“I’ll pass,” I said, dread crawling through my being.
He set a hand on my knee. “You sure about that?”
I sucked in a staggered breath at the unwelcome contact, trying not to gag.
Then my heart fully seized in my chest when I felt the dark cloud descend from behind us.
A voice that could only be described as menacing rumbled into the space, “Only thing sure around here is you’re about two seconds from losing your throat if you don’t take your hand off her. Got me?”
Dark and cold, the words penetrated the din of the bar, and the guy who’d had his hand on my knee glared behind me, clearly getting ready to spout out something aggressive, and then froze, words dying on his tongue. I was pretty sure it was fear that took hold of him as he slowly removed his hand and slipped off the opposite side of the stool.
Unsettled, I kept my attention trained on the tiny glass still clutched in my hand.
The man who’d sent the asshole running slipped into his place.
Was it the ground shaking or the slosh of alcohol beating through my brain that made me feel as if I were tipping sideways?
I was almost afraid to look that way, not sure of what to make of the feeling that crawled over my flesh.
I stole a peek at the man.
My belly tipped.
Capsized.
Tossing me into an ocean of instant fascination.
The eyes of what had to be the most intriguingly beautiful man I’d ever seen were trained on me. Eyes so dark they were the color of onyx, though somehow, they glinted like cracked, black ice that held a seething ball of white fire within.
Anger and fury raving in the depths.
His sharp jaw was clenched, and his full, full lips were set in a grim, threatening line.
“Are you okay?” he demanded. His voice rang like the lash of a raging song. Heavy and grating and seductive.
“I . . . I—” It was all a stammer as I contended with the lump that had grown thick in my throat, all of my attention trapped, snared by the face that glared back.
I couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol because the man was prettier than any soul had the right to be. His eyes so deep, burning with a thousand wicked secrets, lips nothing but seduction, body so intimidating that it made my heart thunder out of control.
He faced me where he sat on the stool, one hand clinging to the back of the seat and the other planted on the bar.
His hair was just as black as his eyes, wild and disordered, and I got the distinct sense that he’d been roughing agitated fingers through it the entire day.
“I . . . I . . . thank you,” I managed, my voice raw and unsure and riddled with attraction. A spark fired in my chest. I was sure, sitting there, it was the first time I’d felt alive in months.
Dressed like some kind of powerful CEO, he wore a perfectly fitted white button-up and gray suit pants that hugged all the lean, sinewy strength that oozed from his body, though somewhere along the way, his jacket had been discarded.
But it was the way every exposed inch of his flesh was covered in designs and colors, shapes and shadows, that held me rapt.
All of him.
Arms and hands.
Chest and throat.
I felt as if I were looking at a mysterious painting and had been charged with deciphering the meaning.
The man written in opposition.
Rebel and ruler.
Contradiction and conflict.
A bottle of discord and mayhem and destruction.
A very expensive brand of sin.
Something you didn’t dip your fingers into without signing a waiver, accepting the outright risk.
And somehow, I was stuck there, throat dry and eyes devouring him as if he might be the one to remind me exactly of who I was.
He edged forward, intensity fierce. His attention skated over the three empty glasses sitting in front of me, lingering on the one I still had clutched in my hand.
“Drowning your sorrows doesn’t work. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
Those eyes swept back up to me when he murmured it, and there was no amusement there.
My heart thudded in my chest, emotion fisting tight, and my gaze roved his face, trying to get a read on this man who’d stepped in to save me and looked like he could destroy me in the same breath.
“It doesn’t hurt to try, does it?” A tremor filled my words.
“Doesn’t it? It looked like you were a couple seconds away from regretting it to me.”
Unease twisted through my body, a flush rising up my neck and hitting my cheeks.
He was right.
But I was feeling desperate. Trying to fill the hole that couldn’t be filled.
I dropped my head, staring at the amber in the glass before I mustered the courage to look back at him, where a wayward lock of raven hair cast one side of his gorgeous face in shadow. “I wasn’t askin’ for that . . . for that . . . jerk. Just because I’m sitting here by myself doesn’t mean that man had the right to touch me that way.”