, full of so many layers and colors it was undecipherable. Like no one else was in the room, he stared at me. Like a predator seeking out prey, he cornered me and didn’t back down. He didn’t seem to care that a grown man was standing right beside me, built and toned.

His shoulders looked just as broad as they did the other night. When I first spotted him, I assumed he must be the man Taylor was talking about. Drop-dead gorgeous with subtle stubble around his face, he was so beautiful it was painful. Taylor had gushed about her new boyfriend, and he was definitely someone worth gushing over. The fact that I slapped him three times and he didn’t even raise his voice attested to his chivalry. Any other man might have slapped me good and hard. But he found the restraint to do nothing.

I lost my footing as I looked at him, too focused on his corded neck and stern jaw. An image came into my mind of his face between my legs, his stubble brushing against the inside of my thighs before his mouth closed over my throbbing clitoris. I dug my fingers into his hair and screamed because he made me orgasm so hard.