“You have nice teeth,” I blurted.
Holy shit. Did I just tell him he had nice teeth? No. I didn’t. Tequila did. I searched the backyard for a hole to crawl into, and not leave until I was eighty.
The hand tightened again as if he was sensing I’d bolt. “Easy, flower,” he murmured, pulling me even closer. “These teeth don’t bite,” his eyes turned hooded, “unless you want them to.”
His voice was full of such sensual promise I felt my knees shake. Like actually shake. What the heck did you say to that?
“Um,” I whispered. “I think I like my skin sans bite marks, you know, for now,” I added in a small voice.
For now? Did I just flirt?
He grinned again, but this time there was a serious heat to his eyes. “I’ll hold you to that, flower.” His chocolate eyes continued to hold me hostage while his huge hand trailed up my bare skin. I shivered in desire from the casual touch. He seemed to notice my response because his eyes flared. “So, since you’re not new around here, how is it I haven’t seen you before?” he continued. “And trust me, I would remember seeing you.” His eyes left fire in their wake as they swept across my scantily-clad body.
I wanted to cover myself with my hands. My bikini had seemed perfectly appropriate in a party full of women. Now, I understood I was practically naked in front of this beautiful man. The power of his gaze had me feeling uncomfortable. Another part of me wanted him to look, wanted to imagine the desire in his gaze wasn’t a figment of tequila muddled imagination.
“I don’t um, get out much,” I told him truthfully.
Understatement of the century. At high school, I wasn’t exactly what you’d call popular. I never got picked on or anything, in order to get picked on, you had to get noticed. I didn’t. I was forgettable and didn’t stand out. There was nothing special about me. So I had a handful of friends, studied a lot, read a lot, and hung out with my mom a lot. I also had to study my ass off in order to get the grades to qualify me for a full ride at college. My mom and I weren’t exactly rolling in it. She was a free spirit, an artist. And although she was talented, she didn’t make a huge amount off her art, enough to keep food on the table, only with me helping out with a part-time job at the supermarket. No way was I getting college tuition paid for. Not that I was bitter. My mom gave me a wonderful life, a beautiful life. She got us out of a nightmare to do that.
I got it, the full ride. It was at a college thirty minutes away in Tasman Springs. A lot of kids wanted to cross the country to start their foray into adulthood. Not me. I couldn’t leave my mom. Couldn’t stand being so far away, not when I knew neither of us would be able to afford the airfares to visit often enough. The idea of moving somewhere unfamiliar where I didn’t know anyone terrified me. Plus, since I was this close I could work for Gwen on weekends. So between college, working, Mom and my newer college friends, I didn’t have time for much else.
The man regarded me. I say man. Every other member of the opposite sex I encountered I thought of as ”boys.” The only ones I ever really encountered were ones from school, and they were mostly concerned with drinking, sports, and getting girls into bed. Boys. But, even though he couldn’t be that much older than me, he was definitely a man.
“That’s good,” he muttered, stroking my arm.
“What’s good?” I squeaked.
His eyes bore into mine. “That you don’t get out much. If you did, I expect I’d be fighting every one of my brothers for your attention.” His gaze flickered over to where Amy had stormed off, Brock following. “Well, almost all,” he added, eyes back on me.
My mouth dropped open. Then I closed it, realizing how unladylike this was.
“No one would be fighting for my attention, trust me,” I mumbled with certainty. The men I’d seen connected to the Sons of Templar were hot. Hot with a capital H. “Hot with a capital H” men did not bother themselves with plain, mousy college girls who were so shy they turned mute in their presence.
His brow furrowed. “Trust me, I’m counting my blessings right now that I’m the one who laid eyes on this beautiful flower before anyone else,” he promised, voice husky.
I swallowed and felt my face redden. I wasn’t used to compliments, didn’t know what to do with them. My mom told me I was beautiful, but she was my mom, and it didn’t count. Moms were biologically programmed to find their offspring beautiful. Ditto with my best friend Bex, who was definitely someone boys would fight over. She was my best friend, it was part of her duties to try and inflate my non-existent ego.